I took a green apron from Santa’s workshop and walked toward the shooting range.
My home for the next 8 hours.
Children shot darts at paper ducks, occasionally flipping the ducks backwards.
Mostly not.
I helped preschoolers pull back strings on bows: “hold the arrow like this.”
Every few minutes, I held up my hands to stop the assault, then knelt down to pick up foam arrows and darts.
A couple of 15-year-old boys stopped by to play. They wore cowboy boots and called me ma’am.
A man in jeans, a t’shirt and a Carhartt jacket joined them. He brought his daughter.
I think she was 6.
“I about died the other night,” he told the boys.
He turned his head to reveal baseball stitches along his neck.
(A very large baseball, like a 6-year-old might use.)
The boys stared.
I looked for a chair.
The girl watched the carousel behind us.
“I got into a fight at a bar. This guy started talkin and so I started fightin, then his girlfriend – no, his sister – came up behind me with a knife,” he explained.
Good sister.
“Half a centimeter deeper and he woulda hit my carotid artery and I’d a bled to death in seven seconds.”
“Whoa!” the boys said in unison.
“She got $100,000 bond, assault with a deadly weapon,” he added.
“Assault! It should’ve been attempted manslaughter,” one boy said.
“I’m glad you’re okay!” the second boy added.
I picked up arrows. Silently.
The man mentioned the bar.
“I don’t like that place – my dad got into a fight there ’cause three people tried to jump him,” the second boy said.
(The chances.)
“No! It’s good! I know the guy that owns it,” the man said proudly.
“Why’d you try to start a fight?” I asked.
He finally noticed me.
“He was talkin bout my Tap Out shirt,” he said.
January 18, 2012
Posted by maryontherun |
Uncategorized | bar fight, elf, seasonal work, tap out |
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