Storytime…
Once upon a time, when I was much younger, I was admittedly down on my financial luck and was living in a very seedy hotel on Hollywood Boulevard. It was easy to get to my job from there, but I was still just managing to live hand to mouth.
Well, one night a gang had found their way into the hotel, looking for trouble, and not finding any they had decided to create some of their own. As I was going to my room, the leader of the gang came up to me and, without even saying so much as “Excuse me” whapped me in the nose, breaking it. They then proceeded to chase me down the hall, yelling “Get the faggot!" and slamming me against a fire door, breaking my shoulder. I’m still not sure how I managed to get through that door and away from them; I think someone else may have shown up, and that the gang wasn’t cool about having witnesses.
This was before the term “hate crime” had been coined, by the way. Just a historical footnote.
The doctors at the emergency room were able to put my arm in a sling, and give me some pain pills and a referral list of doctors. I’d managed to call a friend who lived not too far away, who agreed to put me up for the night, as there was no way I was going back to that hotel. But by this time, even the busses in Hollywood weren’t running, and I wasn’t thinking too clearly, so I decided to walk.
About a block or two from my friend’s place, a trio pulled up behind me in a car and hopped out. One of them waved a pistol in my face and hissed, “Give me your money!” I was pretty groggy at this point, the pain pills working their effect, and could only manage the intelligent response of “Huh?” “I said, give me your money!” he repeated, a little louder this time.
At this point I just started to laugh, which threw the fellow and his fellows. (Odd, how they never show up alone, or at least they never do in my experience.) Rather loudly, I told him “I don’t have any money!” This drew a gulp from my assailant. “Will you keep your voice down! And, uh, give me your money.” He wasn’t sounding so sure this time. I just stared at him, and calmly, but even more loudly, told him “You idiot! I’ve just been mugged! You’re too late, the other guys got all my money!” By this time he’s starting to shush me, and waving with his hands in a downward motion to be quiet, which looked kind of odd with that gun he was carrying. “Look at my shoulder! Do you think I’d be wandering the streets of Hollywood with a broken shoulder and my arm in a sling at this time of night if I hadn’t already been mugged?”
The poor fellow looked at his cohorts, who could only shrug in return. They hopped back into their car and drove off, and I made the rest of the way to my friend’s place without incident.
