Something I made up for something else.
Nothing in this story is true, although I do have steel toed boots and I did exchange a pair of washing machines recently.
A few weeks ago I was hanging out with my roommates and some mutual friends. Just sitting in the common/living room talking, some were playing Mario Kart, others were watching some youtube videos on a laptop, just having a good time.
I struck up a conversation with one of the friends of my roommates, just trying to be friendly, since she seemed kind of nervous and didn't know anyone except for the roomie too well. She warmed up to everyone pretty quick after that.
Later on we invite a few other people over, we've got about ten people milling around the living room now, a little crowded, so I say that if anyone wants to have a smoke they can come out onto the front porch, a few do, including the girl I talked to, one of my roommates' other friends, and this young guy, maybe 17, who nobody really knew. He pulled out a pack of Native Cigarettes. (I live in Ontario, and a lot of the Mohawk reservation smokeshops don't card you). So we're all just sitting around, trying to enjoy the mild weather. It was a damn fine day just to sit around.
A friend of mine pulls up with a washing machine I asked him to pick up. I give a wave, stub out my cig and trot over to his hatchback. I casually shake my arm at the other people on the porch, in a kind of 'nothing to worry about, enjoy your smokes' way.
My friend opens the trunk, and I realize we still need to get the old washer from the back before we get this one inside, so I let him know and we wander 'round back. A quick glance over to the porch showed that this younger guy and the girl I talked with seemed to be getting along fine.
After heaving the unwieldly old washing machine about halfway, we hear a yell, a smash, and some screams. My friend and I put down the washer and run to the front, wary. First thing we see is the carcass of the new washing machine, crunched all over the driveway. This younger guy was stuck partway underneath it, obviously terrified.
We pull the machine, which was thoroughly junked off of this kid, and he immediately stops whining and stands up. "Whoops, sorry man." he says, grinning. A few of the people in the house come out onto the porch, curious what was going on. I ask him if he's okay, and he says he's absolutely fine, still grinning like a fucking loon. He brushes his hair out of his face and pulls one of those stinky native smokes out of his pocket and turns away.
My friend surveys the damaged washing machine, and I tap this kid on the shoulder.
"What happened? Why the fuck were you under that thing?" I jerked my thumb back.
"I was trying to lift it, help you guys out." His grin falters.
Now, understand that this kid was obviously a little too confident about his strength. He was a stringy, lanky scenetard, to describe it simply. At best, he could run fast, but given how he smoked, I doubt he could run far. A little weakling faggot had just wrecked a 450$ investment, but I kept my cool.
"Well, you're going to have to pay for some of the damages. You shouldn't have even touched the fucking thing."
"But no one was hurt, that's what's important."
That fucking grin.
This continued for a few minutes, and I kept telling him that he needed to cover some of the cost. I didn't even want him to pay for the entire machine, just a little contribution would have worked.
All this time, I was backing him up a bit. He took a step back, I followed. If he was going to run I wanted to be sure to catch him.
Finally, he cracked.
"Look, it's not my fault! Why didn't you take it back with you yourself!?" He was visibly upset.
I started to say something reasonable, the kid looked like he was on the verge of tears.
And then he tried to punch me.
He DID punch me, put it just kind of threw me off. Like running into a frozen fish hanging off of a ceiling.
I didn't expect it, but I got really fucking angry right then. I started yelling at him, not laying a finger, I had every fucking right to, but at first I just yelled.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST HIT ME FOR? ARE YOU THAT FUCKING DUMB?"
He cried, swiped at me, and I smashed his fucking face in. One punch, bloody nose, a fucking side of beef hitting a bag of glass. He went down, did this gay "kicking at me while lying down thing, and then I did something really stupid.
I turned around, mostly ashamed of letting my physical urges get the best of me, but partly out of pity, too.
I feel a dull rubber thunk in my shin, a smack to the side of the head, and turn around and just whale into him. He was carrying an iPod, one headphone in his ear, I ripped it out and pulled the wire apart. I took his satchel and smashed him in the face. I kicked him with steel motherfucking toed safety boots when he was down. I picked up his iPod touch, which was miraculously unscathed, and ALLLLMOST smashed it, but pocketed it like a fucking sultan.
The rest is basically a whirl of my friends pulling me back while I screamed "PUSSY FAGGOT SHIT PUSSY FUCK YOU!"
Long story short, he was bruised like a motherfucker but no broken bones, and we got a visit from his brother a few weeks later. He asked me what happened, I explained, and he basically told me not to pursue anything. I asked him for money for the washing machine, he said he'd think about it, and that was it.
Two weeks later we got a letter with a 500$ cheque in it.
__________________
I see you jockin' me.
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