Things That Could Only Happen To Me-The Slap Heard Around My Left Cheek

Last night, my dears, was a momentous occasion in my young life.  It was my first official bar/slap fight.  Let me set the scene.  We were in Ryan's Irish Pub, a fine little Irish pub with good burgers and cold Guinness on 2nd ave (the place is not but 20 feet from my door). It was probably 2:30am and we had settled into the tables along one wall.  There I was, surrounded by friends, sisters of friends and Todd,  when out of nowhere I feel someone hug me from behind.  I was confused.  Everyone I came with was at the table.  I was even more confused when I turned around and it was just some dude. He started mumbling something about my shirt and how he's from Dawwchesta.  We have a little chat about the Sox, ya know nothing confrontational.  Next thing I know, I feel a nudge on my shoulder then BOOM, a full fledged, glasses launching, slap across my face.  


Listen, I get it. It was a long time coming.  I'm sure there's been people in ever phase of my life that have wanted nothing more than to come over to the bar table I'm sitting at, hug me, then slap me across the face.  Its a natural reaction to my small stature and colored hats.  If, in a court of law, this guy's lawyer said "Judge Judy, he was SITTING and had a purple hat ON HIS HEAD", I bet Judge Judy leaves the bench and slaps me too.  But I digress. Back to the action.


What happened next was pretty great.  My co-contributors, the CONTRIBUTOR and James (name to come later) were standing and ready to pounce faster than the rat king on a garbage pile. Lets just say that this dude was lucky that 37% blog didn't wear our formal wear to the bar last night because this guy would have had a spiked helmet to the chest.  

37% Blog's Formal Wear

While I was looking for my glasses (that's right, instead of getting in this dude's face, I decided to go under the table), this dude's friend came over to defuse the situation.  He told James and the CONTRIBUTOR to back off because "I'm from Brooklyn".  Does this mean anything anymore?  Last I checked most the white kids who hang out on 2nd ave. and live in Brooklyn are wannabe hipster doofuses.  James  basically said "thats cool, I live someplace too" and showed that he had 6 inches on the kid.  Long story short, they backed down and bought me a beer, recognizing that the some dude was a moron.

What happens in one's head to go from a civil (and admittedly intoxicated) conversation to slapping a tiny, potentially malnourished kid across the face.  Should I be mad that my first bar fight was me getting slapped across the face then worrying about my glasses?  Let me answer that question.  I'm not mad.  If it had somehow happened any other way it just wouldn't have been right.  Only I, That Small One, would get slapped at a bar for no reason.  Only I, That Small One, would react by diving under the table.  Only I, That Small One, would immediately not really care and just ask for a beer.  It was exactly what it should have been.  Thanks, Universe.  But still, that dude is lucky it wasn't formal night. 

Yours, 

That Small One