Alright, here goes...
My friend had her 20th birthday about a year ago, so naturally we all went out to the club for drinks. Now I'm, more a bar type person, but it's her birthday and she prefers clubs so alas a club it is. Now, I work late, so I'm meeting them there after my shift. The advantage? I'm good friends with the barman, one of the waitresses, and both the doorman as I provided their hand to hand training earlier in the year.
The negative parts of this club, are there are A LOT of Indians who go there. Now, in Canada, our "Indian" is not like a Native Indian in the U.S. They are Indian like from INDIA kind of Indian. Not necessarily a bad thing per say, but picture them as the "Mexicans of Canada" if you will. All of these details are important don't worry...
So, I arrive at the club later into the evening, doorman recognizes me, we have a quick catch up and he waltzes me into the door. So naturally at this point, bypassing a large line and paying no cover, I'm already feeling pretty boss. So I get inside, see my friends, by a cold beer, and sit down. I notice the waitress I know, Carmen, isn't her usual bubbly self. So I go over to investigate.
Turns out her boyfriend had just dumped her and had been spreading rumors about what kind of whore she is, how she sleeps with anyone, etc. So I give her a hug, tell her to let me know if she needs anything, and invite her over to join us after shift if she wanted a drink. She thanks me, goes back to work. I polish off my beer, and head to the washroom. (Note: Washroom is Canadian for Bathroom)
As I stand there, doing my business at the urinal, some belligerently drunk Indian guy stumbles in. The usual "Fuck I'm drunk" laughing "How's your night" conversation ensues. This is normal in Canadian bars by the way. Piss-talk is very normal. Anyways, he starts asking if I knew the "Whore waitress in the red dress." Guess who that is? Yea, Carmen. So I tell him to lay off her, she's going through a rough patch, etc. I wasn't rude, nor aggressive, just stern. Remember now, I've only had ONE beer to his god knows how much. What does this guy do? He PUSHES me while I'm taking a piss.
I'm going to stop you here and give you a super brief history on my training. Taekwondo for 8 years, Kickboxing/Judo for 6, Boxing for 4, and Krav Maga for 3. I'm currently jumping through hoops to join the Canadian forces, and have signed on with our Special Forces. I don't like to brag, but I can handle myself very well. Now back to the washroom.
I stumble back a bit, pissing all over the guy in the process (Which I might add gave me even greater satisfaction.) The standard "What the fuck" and "Fuck you" commotion starts and I decide I need to teach this jackass a lesson. I grab him, he grabs me, we start the wrestling kinda match. Next thing I know, I have a real sharp pain in my hand. So I push him back against the wall and take a step back. My hand is SQUIRTING blood against the wall, and the fucker has a knife in his hand.
Now, I'm one beer down, he's hammered. I'm trained, he's too drunk for it to matter if he had any. Now, in my head, a fight is a fight. I'll take you man to man, drop you, shake your hand, and buy you a beer. Just how I was raised. You pull a weapon on me however, now it's neutralize the target, and the gentlemen part goes out the window. In my training, there are no rules.
So he decides to go on the drunken offensive, stumbling in a half lunge half sprint kind of motion trying to slash me. Bad idea. I take a few steps backwards, deliver one of the HARDEST front kicks I've ever dished out right into this guy's groin. Once he doubles over, I grab the back of his little turban/hair thingy and put his face promptly through the bathroom mirror and leave him semi-conscious in the sink. Hand still pumping blood by this point.
By this time, the doorman has come in, and is freaking out. I tell him about the knife, they throw the guy out the club and ask if I want to press charges. Seeing as the guy is picking mirror out of his face and most likely will be pissing blood for a week, I felt like being nice and declined. So I head to the bar for a drink, I feel I earned it. Barman freaks out, sure enough, there is a LINE trail of blood on the ground. Not drops, a LINE it's bleeding so fast.
Barman passes me a bottle of Jack, I pour it on the hand to cleanse it, then wrap is in a bar towel. Manager comes out, talks to me, and informs me that by keeping it on the "Down Low" and avoiding the police, I'm drinking on the house for the night. So, hand wrapped in a bloody towel, and with scotch in hand, I proceed to rejoin my friends table. The whole night was great, every girl in the club was all "What happened to your hand sweetie?" and I simply reeled in the one I felt would be the most fun in bed.
Nice scar left, good story, and she was pretty good too. Scotch was nice as well. One story down, 3 to go
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