This week in Synthesis the editorial content is heavily focused around Chico’s drinking problem. Coincidentally, it was this same week that I experienced, for the first time in my life, getting punched in the face by a drunken buffoon.

It all started as a normal Wednesday evening. After a short workout at Chico Sports Club, I returned home to clean my house in anticipation of a friend coming over for some dinner. We watched the second half of Endless Summer 2 followed by the Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror special I had taped on that same VHS back in 1997. After a few beers, I found the old school commercials to be especially enjoyable.

My friend and I eventually made our way down the street through the frigid cold to the best place to dance on a Wednesday night, Duffy’s Tavern. At approximately 1:30AM, a large man announced that it was time to leave. As we joined the crowd of people chatting outside, two men came stumbling towards us from the direction of the central plaza. One of them made their presence known by shoving a tall man flat onto his back…

Now it’s been awhile since I’ve been in a consistent gym routine, but in the past I’ve noticed a mild but distinct difference in my behavior when it comes to confrontation. It feels like I become slightly less of a Jerry Seinfeld and a bit more of a Larry David, if you catch my drift. Upon witnessing the initial act of violence I said something like, “Whoaaaaaa, man.” The attacker’s accomplice quickly made his way towards me asking, “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”derp

I flashed back in time to a similar encounter that happened years ago over a game of billiards when my opponent threatened to “make me kiss the cue ball” following a match. Thanks to alcohol, my natural reaction was to look him in the eye and say, “I really don’t think you will.” I managed to get myself out of that situation only having to temporarily endure a headlock before the commotion was broken up by the bar staff.

Upon returning to my present mind frame, I addressed the brute’s inquiry with the most clever response I could muster, “What are YOU gonna do about it?” Socrates, eat your heart out. Before I had the chance to mentally congratulate myself on a job well done, I noticed the man winding up. It’s possible I might have slightly dodged his blow, because although there was definite knucks-to-cheek contact, I didn’t really feel like it hurt all that bad. It’s also entirely possible this guy just hits like a wimp. Either way, the Duffy’s staff did a great job of detaining these guys and sending them packing. And I got a sweet column out of it!


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