So, I suppose it's finally time I tell the story of the day I got my face smashed in. And it's every bit as colorful as you're likely imagining. It all starts with my once monthly pilgrimage to J. Rollin's books to acquire my MAD Magazine...
I was 11 or 12, so it was fall of '84 or '85, and, as I did once a month every month (typically on a Wednesday) I would walk home from school in the opposite direction of my house so I could cut through the South Land Mall parking lot to the John Rollin's Book Seller. Just to acclimate you with where South Land was, just in case you're reading this and you aren't from the area, it used to be where the Office Max/Barnes and Noble galleria is now. South Land was an indoor mall, but it had a few outdoor stores such as the J. Rollin's and a few clothing shops and I believe a T.E. Murch's. At any rate, this is where I'd walk home from school on those great days when the MAD's were released.
So I went in, made my exchange for American cash, and left. As I was leaving, I took the alley that ran between the store and the Hodgeson's Light and Log (that's still there, by the way) and cut to the back parking lot so I could cut through the wooded area to our neighborhood. Oh, and that wooded area is now a Menard's, a Brann's Steak House, and the old Sam's Club. As I was cutting through, a car drove by. And it was this car that ultimately caused all of the issues that day.
If I remember right, it was a VW Rabbit. Well, at one time at was a VW Rabbit... when I saw it, it looked like some kind of psychotic clown car: a myriad colors, rainbow paint job, and a mad, psychedelic theme that was as disturbing as it was fascinating. I couldn't help but stare.
Big mistake.
So there I was, gawking at this prismatic hatchback like some kind of child... mostly because I was some kind of child... and the car slams on its brakes about fifty yards down the back lot. I was instantly petrified, but, like in most movies you've seen, my legs didn't want to make me run fast enough or even work properly, for that matter. So I just stood there and watched as the car backed up, stopped a few feet from me, and emptied its contents of three very punk-looking and angry individuals. And still, as though I were frozen to the asphalt like some kind of shuddering statue, I just stood there, and waited for the inevitable.
Now I don't remember what any of them said, except for the fact that they asked what I was staring at. I don't think I said anything in return, either, mostly because at that very moment one of the three punched me right in the mouth. My lip split right open and I fell onto my butt. I'm not sure if I cried (believe me, I'd admit to it if I did) but I was definitely stunned as I watched blood drizzle onto my shirt. They laughed, flipped me off a few times, and made their way to their car... but that wasn't the end of it.
There just happened to be a delivery truck dropping off goods at the Murch's, and the strapping lad (a decidedly older dude) saw the whole thing go down. He immediately sprinted to the punks and their car, and got right in their faces. In a odd twist of ironic fate, those three jackasses were just as frightened of this guy as I was of them! He had some kind of tool in his hand, I don't recall what it was, and he whacked at their trunk and brake lights a few times, breaking one. The guys jumped in the car and took off. Just then, the Samaritan came up to me and made sure to clean me up as best he could, offered me a drink of water, and sent me on my way making sure I didn't need any help. I thanked him, and left the parking lot headed for home.
Now what I don't remember is if I ever told my mom what happened. I don't know if it's just because my lip didn't look that bad, or if I just avoided her... I don't know. But what I did learn that day is: clown cars are never funny, especially when they aren't filled with clowns.
I was 11 or 12, so it was fall of '84 or '85, and, as I did once a month every month (typically on a Wednesday) I would walk home from school in the opposite direction of my house so I could cut through the South Land Mall parking lot to the John Rollin's Book Seller. Just to acclimate you with where South Land was, just in case you're reading this and you aren't from the area, it used to be where the Office Max/Barnes and Noble galleria is now. South Land was an indoor mall, but it had a few outdoor stores such as the J. Rollin's and a few clothing shops and I believe a T.E. Murch's. At any rate, this is where I'd walk home from school on those great days when the MAD's were released.
So I went in, made my exchange for American cash, and left. As I was leaving, I took the alley that ran between the store and the Hodgeson's Light and Log (that's still there, by the way) and cut to the back parking lot so I could cut through the wooded area to our neighborhood. Oh, and that wooded area is now a Menard's, a Brann's Steak House, and the old Sam's Club. As I was cutting through, a car drove by. And it was this car that ultimately caused all of the issues that day.
If I remember right, it was a VW Rabbit. Well, at one time at was a VW Rabbit... when I saw it, it looked like some kind of psychotic clown car: a myriad colors, rainbow paint job, and a mad, psychedelic theme that was as disturbing as it was fascinating. I couldn't help but stare.
Big mistake.
So there I was, gawking at this prismatic hatchback like some kind of child... mostly because I was some kind of child... and the car slams on its brakes about fifty yards down the back lot. I was instantly petrified, but, like in most movies you've seen, my legs didn't want to make me run fast enough or even work properly, for that matter. So I just stood there and watched as the car backed up, stopped a few feet from me, and emptied its contents of three very punk-looking and angry individuals. And still, as though I were frozen to the asphalt like some kind of shuddering statue, I just stood there, and waited for the inevitable.
Now I don't remember what any of them said, except for the fact that they asked what I was staring at. I don't think I said anything in return, either, mostly because at that very moment one of the three punched me right in the mouth. My lip split right open and I fell onto my butt. I'm not sure if I cried (believe me, I'd admit to it if I did) but I was definitely stunned as I watched blood drizzle onto my shirt. They laughed, flipped me off a few times, and made their way to their car... but that wasn't the end of it.
There just happened to be a delivery truck dropping off goods at the Murch's, and the strapping lad (a decidedly older dude) saw the whole thing go down. He immediately sprinted to the punks and their car, and got right in their faces. In a odd twist of ironic fate, those three jackasses were just as frightened of this guy as I was of them! He had some kind of tool in his hand, I don't recall what it was, and he whacked at their trunk and brake lights a few times, breaking one. The guys jumped in the car and took off. Just then, the Samaritan came up to me and made sure to clean me up as best he could, offered me a drink of water, and sent me on my way making sure I didn't need any help. I thanked him, and left the parking lot headed for home.
Now what I don't remember is if I ever told my mom what happened. I don't know if it's just because my lip didn't look that bad, or if I just avoided her... I don't know. But what I did learn that day is: clown cars are never funny, especially when they aren't filled with clowns.
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