One night, out in the parking lot of a shitty club, my friends and I were enjoying a car bar pre-game. It began like any night that ends with a knifing in that we chose a shitty club to hang out in and were drinking. You don’t always need both these conditions but together they make most scenarios a perfect storm of stupid.
As we drank we saw a gang of teens get in a scuffle, heard the sound of broken glass and then watched the group scatter but for a few individuals. One looked really distressed and as he lifted his shirt it was clear he’d been cut with a broken bottle. The cuts didn’t seem more than superficial but our hero started to freak out and was going into shock. Him and his buddies piled into a car and sped off to a hospital that was mercifully less than two blocks away.
Nobody even saw the bottle coming. It started with a fist fight that I personally would have won hands down outnumbered by these scrubs. But it escalated when an otherwise innocuous bottle turned into an edged weapon. It also happened in 30 seconds. And suddenly it was a situation that I personally would have left bleeding, just like our hero.
As if that wasn’t enough, out of the shadows appeared the “Incredulous Hulk” as a I call him. An infamous local tow truck operator with a chip on his shoulder and a skull that pre-dates cro magnon man. Oh, he was wearing a pink shirt. Out of his pocket came a knife. I switchblade. As I understand it, switchblades are issued at birth to cunts. They’ve always got them.
He held the blade against his leg and basically threatened to cut us if we didn’t tell him who started the fight. My friends were tripping hard and just smiling through a booze and drug addled fog at this giant, pink shirted turd. I realised I was singled out as the most sober by him. This guy was easily twice my weight. I very quickly presented the most nonthreatening posture I could, showed the man-mountain my empty hands and straight up told him that he was in control of this situation and that I couldn’t help him. I also asked if he knew the group of teens. He didn’t. He pretty much just wanted to stab someone, even if it was me. I made it clear to him that I didn’t know them either, that the fight ended quickly and that everyone ran. I also told him where the hospital was but warned him that I knew there were police at that hospital all the time (I wanted to give him something, seem like I was helping but also make him think twice about actually going there). Slowly, I became an unappetizing meal for this guy. He was expecting a hamburger and I gave him tofu and rice. Almost annoyed that he wasn’t able to end a life, he stormed off.
This cluster fuck of a night left me with some very valuable lessons that I earned at little cost… luckily:
Fights break out around you. Don’t get involved.
You can inadvertently become embroiled in someone else’s fight. Get the fuck out of it rick fucken tick.
Anything sharp, that can be held is a weapon.
Try not to be drunk or high in unsafe areas.
This started as a scrap, and ended with a call to a hospital and immediately, another knife point encounter. Shit ESCALATES!
You need to be absolutely certain of victory before you engage an assailant that is armed. Even if you are armed yourself. If you cannot 100% guarantee this then you need to avoid the conflict at all costs.
Now, OP, I’m sorry I babbled like this. But my anecdote taught me in less than 15 minutes outside a shitty club in a shitty town something that people have been trying to learn from Martial Arts and Self Defence for centuries. The best way to avoid the scenario I experienced was to sit down with my mates and say, “Guys, 54 is a shite club. Every time we go there we see shit. Let’s go to a nice bar that doesn’t need a bouncer where the girls are classy and much hotter. We can get proper smashed and then catch a cab home.”
Nonetheless I advocate training. But common sense and awareness trump my physical ability to defend myself and has to this day saved me from situations I don’t even know I avoided. Here ends my sermon.
P.S: I have a funny story about our pink-shirted shaved gorilla receiving some instant Karma later that evening. It’s another anecdote about how being armed doesn’t necessarily mean automatic glory in battle.