Assault charge rewrite

Part One:

I’m about to get my first assault charge.


One of the cities I work in has a popular sports team.  Is that vague enough for ya?  My first weekend driving in this city the aforementioned obscure sports team won a big game.  Not the championship game, that story comes later.  But they won a big game and it made a lot of people very happy that someone else accomplished something, venerating the fans’ empty lives. In response to this happiness, everyone goes out and gets hammered.  My first few experiences with this were all positive.  People would get in the car jovially and want to talk about the game and I have to act like I care.  I mean, I love sports but I don’t follow this team and could not tell you anything about them.  All in all the night was going well.  Naturally, some asshole had to ruin it.


I got a call to a dive bar and waited outside until this beautiful woman dressed head to toe in white walks out with what I assumed to be a tall Hobbit.  Of course, he had officially licensed team jersey on with matching hat, because it was game day.  He was a squat, chubby, drunk dude, closely resembling a mix between Samwise Gamgee and Danny DeVito.  I was surprised he was out with a woman and a hot woman at that.  He must have been loaded because from the looks of things he should have been going home to his parent’s basement.  Or asking someone trying to cross his bridge three questions.  One of those questions being about the air/speed velocity of an unladen swallow.  They get in the car and I get on my way.  The woman was indeed his wife and I felt sorry for her for it.  She asked a bunch of questions about being a driver and I answered what I could.   As I mentioned earlier, there is a training video that goes along with the job that my eyes have never seen.  She smiled a lot and was super polite despite her “husband” constantly making advances at her and trying to kiss her while she was talking.  


Her:  “So why did you decide to become a driver?”


Him:  “Probably because he couldn’t get a real job; fucking GED dropout.”


And what exactly the fuck did I do to this guy?  And fuck you, I have a degree.  A shitty one, but a degree.


Me: “Actually this is my second job.  I work with airplanes.  I just do this on the side for extra income.”


Her: “Well, that’s just wonderful. I hope everything works out for you.”


Me: “Thank you.”


Him: “What? Food Stamps aren’t paying enough? Quit blowing your whole paycheck on smoking dope in your trailer park.”


Her: “Stop it.”


Him: “What? Fuck that asshole. My taxes pay his welfare and now I gotta pay him to drive me around. He needs to get off his ass – you need to get off your lazy ass and get a real job.”


Me: “I’ll get right on that.”


Him: “Don’t fucking smart mouth me, boy.”


Who in the Holy motherless Godfuck are you calling “boy.”  As I said earlier, this was my first weekend driving.  I didn’t know that  I could cancel the ride and drop them off on the side of the road. Although that’s the last resort before calling the police.  As you might have noticed I was getting angry.   I was a few Gamma rays shy of Hulking out on him in an incredible fashion. His wife was extremely nice and patient and tried to shut him up, which worked for a while.


I like to think of myself as an extremely patient person when I have to be. I’ve been berated, chewed out, and been verbally bullied more times than I can count.  It doesn’t really bother me.  I realize that he was just drunk and so tried to pull an Elsa and just let it go.  Christ, forgive me for that one.  He was still trying to kiss her and she was resistant which was keeping him quiet and pissing him off simultaneously. I started to think that part of the problem was that she was paying more attention to me than his creepy, slobber-filled advances.  I kept quiet and just hoped for a quick ride so I could be rid of this asshole quickly.  Not so much.


My GPS was telling me that our exit was coming up so I started to change lanes.  And then here he came.


Him: “What are you doing?”


Me: “The exit is coming up in about two miles.”


Him: “No, no. Ignore that. You’ve got like four more exits.”


Me: “Are you sure?  My GPS is saying to take the next exit.”


Him: “No, don’t listen to that crap. You’ve got a good ten minutes on this road.”


I continued down the road.  Which ended up being a good thing because I got cut off and wouldn’t have made the exit safely anyway.  My GPS rerouted and I was a little shocked to see my estimated time jump from seven minutes to 22 minutes.  Oh, this was going to be fun.


Me: “Hey, are you sure this a better route? My timeline just jumped a lot.”


Him: “Wait, was that [insert street name]?”


Me: “That we just passed, yeah.”


Him: “You dumb mother fucker! You passed the exit!”


Me: “You totally just told me to.  I warned you and you said to ignore it.”


Him: “This asshole is trying to run up the fare!”


Me:“No, I am not. I was just following your instructions.”


Him: “Think you can rip me off and get away with it you son of a bitch?”


At this point, I went silent and just followed the GPS.  Sometimes customers do have what they think is a quicker or better route so I would follow what they said.  He continued to scream and called me everything but a child of God.  His wife tried to calm him down but she stopped after he snapped at her.  Which pissed me off beyond belief.  I wanted to pull over and drop him off on the side of the road but his wife was nice and didn’t do anything wrong.  Plus she was quite attractive.  I should’ve just dropped him off on the shoulder and taken her the rest of the way home; if you’re catching my drift.  It probably would’ve been the best lay she’s had in years.  But I just shut my mouth and kept going.  I could feel the anger building inside me but I knew that it wouldn’t have been worth it.  I had a family and a career to worry about.  And although punching Bilbo Baggins until I couldn’t lift my arms would have been gratifying; it wasn’t worth having a record over.  I would have enjoyed every minute of it though.  I don’t know if you’ve ever punched someone in the mouth, but there is just something about the sound of flesh hitting flesh andbone-crunchingg against bone and the dull wet slap of lips being split. Not as dull as fucking sounds but crisper, more satisfying.  Like Cool Ranch Doritos.  Now I’m not talking about making love or even having sex.  I’m talking about intense hardcore fucking.  And unlike fucking or Doritos, the clean up is completely different.  Yeah, you may bust your knuckles and jam up your wrist, but there’s no crumbs and you don’t have to tell anyone that “this has never happened before.”


Also, ladies; if he ever says that he’s a fucking liar.  It happens to everyone; some more than others.  Me?  Almost every time.


His tirade continues, it’s incessant at this point.  I don’t think he even stopped to breathe. He kept accusing me of trying to get more money out of him and talked about filing a complaint to get his money back.  But all good things must come to an end and this was about to go from good to great.  Once he realized that his rant isn’t affecting me he started pushing against my seat And then the threats started.  I was no longer silent.  I don’t respond well to threats.  I respond sarcastically.


Him: “Wait till we stop, me and you’s gonna have words.”


Me: “What kind of words?  Helmet?  Toothbrush?  My safe word is ‘pineapple’ if anyone’s curious.  And don’t you mean that ‘you and I are going to have words’ not ‘me and you’?”


Him: “The fuck did you just say to me?”


Me: “I corrected your grammar. If you going to make threats, at least have the civility to do it properly. It’s just good manners.”


Him: “Just wait till we get out of the car, I’m gonna teach you some manners, little bitch.”


Me:“Does that mean you’re going to make me dinner and tell me to keep my elbows off the table and not to chew with my mouth open?  That’s what my momused to do.”


Him: “I wouldn’t let your pussy ass in my house.”


Me: “Afraid you might enjoy it?”


Him: “I’m going to fuck you up asshole.”


Me: “Fuck me up the asshole? See, I told you you would like it.”


The back and forth continued for a while and I was in rare form. I tried my best to turn around everything he said just to aggravate him. It made me smile.  Although I was very careful not to make threats.  


This bag of dicks in my back seat spouted off a few more insults and a few homophobic remarks that backfired on him.  He then went back to talking about how I had no education and couldn’t get a real job. I let him have his little fun. I wasn’t engaging in a battle of wits by defending myself; that’s no way to win.  I just bided my time until either he fucked up and said something stupid again, or we made it to the destination.  Luckily for everyone involved, and after a fifteen-minute abusive rant, we pulled into the neighborhood.  He stopped me as soon as we entered the neighborhood and said that they would walk the rest of the way.  I was okay with that.  He probably didn’t want me to know where he lived and come burn his house down later or fuck his wife. Or both, possibly at the same time. To this day, still tempting.


I stopped the car and they filed out silently.  I started to think that this nightmare was over.  My patience had been tested beyond belief and I’m honestly surprised I held out.  I’ve snapped over less.  Then it happened.  Three swift taps on glass.  This mother fucker was knocking on my window.  I looked over to see this drunken idiot saying “Get out, asshole” then pushing hard against my door.  The first thought that entered my head was “I’m about to get my first assault charge.” Took me long enough.  But, alas, a cooler heads was tring to prevail.  I put the car in gear and looked around to make sure I was clear.  I fully intended to just safely drive away and go on about my night.  Then cockbag decided to kick my door.  I don’t know how but the car went into neutral and the e-brake went up.


Let me stop here and give a little more perspective. This man was inebriated, complete with stumbling and slurring.  He had a substantial beer belly and only stood about 5’4”-5’6’’.  He was probably in his mid-to-late 40′ and was looking for a fight.  I, on the other hand, am now where near impressive or intimidating.  But I was about 15 years younger than him and pumped full of Red Bull.  I was awake, alert, focused, sober and pissed to high Hell.  When I stepped out of the car, it dawned on him that I wasn’t exactly a small guy either.  I was about a quarter-inch shy of six foot, weighed about 210 lbs and was in his face quickly.  As he strained his neck to look up to me he stumbled backward; but didn’t make a move. I didn’t need to say anything.  I didn’t need to do anything.  I just stood there and stared at him.  I didn’t even have my fists clinched.  If he tried anything I had already had it in my head that I was going to slap him.  If a respectable man was trying to fight me, he’d get the fist.  But if you’re acting like a little punk, you don’t deserve it.  Although part of me did feel that a throat-punch was in order.


His wife yelled something at him, but I didn’t really hear it.  Everything else was zoned out. He began to nod his head and stepped back.


Him: “You’re lucky she’s here.”


It was such a fucking cop-out.  But then, I couldn’t help it. I felt it coming from deep inside me like a storm forcing it’s way to the surface and I could not contain it.  I laughed right in this punkass’s stupid round face like a fucking maniac. To this day, I can think of no better insult, no better response to a threat, or no deeper cut then having someone give your threats and your persona zero validation by laughing in your fucking face.


He walked away and I got back in my car; still laughing to myself as I faded into the night. I got a couple of short rides in the area and ended up getting stuck there for a while.  I immediately hated this city, that pygmy twatstain ruined it for me.  I have had a bad taste in my mouth with it because of him and have avoided it ever since.  I was starting to get aggravated because I couldn’t get back to the big city before closing time so I can make some real money. My night in this area didn’t end on a completely sour note, though.  I ended being pulled over by a rather attractive officer of the law.  But you already know that.  Seriously, I would have tongue-punched her fart box and shown her the meaning of the word “disappointed.”


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