Taking Lumps

Taking Lumps
By Billy Mau


The announcer introduces my opponent and I start to think that this is not the best idea that I’ve had. He’s a regular at these amateur fight nights, most likely just to get a free sparring partner. I’ve seen him fight a few times, this little Hispanic ass-kicking machine. He should be pro by now. He should be fighting for the lightweight title or something. He definitely shouldn’t be here. The trunks, the shorts, this guy is dressed the part. Even if I didn’t know who he was, the outfit would already have me psyched out.

The announcer is introducing me now. How do I look to these people? I’m wearing a pair of khakis and no shirt which shows off my pale, concaved chest to all. They probably see me just as I do: a human punching bag on the verge of pissing his pants. Whoever said, “Today is a good day to die” obviously didn’t expect it to really happen.

The bell rings. Time to put up the dukes and brace for a beating.
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Doug Braylan had a job this morning. It wasn’t a great job, but it was a steady paycheck. Doug worked at Ka-Bam clothing store in the mall. Even if you haven’t been to Ka-Bam you likely know the type of store. It’s the trendiest shop in the mall. The latest hip-hop and techno plays from open to close over the speakers. The place is decorated to double as a dance club. At least once an hour the laser lights fire up and the house lights lower in favor of black lights. It’s neat for the customers, but Doug wonders if it will cause him to have seizures later in life.

F.Y.I., I’m Doug Braylan.

I got to work early today, just as I have every day since I started working there six months ago. I was raised by the idea that if you weren’t five minutes early you were already five minutes late. I’m dressed in clothes from my Ka-Bam wardrobe, all bought on my 15% employee discount. Boss likes for all the employees to dress in Ka-Bam “gear” as he calls it. He says it shows the customer that we believe in what we sell. I never paid any attention to what a clothing store employee wore, but now I catch myself scanning the racks to see if the employee is supporting the product. It’s not that I really care what they wear so much as it is one of those annoying ideas that get stuck in the head. A friend of mine commented once that the wait staff at most restaurants always ask how your meal is when you have a mouthful of food. I noticed it once and now I catch it every time. It’s just like getting a song stuck in your head.

The Boss pulls me aside at the end of my shift.

“Doug, we need to have a talk about your sales technique.” He was using the counseling tone they teach in manager training.

“There’s a problem?” I asked. “I’ve been meeting the target sales every week,” I said, which was true.

“Well, Doug,” he said, “you just don’t have the Ka-Bam energy level in your approach. You just haven’t been showing enough enthusiasm in your greeting and you just let the customer roam around the store.”

“I just don’t want to run them off by making them uncomfortable,” I said.

“I understand, but that just isn’t the Ka-Bam way,” he said. “We guide the customer to the product. If people want to wander aimlessly through the racks they go to Wal-Mart. People shop at Ka-Bam for the clothes and the experience, which includes the energetic and friendly staff.”

Does he really believe what he is telling me?

“I’m sorry, Boss. I’ll work on it.”

The Boss sighed and started up in another tone they teach in manager’s training, the severance tone.

“That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about, Doug. I just hired a new guy. He’s got lots of energy, you know, a real go-getter,” said with a little fist pump to enforce the go-getter part. “But that puts us over staffing limit by one. Now I know that you put up good numbers, but you just don’t have the Ka-Bam spirit. I’ve got to let you go, Doug.”

“You’re firing me?” I figured that it had to be a motivational stunt to get me going. I’ve had perfect attendance. I picked up other peoples shifts when needed. Never once did I get written up nor had I ever been warned about anything and this guy is going to fire me on spot for not tackling the customers.

“I’m sorry, Doug. I wish that I could keep you both, but he has it and you just don’t. I tell you what,” he said, “you can keep your employee discount through tomorrow. Get a little shopping in. No hard feelings?”

He put out his hand. Like a tool, I took it and shook it.

“No, I guess not.”

I wanted to strangle him right there on the sales floor. Of course there was hard feelings. You don’t just fire someone without warning or reason. A voice in the back of my head was screaming, “If I weren’t such a pussy, I’d kick your ass!”
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I don’t feel the first punch. It was hard and solid, but too fast for my brain to register it. When I was twelve, I fell off the front porch of my grandmother’s house and hit my head on a windmill decoration in the flowerbed. I got up well enough and figured I was fine until my grandmother started yelling about how my head was bleeding. I touched the back of my head and my hand came back bloody. That’s when it started to hurt, and hurt bad. My head wasn’t any less cracked open before I knew about the blood, but my brain didn’t know enough of the situation to decide if it hurt or not.

That’s what that first punch was like. My brain knew something had just happened, but no frame of reference to decide if the punch hurt me. The second punch gave my brain all the information it needed. Yes, it hurt.
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Doug Braylan had a girlfriend this morning. She could be bossy and would get pretty apathetic at times about our relationship, but she was my girlfriend and that meant something. I called her when I got home from work, but her roommate said she was out. I left a message for her to call me when she got back.

I expected to sit around the house for the rest of the day waiting for her to call, as is the norm with Stacey. Either she keeps some weird hours or her roommate sucks with messages because I’m lucky if I get called back the same day. When I ask her why it takes so long for her to call me back she always says something to the effect of, “I had the craziest day.” This is my girlfriend, “Crazy Day” Stacey. Why do I put up with this? One, she’s my girlfriend, and, two, it's not like there’s a line of girls waiting to take her place.

Stacey calls me a few hours later, an incredibly quick turnaround for her. She’s calling me back so soon because she has something to say.

“Doug, I have something I need to say.”

See, I told you.

“What is it, babe?” I asked.

“It's a hard thing for me to say,” she said, “but I think we should see other people.”

I pay almost $60 a month for phone service and just look at what it’s buying me.

“Are you breaking up with me?” This made no sense. Stacey could cheat on me (and probably was) and I still wouldn’t break up with her.

“Breaking up is such a harsh way to say it,” she said. “I just think we need some time apart.”

“That’s the same thing,” I told her, “and you’re doing it over the phone.” Screw you Alexander Graham Bell.

“I know it looks bad, but I just couldn’t do it in person.”

I could see her there, in her room, dolled up in Ka-Bam clothes bought for her on my employee discount.

“You’re a really nice guy, Doug,” she said, “but you’re just too nice. You treat me nice, even when I don’t deserve it. You just let me walk all over you too much.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” I said. A good line and mostly true. I let her walk all over me because I figured she’d break up with me if I didn’t.

“What I really want is someone with the balls to tell me ‘no’ sometimes,” she said. Now I have no balls. I’m supposed to hear this from my friends, not her.

“I met this guy,” she continued. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I couldn’t figure out how. It’s just that he’s strong and exciting and he takes chances, Doug. I like you both, but he’s just more my type.”

Funny, I feel like I’ve already had this conversation once today.

“I don’t suppose he just started working at Ka-Bam?” I asked under my breath.

“What?” she asked. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”
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I’ve backed him up on the ropes, remembering what Skez told me before the fight. “Work the body.” This one’s for Boss. This one’s for the employee discount. This one’s for Stacey. This one’s for the asshole that took my job and the one that took my girl. Maybe they’re the same person. Maybe they’re you. I just wish I were doing some damage here. He’s letting me hit him; letting me get some confidence. He’s letting me hit him so my friends can talk about the time I put a real boxer on the ropes. This doesn’t hurt him. It probably tickles. He’ll give me a few more seconds of glory before laying my ass out.
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Doug Braylan has some friends. Skez is Doug’s best friend, the others are just guys to hang out with.

Skez called just after I got off the phone with Stacey. He told me that I had to get out of the house and hang out with the guys tonight. He called this “suicide watch” and was not going to take no for an answer.

“No way, man,” he said while raiding my fridge for something to drink, “you have to go out tonight. You need some fun.”

“No, Skez,” I said. “What I need is a job.”

“You aren’t going to get one tonight, bro,” he pointed out as he opened my last soda, “so you’re going out to the Aztec tonight and watching the fights. It’ll be fun.”

Fight night was a weekly ritual for Skez. He’d get in the ring and fight off the frustration from the week that was. I’d go from time to time, not to watch Skez, but to watch the guys with no business in a boxing ring take their lumps. It’s brutal, but usually good for a laugh.

“I don’t have a choice in this, do I?”

“Nope,” Skez said and finished the soda with three huge gulps. “Now go make yourself presentable.”

I told Skez more about my abrupt firing as we drove to the club.

“He really said you could keep the discount until tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Some kind of friendly gesture I guess.”

“Shit,” Skez said with a devilish grin, “we’re going shopping tomorrow. We’ll get Lenny and Eric and see if we can’t do some damage with that 15% discount.”

Lenny and Eric were waiting for us in the Aztec’s parking lot. The Aztec is a theme club that focuses on what the Aztec culture would look like if it had neon technology, laser lights, and a mirror ball. Fight Night was their version of human sacrifice and, given some of the fights I had seen, that wasn’t far off the mark.

Skez went to sign himself up for the fights as Lenny, Eric, and I got one of the small tables that line the walls of the club. Lenny asked why I looked so down, so I told him and Eric the tale of my day.

“That sucks, dude,” Lenny said laughing. He was actually laughing.

“I fail to see the humor in it, Lenny,” I said.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I just can’t believe it happened in one day. That’s just shitty luck.”

Skez came back to the table with drinks.

“Cut him some slack. He’s had a bad enough day,” Skez said to my hecklers. “We’re supposed to be cheering him up.”

“There is a lesson to be learned from this day,” Eric said.

“And what is that?” I asked.

“The lesson is,” Eric said, “that you have to quit being such a pushover. You stand up for yourself more, take some chances, live a little. Dammit, man, you need to act like you have a pair.”

That is twice today that someone has implied that I have no testicles.

“I’m not a pushover,” I said. A lie. I am a pushover.

“Oh really, Doug,” Lenny said. “Why are you here tonight.”

“To watch the fights.”

“Wrong!” Lenny blurted. “You’re here because Skez told you to be here. If Skez hadn’t dragged your ass out here you’d still be at home, moping around and crying. You’re a good guy, you just need to put up a fight sometimes.”

Enough already. Screw Lenny, screw Eric, screw Skez, screw the Boss, screw Stacey, and screw me. The people have spoken and I shall give them what they want. I stood up and turned around.

“Where are you going?” Eric asked me.

“You guys want me to stand up and put up a fight, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m going to fight tonight.”

“No way, Doug,” Skez said trying to stop me, “you’ll get yourself killed in there.”

“Probably,” I said and made my way to the registration table.
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How long have I been lying here? A few seconds? A few minutes? All night? My vision is too blurred to tell who the people around me are, but they’re loudly asking me questions and giving me wake up slaps on my face. Both my pounding headache and I wish they would stop.

I collect my wits a bit and realize that the people around me are Skez, a paramedic, and the guy I had been fighting. The boxer is apologizing to me, the paramedic is asking me if I know where I am, and Skez is telling me that he told me so.

“One at a time, please,” I say, trying to get them to speak in turn. The looks on their faces tell me that they were speaking one at a time already. So this is a concussion.

The paramedic snaps some smelling salts under my nose, which brings me back to reality. He tells Skez that the lights and music aren’t good for my headache and that I should see a doctor if the headache doesn’t go away in a couple of days.

Skez gives me an account of the fight as we drive home.

“You had him on the ropes there for a second,” he said. “You were wailing away with the body shots, but then you popped him one on the side of his head with a pretty good right. Must have pissed him off because that’s when he snapped and cold-cocked your ass. I’m getting a tape of the fight from a friend that works there. Maybe when your head stops hurting you can watch it.”

Maybe so. My head hurts like hell right now, though. My vision is still blurry and I want to throw up. I feel like shit, but I feel alive. Skez is telling me I should start working out with him. He says that if I train a bit I could hold my own in the ring.

We’ll see. Not tomorrow, though. No, tomorrow is a day of rest. I’ve taken my lumps, and now I need some BC Powder and about 20 hours of sleep.