Just Another Fight Story...
It was silly to have found ourselves in the exact same situation yet again, I thought to myself as I wrapped my arm around his neck and began to squeeze. If he didn't learn last time then I wanted to make sure that this time he did.
He was familiar. We had gone through these motions before some time back and it only took me a split second to know exactly what we were all about to go through yet again. It wouldn't be fun, but I was much less anxious about it all this time around. I knew what we had to do and I quickly prepared myself mentally for what was in store for us both. He was drunk, uncoordinated and I had the advantage on him, being physically superior and sober. I planned to expedite the whole situation and got behind him much more quickly than I did last time. And so I tightened up and sunk in the choke.
Those were the last thoughts I had as I began to squeeze his neck and cut off his blood supply. I was choking him out. If I wanted to sound politically correct, I might say that I "began to apply a carotid restraint on the individual". But I'm not. In the end, it's all the fucking same. I choked him to the point where he lost consciousness because his brain wasn't getting any blood.
When someone fights me as I begin the process of getting them out of the bar, sometimes they fight so much and so hard that there's simply no other option than to simply put them to sleep. They've behaved so badly and violently that we can't trust them to make decisions on their own and so we assume their decision making for them.
So that's what happened. Only, he wasn't all the way out. Like I've mentioned before, my thought process goes blank and I get eerily silent when I'm caught up in the glorified wrestling matches known as bar fights with our customers. If you look in pictures or footage - which actually do exist - sometimes I have a smile on my face while I'm involved with these things. Granted, I'm not particularly happy to have found myself in precarious situations such as these, but perhaps there's some part of me that enjoys it. Who's to know?
And so out we went, with him waking up and kicking, screaming, swinging and fighting the entire time, just like a small child going into a temper tantrum who simply can't accept the fact that there are consequences for socially unacceptable behavior. Only, this wasn't a child. He was a mid-twenties 200+ lb. grown man who had drank so much alcohol that he tried to start a fight and found willing participants in the form of our floor staff.
Sadly, he was overcome by men who were too numerous, too experienced, sober and much larger than he was. It was a losing battle for him from the start. However, his blood alcohol content clouded his judgment and refused to let him realize and accept those things as fact, so he continued to fight us, continued to attempt to get the upper hand, and miserably failed in all areas.
As we deposited him in the gutter, leaving him with a few choice words as we parted, his fighting continued. He leaped to his feet, ready for another round with the guys who had already done their part by ejecting him from the bar. See, that's what people don't understand. Once we get you out of the door, we win. We've done our jobs. But customers measure the winner of a fight by who's standing at the end of it all. Our only job is to get you out of the door and then we're finished. We have different goals and that's why fights continue outside of the bar.
This one was no different. He was drunk, angry, and wanted to find someone who he could impose his will on, frustrated that he couldn't do so with us. Logic would tell a sober person that attempting to fight when you're outnumbered 5 to 1 is a bad idea. Drink enough alcohol and your logic goes out the window, and his had left the building several hours and a half dozen drinks before that.
So the fight continued. And at the end of the day, he went to jail and we went home.
He was familiar. We had gone through these motions before some time back and it only took me a split second to know exactly what we were all about to go through yet again. It wouldn't be fun, but I was much less anxious about it all this time around. I knew what we had to do and I quickly prepared myself mentally for what was in store for us both. He was drunk, uncoordinated and I had the advantage on him, being physically superior and sober. I planned to expedite the whole situation and got behind him much more quickly than I did last time. And so I tightened up and sunk in the choke.
Those were the last thoughts I had as I began to squeeze his neck and cut off his blood supply. I was choking him out. If I wanted to sound politically correct, I might say that I "began to apply a carotid restraint on the individual". But I'm not. In the end, it's all the fucking same. I choked him to the point where he lost consciousness because his brain wasn't getting any blood.
When someone fights me as I begin the process of getting them out of the bar, sometimes they fight so much and so hard that there's simply no other option than to simply put them to sleep. They've behaved so badly and violently that we can't trust them to make decisions on their own and so we assume their decision making for them.
So that's what happened. Only, he wasn't all the way out. Like I've mentioned before, my thought process goes blank and I get eerily silent when I'm caught up in the glorified wrestling matches known as bar fights with our customers. If you look in pictures or footage - which actually do exist - sometimes I have a smile on my face while I'm involved with these things. Granted, I'm not particularly happy to have found myself in precarious situations such as these, but perhaps there's some part of me that enjoys it. Who's to know?
And so out we went, with him waking up and kicking, screaming, swinging and fighting the entire time, just like a small child going into a temper tantrum who simply can't accept the fact that there are consequences for socially unacceptable behavior. Only, this wasn't a child. He was a mid-twenties 200+ lb. grown man who had drank so much alcohol that he tried to start a fight and found willing participants in the form of our floor staff.
Sadly, he was overcome by men who were too numerous, too experienced, sober and much larger than he was. It was a losing battle for him from the start. However, his blood alcohol content clouded his judgment and refused to let him realize and accept those things as fact, so he continued to fight us, continued to attempt to get the upper hand, and miserably failed in all areas.
As we deposited him in the gutter, leaving him with a few choice words as we parted, his fighting continued. He leaped to his feet, ready for another round with the guys who had already done their part by ejecting him from the bar. See, that's what people don't understand. Once we get you out of the door, we win. We've done our jobs. But customers measure the winner of a fight by who's standing at the end of it all. Our only job is to get you out of the door and then we're finished. We have different goals and that's why fights continue outside of the bar.
This one was no different. He was drunk, angry, and wanted to find someone who he could impose his will on, frustrated that he couldn't do so with us. Logic would tell a sober person that attempting to fight when you're outnumbered 5 to 1 is a bad idea. Drink enough alcohol and your logic goes out the window, and his had left the building several hours and a half dozen drinks before that.
So the fight continued. And at the end of the day, he went to jail and we went home.
posted by AthensDoorGuy @ 3:09 PM
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