Monday, July 13, 2009

The Cliques: Dragonball Deez

Alright, I've gotten back into the habit of posting these things on a semi-regular basis, and I see I've gotten more subscribers but less commenters, or at least less commenters that I haven't met in real life. Sigh. I really liked my last post, too.

Anyway, there was a small group of guys that played Dragonball Z. Dragonball Z was the game that guys should have been embarrassed about playing in middle/high school, versus the Yu-Gi-Oh, the game that you should be embarrassed about playing in elementary school and Magic: The Gathering, the game you should be embarrassed about playing as an adult.

There was a somewhat normal looking, quiet guy I'll call Vic, as in victim, more on that later.

There was a young African-American gentleman who would come in with his little, rambunctious brother I'll call Ten Cent, more on that later.

There was a redneck teen who was pretty good-humored that had such a heavy accent he once called "Mello-Yello" "Meller-Yeller". I never got tired of getting a kick out of that.

There was also a couple of brothers that looked like Jonathan Taylor Thomases.

These guys were pretty okay, they were old enough to stay out of my hair for the most part. That was until the apparently ambitious young hood Ten Cent put the smack down on Vic right there in the store.

I guess Ten Cent was sore that Vic wouldn't give him a ride or something, and one Saturday when I was leaning down to put something away, I heard what sounded like fabric rustling and rose to see Ten Cent punching away on Vic who was pretty much just sitting in a chair and taking it. After awaking from my stupor, I grabbed the phone and came out to tell Ten Cent to knock it off and get the Hell out or something. I should have been suspicious as Ten Cent came in earlier with a huge guy, presumably as back-up. They got out of Dodge and Vic called the cops who got a statement from me.

One thing that's weird is that Ten Cent was a normal guy. Sure, I nicknamed him in a demeaning fashion against a famous gangsta rapper as he was an aspiring young thug, I suppose, but he was normal. He didn't fit into any un-PC stereotypes involving cornrows, wifebeaters, or ink. Just a middle class guy.

What you have to worry about in this world is not the smart criminals, or criminally-inclined, but the dumb ones. "Duhhhh... let me settle my dispute violently, in public, and at an age where I could possibly be tried as an adult. With lots of witnesses against a guy who knows my name, address, and phone number."

Vic got a restraining order against Ten Cent, which included the shop. He never came in again, though, and oddly enough most of the group sided with Ten Cent, who also only came in once to see if he could still come in, which the owner reluctantly agreed. By that time though he was probably discovering pot and internet porn. So good riddance.

Oddly enough, I'm kinda more angry about it now than when it happened. When it happened, I just couldn't believe it was happening. Now, I realize that it was a violent, meaningless act (which I hate), and either an indirect or direct disrespect towards myself. What did he think I was going to do, just stand there and let him mete out suburban street justice? Now when I think back to it (not often) I wonder what he would have done if I had just come up from behind and nailed him with a steel chair, WWE-style. Even if he had his huge, future inmate #311420 assault me, I'd be throwing out lawsuits like nobody's business, and if that didn't pan out, hell, my friends are more numerous, older and with access to better weaponry than chairs.

I just hate violence and crime, is what I'm trying to say. Ironic considering I've got a huge interest in the mob. But at least that's largely between themselves, and not running up to random people and aiming a shotgun in their face. Must be all those accumulated super-hero stories infecting me with their morality.

Damn anime. Teaching kids to solve their problems through screaming, punching and blasts of force from their palms. Shit.

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