Monday, February 28, 2011

Attack of the Loitering Stumblebums

The confidence which we have in ourselves gives birth to much of that which we have in others.--- Francois de La Rochefoucauld

by James Jarvis
from My Arcology (tales of working in a South Central Arco)

    Three of the Arco winos attacked me behind the Arco today. One of them tried to bust a 32-ounce beer bottle over my head after my first punch knocked him to the ground. I sidekicked him in the bladder and knocked THAT idea out of his mushy head.

     I was trying not to hurt the fragile stumblebums, but the instigator, some fat woman alkie with peeling zombie skin pushing an infant in a baby carriage who has been drinking beer on the property so long (while the baby fries in the sun) she thinks she owns the lot behind the store, that bitch wouldn't let the two men heed my warnings. Noooooooooo. She kept egging them on, egging them on to challenge the fat, bespectacled stock boy. So they nudged me and spat at me and pillow-punched me until I went Popeye on them.

    Then the woman hit me in the back and when I turned on her she said, "HA! You can't hit a woman!"

    So I punched her in the neck. Like I said, I wasn't trying to hurt them, just trying to give their clouded minds a wake up call. It was more like a pillow fight, really, but the woman taunted me that she was calling her boyfriend, "Boxer Bob" to come and kick my ass real good.

    "Tell him come get some," I told her as I returned to the back storage bin about a hundred feet from the store to finish my back stocking.

    Ten minutes later, a young man, late twenties, came running angrily up to the back storage bin talking shit as he approached, but I backed him off quick with the padlock wrapped around my middle finger like a brass knuckle. Him I woulda hurt. He saw it in my eyes and ran off to call the cops. So much 'show but no go' for "Boxer Bob'.

    The cops finally came and after I explained that I had asked them nicely several times to not drink alcohol on the property (they refused) and to leave the property (they refused) and after I read them the riot act (they threatened to kill me) and that yes, I punched the soggy motherfuckers . . . .  after all that explanation, the cops said they prefered it if I would just call them next time.

     Wasn't much for them to do, really. It wasn't a hate crime: three white winos against one old, pissy, white stock boy. Misdemeanor battery, maybe, the cop told me, but it was a case of 'he said, she said'.

    "We have a camera back there," I said, "You can look at the tape if you don't believe me," but I could see the cop didn't want to get bogged down in gas station mini-drama.

    There's a new sign on the Arco cash register as the result of this incident. Basically it reads that clerks are not to sell beer to homeless or troublemaking persons and if they do, they will be held liable for any financial repercussions. One of the clerks said he wasn't sure what that means and I said it meant he would have to come down to the station and bail me out.

    No beer to the homeless or troublemakers, one of the clerks told me later, who're we gonna sell beer to? And the other clerk, Eddie, is afraid to sell ANYONE beer now. Technically, he can't even buy some for himself when his shift is over (Eddie's on his third month of homelessness).

    As an ex and semi-homeless person myself, I can relate to the plight of the homeless. It's the shitheads that give the rest of us a bad name.

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