So a couple of weeks ago, I was taking a number train
back home. It was late, near midnight, following a long
hard day of laboring for “the corporation.”
You know one of those days, where you’re physically,
spiritually and mentally exhausted.
Actually, I don’t know many days unlike that.
So I’m sitting on the side of the train, which is opposite to
the platform, In the center of the car, near the doors that
don’t open to the public. The car is barely full, and this
gives me the freedom to zone out from everything.
My I pod blasting something I wouldn’t be able to enjoy
because of course, the freaks come out at night.
A rather intoxicated gentleman, who looked like
Samuel L. Jackson stumbles in, directly opposite of me.
already my danger antennae pops up, due to the fact
he’s holding an open bottle of “Olde English 800” and
has some sort of spliff/cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Having an open container on a train and a cig in his mouth
(unlit) already showed this dude could give a shit less
what anybody cared about. I mean I’ve seen this countless
times, I’ve been on trains with people that light their
cigarette right on the train, and none of us chicken shit
passengers said a thing.
So, I’m keeping an eye on Sam Jackson as he rambles,
And cusses loudly. At what, I have no idea, My I pod was
drowning it out. He’s banging his fist on the door every
stop, and mumbling some incoherent nonsense. Everyone
on the train is keeping their cool. I guess in NYC, we’ve
pretty much seen this crap before.
(i would have no problem with this Olde English 800 weilder)
Hell, I saw a naked guy walk into a train once, with his
Clothing tucked under one arm and his hospital slippers still
on. I mean imagine, filthy feet! That would just be disgusting.
So Sam Jackson starts to talk to an old guy who looks like
Clint Eastwood sitting down next to him. I don’t know what
about, but I thought it was probably some friendly drunk talk.
Seconds later the drunk guy looks like he’s trying to hug Clint
and Clint’s pushing him away. Then that’s when you see no
good can come of this.
So geezer Clint gets up, and is getting ready to get out of the train
At the next stop. He doesn’t want to exit where Jackson is,
Just to avoid conflict I guess. Because I can barely hear Jackson
Berating him, in I’m sure Shakespearian complex dialogue.
Clint goes to the exit door opposite from me, and I’m like,
“Yes, here it comes.” Because I can’t be just a witnesses to
the bizarre event, it always has to play out to end up being
Somewhere extra near to my vicinity.
Clint gets to the door, and the train stops, Jackson has
followed him, talking smack the whole way. As Clint makes
his way out, there’s an electricity in the air. A heavy foreboding
silence that was a precursor what was going to happen next.
Then Sam Jackson swung his open palm at lightning speed
and slapped the shit out of the back of Clint’s head. It was
like an earth shattering sound of thunder escaped the palms of that
I almost guffawed, because I’m a semi-scumbag, but
it was pretty screwy. I was wondering whether to do something
heroic. I’m sure many of us were, but like in reality, witnesses
usually do two things, “Jack” and “Squat!”
When I was a child, I witnessed two guys trying to abduct a
woman on the street, and everyone was standing out there
dumbfounded. As if we were watching an improvisation group
with some strange interactive skit that no one wanted to
participate in. At least in that instance, a mysterious third guy
came out and smashed a bottle right over the head of one of the
attackers. One of the creeps had to drag the other one away,
I didn’t want to be late to school, so I ran. In my defense,
It was Catholic school and those running it would’ve made
my day hell.
Back to the current situation, I toyed around in my head, what
I should do, should I drop kick this guy from behind?
Can I flip him over that sign? I mean I could, the guy was old.
Of course I did nothing, but to my surprise, Clint spun around and
Started throwing wild old man punches at his assailant.
It was like watching a gladiator battle, but with two old farts!
That was my cue to get up and walk towards the train conductor’s
Door. I had kept my eye on the giant Olde English 800 bottle,
And I knew eventually it would come into play.
Of course it did.
Jackson swung that bottle around, but he was so smashed his hits
would only slightly connect, the neck of the bottle would just
click against Clint’s neck or shoulder blade, causing no damage.
The two combatants moved into the car, after Sam Jackson’
comically lost his footing and did a goofy split due to his liquor
splashing underneath him. He regained his semi-composure and
the two continued their retirement home Mortal Kombat.
Thankfully, two ballsier individuals broke the fight up.
Their faces annoyed with their train ride possibly being
extended due to some asshole throwing around punches
and glass bottles. The train makes it to my stop and the
conductor is completely oblivious to what’s going
on merely feet away from him. I knock on his window to
alert him, and I swear if there was enough room in his
mobile cubicle, he would’ve done a back flip. I frightened
him so badly, he gave me a disgusted, flippant look. Like
I was about to ask him what were the next stops for the train.
When I, and other exiting passengers bestowed upon him
the knowledge of a royal rumble in his midst, he a gave an
equally frustrated look. I turned around, out of the station
and made my way home. An exciting way to end the day.
It made me sick to my stomach.
Then i had a PB&J and forgot about it.