The ones who had their headsets on all agreed that it was funny as hell.
I wasn't scared of them at all, but I really needed to protect myself with witnesses, before I got physical with the fucking punks. The punks did not even try to challenge after two managers showed up. They ran away, probably trying to figure out what bisyllabic means.
Uhm, hopefully, they were trying to figure it out.
It was actually a kind of paraphrasing of every Hollywood tough guy I could think of, because I knew these young punks had "nuthun" on me, even though one stood a hand higher.
I knew that I could deeproot a sidekick, even with my dodgy hip joint, into the solar plexus of the big guy in about the time it would take him to try to get his spindly arms in the way. That would give me about seven or eight breaths on him before he could find his next. It's all about breathing and I had already elevated mine. I could tell by looking at the eyes of the guy who was about my size that if I sent his mentor against the wall with one kick, he would scream like a babe with a dank nappy and offer no resistance whatsoever. He looked soft. Big guy was wiry. He goes down first.
Come to think of it, this whole incident may have implanted me, outside of my wishes, into the security areas. I want geek areas, though. I am smart, too. The problem for me is that they could not find a better security guy than someone with senses like mine. I hope I have not hurt myself with this.
