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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1591387-Tolerance
Rated: 18+ · Non-fiction · Experience · #1591387
Tolerance. I have none. Especially when it involves a man abusing a woman. I stepped in...
Tolerance

Tolerance. I have none. Especially when it comes to a man abusing a woman. Standing up for something you believe in says a lot about you, your character and personality. My own tolerance was tried and tested during an unpleasant incident I encountered some years ago.

I had a long, hard day at work. Building a medical facility with a carpenter crew that did their own thing instead of mine was trying. I was the superintendent, but nobody seemed to care that day. After many “discussions” and squabbles with the carpenter foreman, I welcomed the day's end. When it came to a close I stopped at a local Bar and Grille to have a couple of beers and relax.

It was just after 7pm, I found a string of vacant seats at the bar and plopped myself down. After ordering the first tall one the place started getting crowded with Friday night regulars, and irregulars.

An attractive woman came in and took the seat next to me. She was probably in her early thirties, had long auburn hair tied back into a pony tail that reached midway down her back, and her sweet perfume permeated the air around me. A dark skirt, white blouse with the top two buttons open showing just enough cleavage to make your mind wander, and high heels made her a sight that turned heads when she walked in and sat down. I felt so lucky to have her sit next to me because that just never happens. She was there to meet her date but arrived about an hour early to have a little time to relax. She ordered her drink and we began to engage in small talk as most people do when they first meet, but soon it turned into some meaningful conversation about life itself. We exchanged some life stories, but mostly I listened because that’s what I do best. People have told me I should have been a therapist because I listen so well and just let people talk about anything they want.

About half an hour passed when a gentleman, I thought, took the seat on the other side of her. He looked like the businessman type, well dressed in a dark sport jacket, knit turtleneck with gold chains hanging around his neck and fairly clean cut with what appeared to be a two-day beard growth, trimmed evenly. He ordered his drink and then tried to engage in a little conversation with her, but she really wanted nothing to do with him. She and I were still talking about something, and she didn’t want to be interrupted. He kept trying to break into our conversation by asking her name, what was she drinking, does she come here often, you know, the usual pickup stuff. She persistently ignored him and rolled her eyes several times at me, showing her disgust at his actions.

After many attempts to get her attention and failing, I found myself watching him more than watching her, being amused at his attempts but also fearing he might say something awful to her and create an embarrassing situation.

My fear suddenly came true.

His next move was grabbing her shoulder and turning her his way so she would look at him. She angrily said, “Don’t pull on me, I’m talking here.”

A few moments later he stroked her hair to get her attention. She slapped his hand away and yelled, “Don’t touch me!”

I said calmly, but forcefully to him, “Hey pal, she and I are talking here so don‘t interrupt.”

Instantly he grabbed her firmly by her pony tail, jerking and twisting her head to his face and saying, “Hey bitch, I’m talking to you!”

I immediately jumped off my seat and stepped in between him and her, pulling his arm away and saying, “Hey, she obviously doesn’t want to talk to you, okay? I think you need to mind your own business.”

Instantly, without saying a word, he backhanded me in the face and his ring sliced my upper cheek. My head threw back, feet still planted, and I looked at him with shock on my face, until I felt the blood start to trickle down my cheek. I suppose it was just reaction, but the look on his face of taunting me pushed me over the edge. Without even thinking I hit him with an open-handed uppercut to the bottom of his jaw, and to my surprise it was lights out. He didn’t even flinch, just fell backwards off the stool to the floor, unconscious. He laid there a few seconds before coming to and Security immediately scuffled in and escorted him out the door.

The bartender looked at me and said, “I’ve been waiting for someone to do that for a long time. The beer’s on me, pal.”

I got a bit of a cheer from the local people sitting nearby, apparently this guy has been a regular jerk for quite some time.

Five minutes later the woman’s date arrived, she thanked me, hugged me, and away they went. Her date was wondering what the heck was going on, I’m sure she explained everything.

Yes, tolerance. I had none that night.






Word count - 868
© Copyright 2009 J. Allen Trick (blucyote at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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