Someone tried to mug me one time. It was in 1995 and I was 14 years-old. My friend Sweeney and I walked over to the new Target in our town. We picked up a Slayer CD, some fireworks on clearance, rented Evil Dead 2 from the Dollar Video next door, and then made the walk back.
On that journey back, we stopped at a gas station to pick up a drink. We were thirsty little kids in that hot Florida son. We then sat on the corner, enjoying our treats, when this crazy drunk asshole came up to us. It was about 2:12pm and this guy was wasted beyond belief. He comes up to us and says, “Hey, I see you got some fireworks. Why don’t you get in my car and come to this party with us.” I looked over his shoulder towards his jalopy – I believe it was an 80s Chevy Caprice with more rust than not. He indeed had some people with him.
Either this guy really wanted fireworks or he wanted to bang a couple of under-aged Slayer-listening fellows like ourselves. I didn’t think about the banging option until many years later. How ignorant was I at 14.
I said, “No dude, we’re cool.” He didn’t like that. So he grabbed my bag but I held onto it strong. Sweeney says, “What the fuck is your problem asshole?”
He didn’t like being called “asshole.”
“Give up your sky flowers!” (2/2009)
Nor did he expect my strength – I pulled the bag from his arms and he fell back a little. Then he yelled, “Give me back my bag you little prick!” loudly so those pumping their gas could here. Sweeney was like, “Yeah, okay fuckface.” Sweeney was so badass. He didn’t care about anything or anyone. He’d kick a baby and take its money without even thinking twice about it.
“Let’s go,” he said and then we turned and ran with fury. He knew we couldn’t take this drunk redneck or his army of friends. He quickly followed us, shouting this and that. We ran across a busy street and into a Rib joint of some kind. The waitress noticed our distress. “What’s wrong fellas?” she asked. I remember thinking that she shouldn’t be working at a place that serves all you can eat ribs.
“This asshole is trying to take our bag,” said Sweeney.
She looked at us for a minute, seeing if we were being truthful. “Okay boys, go to the back.” We sat at a back table for a few minutes and she disappeared back to the front. The redneck walked in and told her a couple of boys grabbed his bag and ran in here. She came over to us again and questioned what was in the bag — but told us not to look first. I told her the contents. She left again.
When she came back, she was smiling. She asked the redneck the same question and all he could answer was fireworks. But they weren’t in the actual bag… they were in a plastic bag separate from it. She let us out the back and I never saw the redneck asshole again.
It’s funny how scared you can be when shit like that happens as a kid. The last time I saw Sweeney, about 4 years ago, we talked about this moment. Sweeney said if that shit happened today, he’d have killed that poor sap. I believed him. He was truthful like that.
I just hope that poor sap killed himself long ago, by some terribly awful car accident to which he was the only victim.