“Pancake Ass!” I heard her yell. Was she talking to me? A French fry hit my forehead. Yea I guess she was. Those were fighting words. I was completely aware of my genetic misfortunes. Flat ass and Pollock nose are just a few of the attributes I have my father to thank for.
As a carried my lunch tray down the middle of our small cafeteria, I nearly tripped over my bully’s foot. “Loser bitch,” she yelled at me as I dodged another fry to the face. What was her problem? College sucked enough without having to endure daily harassment from a girl twice my size; I ignored her as usual and opted to eat outside. I picked at the mound of potatoes on my plate, the only food the cafeteria cooks didn’t poison with laxatives. I opted for a Malbro Mild instead.
My first year of college was a joke. In a last ditch attempt at making something of myself I went to a small branch campus. I told everyone I elected to go to a satellite school to avoid being just a social security number at a large well-known university but the truth is that bumfuckeygpt was the only school I could get in to with my stellar high school grades. You’d think my fathers’ clever bribe of five dollars for every A on my report card would have actually persuaded me to go to school. What he didn’t know was that the breakfast burritos at the Amish buffet 45 minutes from school were much more tempting.
I took a long drag of my cigarette and decided that I was done with this girl bullying me. I had gone an entire year enduring her cruel remarks and physical harassment. A few nights earlier we were at a house party when I went to grab my Hurricane I had stashed in the fridge. Coincidently, while I was distracted and booty-dropping on the kitchen table, my bully had poured my 40oz down the sink. First instinct was to do a running karate-kick to the side of her head, but quickly decided against that. There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen to get a running start… So I’d get my revenge when I was sober and after I picked up a pair of brass knuckles.
At this point you are probably thinking I am this misunderstood, self-righteous, bad-ass, but I’m unfortunately not. It just happens that I had come to this pivotal point in my life where I could either eat shit, not saying anything, transfer schools and never see this cunt again; or I could man-up, stand-up and smack a bitch. I picked the latter.
A week later, it was time to shine. School was coming to an end and I knew that if I wanted to make a name for myself I had to act fast. I dressed for combat in my oversized-sweats and black bubble vest- I required a wardrobe fit for agility. I decided I may need reinforcements so I brought the girls down the hall in our dorm room, a Puerto-Rican firecracker and 6 foot ex-Army soldier . We roll up to the bonfire, our usual weekend hangout, in a blue cavalier, Limp Bizkit blaring from the speakers. “It’s all about the he says she says bullshit. I think you better quit, letting shit slip, or you’ll be leaving with a fat lip…” (Look, it was 2003 and honestly I still like that song, it’s on my workout mix).
I scout out my bully and lock eyes, acting cool and casual as I approach her. Fists clenched. Standing face to face she smiles, “What are you going to do? Hit me?” she asks laughing. “Yep,” I replied, pushing her as hard as I could, adrenaline pumping. The giant stumbles back and lucky for me, trips over an empty 40oz lying on the ground. She goes down hard. I pounced on her like a cheetah, or at least that’s how I like to remember it. I instinctively grabbed her hair as leverage and punch her in the face with my right hand. I get a few blows in before I’m being pulled off by my roommate, who wants her bubble vest back before the worst of the bloodshed. It was weighing me down anyway. I hop back into the madness only to find my bully attempting to run away. She’s stopped short by a size 10 foot to the head and at that point I am glad I brought backup. She’s down for the count. I stood there surrounded by people I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I light up a cigarette and walk away. Victory.
