Guns, Video Games, and Soiled Underwear
by: Sam Ross

Not long ago, I was out at an arcade with two of my buds and my baby bro (a little alliteration for the literary learners). We were having fun spending copious amounts of quarters on mostly outdated some innovative all overpriced games when a rather disturbing event took place. My brother, Harry, was rather foolishly carrying around in plain sight a zip-lock bag full of coins and one or two bills.

An 18ish looking woman approached my brother and asked to borrow some cash. Harry, taken by surprise, looked to my friend Tommy for assistance. Tommy said just say no. Harry just said no. The woman just said she had a handgun in her back pocket and that she’d shoot Harry if he didn’t give her a few quarters.

Harry and Tommy wisely evacuated themselves from the situation and found me and Tone on the other side of the arcade. After a quick rundown of the events, a consensus was reached that we should leave the arcade immediately.

On the way to the door, we noticed that the woman was following us, and that she was flanked by two bearded men who could’ve passed for pro-wrestlers. Shit.

Once we exited the arcade, the four of us silently formed a line and began walking quickly towards our vehicles parked on the far side of the lot. Ten meters from the exit, Tone looked over his shoulder. They were still following us. Looking as nonchalant as possible, I reached into my pocket and opened up my pocketknife. I could hear her footsteps on the pavement getting closer.

Panicked, I tried to think of what James Bond would do in this situation. He would seduce the crazy bitch and then sell her out to the Communists. I realized I needed a better plan than that. The footsteps were getting closer. Okayokayokay.

As soon as things start, I thought, I’ll take down the smaller guy with the knife and then wrestle the woman for the gun, which I was certain she had trained on the back of my head at this point.

A second after I hatched that scheme I realized that there was no way in Hell that it would work and I would more likely trip and impale myself on my own blade before the fighting actually started. The footsteps started running. She was running. She was running at us. I silently thanked God that I had used the restroom not seven minutes ago.

I looked at the car 30 meters away. I listened to the footsteps. We were not going to make it. I am going to die, I thought. She was two seconds away from us. The footsteps got louder and louder and louder and... passed ten feet away us on the left. She passed us by and ran towards a parked car. Her car. She was going to run us down like dogs.

But she didn’t. Instead she stood by the passenger’s side door and turned back to look at her friends impatiently. This was not her car. She was running to her friend’s car because she wanted to ride in the front seat. That diabolical bitch. Slowly it dawned on me that I was going to live.

I realized that I would go on to see another day. I would continue to see sunsets and drink milk indefinitely. I hadn’t breathed in five minutes. I finished walking to Tommy’s car, taking deep breaths regularly on the way. There, everyone let out a sigh of relief and got into it to drive home once again.

E-Mail Me!!! sam@djcopydog.com

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