I used to sell drugs and stuff back in the day, and I used to hang out at a biker bar.
It was a fun place, we used to get loaded/baked and do shit like build model cars and whatnot while talking shit. Nice guys, actually.
There was this one dude that hung out there, he wasn’t involved with them or anything, just friendly to the cause. I talked with him a few times, he seemed okay, a cool middle aged hippy type. Even met his wife once, they lived two streets away from the bar.
One night he invited me to a party, but when we get there it was just a hotel room and we were alone. He immediately turns and slams me into a wall then grabs me by the throat. I thought he wanted to rob me, but nope, he had other intentions. He outweighed me by a good 50lbs, and was actually doing an acceptable job of choking me out while he tried to grab at my belt as he dragged me towards the jacuzzi in the corner of the room.
I kicked him in the nuts and got a shot in to his throat, he just shook his head and coughed then charged at me again, this time with a pocket knife. I grabbed the lamp on the stand by the door and smashed him in the face with it, it didn’t break but it definitely stunned him for a second, I chose to get the fuck out of there, the guy was fucking insane.
He never chased me and I made it back into the city, though I got stopped by the cops once because I had cut my hand open hopping a fence, but they let me go without any further questions.
I made it back to the bar and told the guys what had happened.
He actually showed up there the next day. I guess he didn’t notice the sudden cold silence in the place. He was served his beer while a phone call was made. A van pulled up and two large dudes came in, hustled him out, and that was it. The place went back to normal as conversation and laughter resumed.
Never saw him again, and this is a small city. A week or so later I saw the “For Rent” sign in the window of his apartment when I walked by.
13. A twist!
I’m the oldest of three kids, and my parents split when I was about 10 (they got back together for a bit, and then broke up for good when I was 13). As the oldest, I figured I was basically the man of the house at 10 years old. One night I woke up to the doorbell ringing over and over again. My mom was already at the door, and at this point had started yelling through the door. “WHO IS IT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!? WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE US ALONE?!?”
All the noise had awoken our very loud blue and gold macaw, whose cage was in the garage, basically right next to the front door. He started screaming along with my mom. My god, the noise… It was deafening.
Now, the split was hard on my family financially. We often ate donated food from the church, and light bulbs would go months – if not longer – without being changed. On this night, it’s the porch light that is out. My mom is staring through the peep hole, continuing to scream at the darkness, struggling to be heard by this mystery tormentor over the constant shrieks of our bird. No one but the bird responds.
I do the only thing I know to do. I grab a blunt object – a hockey stick is a blunt object, right? – and stand at the ready. I can’t stop anyone from breaking that door down, but I sure as hell am going to do some damage with all my 10-year old strength if they do.
My mom finally gives up, turns around and slides down the door, sobbing. The doorbell rings continue for at least another 15 minutes, with me standing there ready to strike in defense of my family. Not on my watch, scumbag.
Finally the doorbell stops. The bird stops. The only sound left is the continuing sobs of my mother. She finally sees me, hockey stick half-cocked, and starts to laugh. “Next time, maybe grab a baseball bat or something?”
I don’t sleep for the rest of the night, and my mom calls the cops in the morning. They explain that sometimes people get really drunk and think they’re at home, but they’re at the neighbor’s house or on a different street entirely. This doesn’t make my mom feel much better, but at least we’re safe now.
After the cops left, my mom went into the garage to do laundry, and she noticed an exposed wire next to the bird’s cage. She thought it was odd, and wanted to make sure it wouldn’t shock the bird. As soon as she touched the wire, the doorbell rang. She touched it again, and the doorbell rang again. The fucking bird was bored out of his mind, chewing on an exposed wire, ringing the doorbell the night before. Any time I want to embarrass my mom I bring this story up – even though I was the one standing there with a hockey stick like I was going to bring down the hammer of thor on the non-existent intruder. It’s a fun family joke, but I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared again in my life.