My chick works at a bar in NE Portland on the weekends. It's a mixed crowd in there, plenty of young blacks, old whites, not your stereotypical "rough joint", but I'm always surprised there's not more static than there is. The different groups do a pretty good job of ignoring each other.
I've been coming there after work and staying an hour or two until closing time to walk my chick out to her car for awhile now. There were a group of Tongans who used to like to get drunk and tell her how pretty she is, leer at her, and try to grab her ass every time she walked by. I talked to these guys like gentlemen and it immediately stopped. They don't come in anymore. No hard feelings there.
A few weeks ago, I showed up at my appointed time, and was told of a new situation.
"Hey babe. You see that white guy over there in the corner? The last couple weeks I've been getting weird notes in my jar, like, I love you, you're hot, and tonight I finally saw who's been doing it. Here's the note he left me tonight."
She handed me a karaoke request slip that had been scrawled on with pencil. I WANT TO FUCK YOU LIKE A DIRTY WHORE, it read.
"No law against that," I tell her. "I'll watch the dude, just keep away from me for the rest of the night." She gets it.
He looked like some kind of blue collar type, about six foot and maybe two-twenty. Wearing tight jeans that looked like they were made for women, and a tight grey v-neck shirt. New white nikes. I watched the dude, and he did seem a little bit off. There was something about him I didn't like.
Just before closing time, I walk out of the bar a few minutes ahead of my chick. I head over to her very distinctive old car, which is parked next to some tall bushes.
Guess who's hiding in the bushes next to her car? I surprise him, "Hey buddy! How's it going? Whatcha doin' in them bushes?" He looked like a deer in headlights.
"Oh, I'm uh, um, uh........"
"Come on man! Don't leave a motherfucker hangin'! I'm dying of curiousity here!" I'm smiling wide, and acting like a friendly gameshow host.
He thought for a long second, and then managed to say, "I'm looking for my car."
I've already sized the guy up. He ain't wearing a gun on him. He might have a knife, but it would have to be a folding knife. In that case, he just brought a knife to batting practice.
"Looking for your car in the bushes? What kind of car you got, friend?" I inquire.
"Please don't kill me. I'm a card carrying pussy. Here, I'll show you..." and he begins fumbling for his wallet. This creep must actually have a card saying he's a pussy. I realize that I'm probably not the first concerned male to corner him like this.
"I don't wanna see your fuckin' card," I say, and snatch his wallet out of his hands. I find his driver's license and union card. "Sheet metal local 16, huh?" I throw his wallet at him somewhat gently. At this point we both know what's going on here. He just got caught plotting his next rape, and I interrupted him. He desperately wants a resolution here, but I'm more than happy to keep the charade going.
"So, what kind of car did you say you had?" I once again ask.
"It's....... I can't remember, oh wait. I think I parked up the street...".
I'm not letting this short-eyed fuck walk away. I put my arm around his shoulder, like I'm his palzy-walzy, and turn him back around. Right about this time, my chick caught up to us. She'd been listening from a ways back.
"You don't have to kick his ass, Tony. He's obviously scared. Let him go, let's leave." Don't ya just love women? She's looking out for me, just like I'm looking out for her.
"Ya. You don't have to kick my ass. I'm already scared." This guy is a snake in the grass.
"Honey! I'm trying to help this man. I think he may have suffered a head injury. Or maybe even a stroke! He can't remember where he parked, or even what kind of car he has! He needs my help!"
My chick is tired of my little game here, and walks up to the guy and asks for his keys. He gives them up reluctantly, and she presses the key fob,
"BEEP-BEEP"
What do you know? Brand new white Mazda.
"Look here, my friend! Your car was parked 10 feet from the front door all this time! I bet you feel silly, huh?"
He's waiting for my permission to leave. Good boy. I leaned in, with my arm still around his shoulder, and whispered to him, "You got off lucky tonight," right before I tightened up on his neck and bloodied his nose with a short right.
"Shhhh. No need to make a scene, right friend?" He nods, still being my submissive little buddy. He knows there's a lot more where that came from.
I release him, and wait for him to get in his car and drive away. He knows he got lucky.
If I didn't already know there were no security cameras outside, and wasn't confidant that I'd have three witnesses saying I never touched the dude, I wouldn't have hit him like that.
You see, unfortunately for the men of this state, measure 11 means strict mandatory minimums for any kind of violence. Even defending yourself, if you leave a mark on someone, your ass is doing hard time. There's men in Oregon doing 20 years in prison for one punch thrown in self defense.
My cousin is also in the sheet metal local 16, and promised he would tell everyone he knows on the job about this piece of shit.
The strategy of acting pathetic and weak has probably served this person well. Living in such a weak and feeble city, most of his would be assailants were probably all too happy to just walk away looking like a tough guy in front of their woman. I have no doubt, that had he found my woman alone, the weak and passive mask he wore would have quickly disappeared to reveal the angry sociopath beneath it.
link › jameslafond.blogspot.com
Masculine Axis: A Meditation on Manhood and Heroism
I see Oregon is # 7 on the Liberal Top Ten.
Does Oregon's code require than defense be proportionate to the offense, or is it more restrictive?
Judges have no leeway in sentencing. Self defense means nothing, you're expected to run away. Second degree assault is an automatic 6 years, no time off for good behavior, no parole. By the time I moved here, I was done being a criminal, so I don't know all the ins and outs of measure 11. I do know that Washington is a "mutual combat" state, if two people are fighting, it's just a fight. In Oregon if you move someone like 3 feet against their will, it becomes second degree kidnapping, and that's 6 years too.
Wow! That's shocking.