The Bad Guy

Good advice for just about anyone.

Years ago I worked at a peep show that featured women dancing behind glass and video booths. Anyway, it was close to the end of the live show on a Saturday night and I was by myself at the front desk when a very large man walked in.

He was a Samoan man, at least 6′ tall and looked to be about 300 pounds, wearing a white “kung-fu pimp” shirt, black slacks, Elvis sunglasses and hairdo. He drunkenly bellowed “Where the live women at?”

“Go inside. The red doors are live shows, they work on quarters or bills. Enjoy.”

The man stumbled into a booth, dropped a quarter and took a gander at the show. I was about to get on the PA to ask him to close the door while he did so, but he exited the booth and started stalking the floor in a circle like he was at a hardcore show, spinning like a top, and then stopped to catch his breath.

He looked around, sweating buckets and headed back to the front desk…back to me. leaning on the desk, right across from me he started screaming like a baritone Bobcat Goldthwait:

“Fuck…This…Booth SHIT! I want to get touched!!!”

Looking straight at him, I extended my hand, lightly touched his, and pulled away. The man took off his sunglasses and stared me in the eye. His hand balled up into a fist and…

[OK, 999 out 1000 times I will flinch, duck for cover, or exhibit many of the other tell-tale signs of “scared shitless.” But at this moment I felt a great amount of resignation in my heart. The little voice in my head was telling me “You know, there is absolutely nothing you can do about this situation. You’ve lived a goo…scratch that, you work here. Anyway, you’ve lived long enough. Just accept this.” So I continued to stare right back, knowing that I had just brought about my own demise. I thought upon a story my dad told me about his uncle who was known around New York as “Broadway Al.” He was renown in his time for being a guy who could not hold his tongue…Somebody killed him. ]

…The man threw his fist straight at my face and stopped it just three inches from my nose. He held that fist at that exact location for a few seconds and then opened up his fist as if he was doing a magic trick, and pulled it away. But his eyes stayed fixed on mine. He then opened his mouth and gave me the advice that sticks in my brain to this very day:

“You SMILE when a Samoan says he loves you!”

And with that, the mountain of a man exited the peep show, never to be seen again.

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February 1, 2007 - Posted by | advice, bad jobs, death, peep shows, Work

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