Here's a re-post that was popular the first time around, it's a true life story about the time some fat hillbilly jumped me in a bar.
The Biggest Ass Kicking I've Ever Taken
I can honestly say that I've taken a movie level ass whopping at least
once in my life, the kind of ass whopping that leaves a man stumbling
through a crowd, covered in his own blood. The kind of ass kicking
that I am lucky to walk away from without any lingering consequences.
Unsurprisingly this story takes place in a bar.
There's a town called Whitby east of Toronto that actually has a really
lively night life, weekends always have a celebratory feel over there.
The small downtown core gets so crowded with people looking to have a
good time that it spills out into the street and the party gets taken
outside just about every other weekend. It's important you know that
because I want you to understand just how crowded this bar was and how
many people were witness to the beat down I took. It's in these
testosterone filled environments that a very specific type of asshole
likes to lurk, this is the kind of asshole who gets drunk and then goes
around looking for fights to get into. He puffs out his chest like a
gorilla and glares threateningly at everyone who dares to have a bigger
d**k than he does. Good luck avoiding him. If he doesn't like your face
he's going to find you and this guy really must not have liked my face
because he tried to rearrange it.
THE CONFRONTATION:
I went to the bars that night with a group of about 6 people, we
went to a crowded club that I wasn't feeling so I left along with
another friend for the more chill pub across the street. It was crowded
but nothing like the club we'd just left, we were even able to find a
table along the back wall. We ordered pints and settled in, I barely
started mine when a group of about 5 guys walked past our table. The
second last guy to walk past carelessly knocked over my entire glass and
kept walking, the last guy to walk past noticed and sympathetically
said that he would talk to his friend. In retrospect I should have just
asked the waitress for a replacement glass but when you're 22 you can't
just let something like that go. What kind of classless dipshit knocks
over a man's beer and doesn't offer to pay for the drink, like...man
code. Am I right? I felt punked. I knew I still had the sympathetic ear
of at least one of that group of friends so I decided to head down to
the small crowded hallway leading to the washrooms where they were
standing and have a talk with them. Why were they all hanging around the
washroom? I didn't even stop to think how weird that was until just now
but that's where they all were; just hanging out by the washroom like a
bunch of beer spilling pervs. As well as I can remember this was the
conversation that took place in that hallway.
TOM
Hey, buddy you knocked my pint over.
BEER SPILLING COWARD
So? It was an accident
ARRRRRRRRRRRRGGG that annoyed me when he said that. So he DID know that
he knocked over my drink and still never offered to pay for it; he
noticed and he still just kept walking. Think of how classless that is.
Cool people pay for a man's drink if they knock it over, really cool
people make a joke out of it and turn the whole experience into a
positive one with a fresh beer as your reward for accepting his apology.
Imagine if Bill Murray knocked over your beer, he'd turn that into the
night of your life. He'd pay for your table, he'd knock over his own
beer comedically, it would end up on the internet and everyone would ask
you about it.
This guy wasn't Bill Murray. He was the opposite of Bill Murray, he was
Murray Bill. He knocked over a man's drink and refused to pay for it
even when he was confronted about it.
TOM
You're paying for it!
BEER SPILLING COWARD
Noooo. It was an accident.
That's as far as that conversation would go because appearing from
around the corner was THE asshole. I never turned to look at him, I kept
my glare on the man who owed me money. Out of the corner of my eye I
could make out a big, fat, sweaty gorilla charging my way.
STUPID APE
Get the F**K out of here right now.
TOM
(Never turning his stare from the man who owed him money, dismissive of this new threat)
F**k you.
STUPID APE
I dare you to say F**K me one more time.
TOM
(while turning to face his attacker)
F**K Y...
He hit me. I didn't even have my head turned towards him, he took the
coward's opportunity for a sucker punch. When you get nailed with a
heavy blow like that there's no pain, there's just a buzzing. A
vibrating. Confusion. I was on the floor, I realized I'd been hit and
tried to get back up. More buzzing. Everything was blurry, I felt really
tired. I remembered what happened, I knew I was hit by someone now standing
over me; shouting with the crowd. I knew I'd been hit several more times
when I was down, wide open. I was told later by a witness that after I
was hit the first time he followed me to the ground and punched and
kicked me a few more times in the face. I wasn't out though, I never
went out. He hit me with everything he had and he couldn't keep me down,
that's what I take away from this fight. I wasn't going to stay down, I
was pissed. My plan was to get up, shake it off and get revenge as soon
as I was able to get my body working again. I got to my feet, at that
point the hallway had filled with spectators and the bar was in an
uproar. I was COVERED in my own blood and couldn't walk straight. I
remember my instinct being to get some space, I needed to recover for a
minute. I had to get some motor control back before I went after what I
could now for the first time see was a large, fat, drunk hillbilly who
was at that point taunting the hostile crowd. I moved to take the fight
outside.
I was drenched in my own blood and
wobbling around as I tried to make my way out into the street; fully
intending on continuing this fight. The bartender was screaming at my
attacker that he's been in too many fights in his bar and now he was
banned. I made my way to the door, my attacker was in tow. RIGHT when I
got to the door I ran into my other friends who had just left the club, I
still remember the shock on their faces. They were looking at a zombie
who kind of resembled the friend they had last seen only minutes before.
Right behind my friends were the police, one friend guided me into an
ambulance and begged me to press charges and I regret to this day that I
didn't immediately listen to him. There was a part of me that wanted to find this
guy myself and another part of me who genuinely couldn't remember how
the fight started and was having trouble processing information. The
police saw that I was in no condition for questions so they told me to
take their card, go home and recover and call them in the morning if I
wanted to press charges. During that time my other friends had gotten
into a confrontation with the group of guys who spilled my beer and the
fat hillbilly who jumped me. The hillbilly ran to his car and sped off
with the chicken s**t who knocked over my beer and the two spent the
night blowing each other, probably. Outside the bar waiting for the cab
home I was approached by people who saw what happened. They offered what
information they had on the guy, I never got his name but I know he has
a twin brother also from Whitby and the two were well known for
starting fights in the area.
The next day, clear headed I used the card the officer gave me and
called to press charges. He didn't answer, I left messages, he didn't
respond. I always hoped that knowing he was a twin would narrow the list
of suspects enough to where I could track this guy down myself but it
never worked out. Everyone I knew from Whitby had never heard of him,
his trail ran cold and eventually I had to let it all go. I hear
Christians say they forgive their attackers, I hear survivors saying
they've managed to forgive acts of violence against them far more severe
than getting popped in head from behind by some smelly orangutang but I
am just not wired that way. I hate that guy. I'll always hate that guy,
I'll never forgive what he did. It was cowardly and dangerous. If
anyone is reading this and knows a twin from Whitby who liked to get in
fights every weekend, look him dead in the eye for me and call him a
'bitch'. Then call his twin brother over and do the same to him.
-Thomas Holler-
