You'd Think A Knife Scar Would Be Bigger...
by Andrew Turner
Of course it sounds like a better story than it is, but what the hell. I used to go to this club in DC when I was in college. It was named "Tracks" which was fitting because if there were tracks, this joint was on the wrong side of them. I wouldn't say it was the scummiest place I've been to but it was far from nice. The two things it did have were excellent house music and a lot of girls from GWU on every Thursday night.
On the evening in question however, my two club buddies and I had brought some girls from Longwood College with us. They in turn had brought a male friend who's total contribution to the group seemed to be making sure none of the rest of us got too intoxicated. He accomplished this noble goal by trying his best to drink every ounce of alcohol in the club. As the night progressed, I was trying (mightily, I should add) to convey upon a nubile young Longwood fresh-woman the benefits of spending the rest of the evening at my humble yet immensely comfortable apartment. Just as I had the foundation nicely laid and was ready to use the old "Jedi mind-trick" on her she points over my shoulder and yells in my ear that *garbled name* looks like he's in trouble. I risk a glance away to see the guy that the girls brought with him, staggeringly drunk, bumping into this well dressed, young Asian guy.
Did I neglect to mention that in addition to great music and beautiful girls, Tracks also sported numerous gangs, specifically of the Asian descent? Well armed with this knowledge and the assumption that if their friend got killed while clubbing with us, the chances of taking my "Juliet" home with me would sink like the "Lusitania", I jumped off the podium we were dancing on, forced my way across the dance floor, and arrived just as the Asian dude shoved my pseudo-friend to the ground.
Being the middle of 3 brothers, I always have been the peacemaker. A few understanding words and the promise of a couple of Gin-and-Tonic's later, all animosity had vanished and Asian guy and I started moving peacefully towards the bar, when a 3rd party grabbed me by the shoulder and whirled me around. All I saw was a full sweep of his arm from left to right. I looked down and saw a 4-inch long cut, about belly-button height, through my favorite shirt. I didn't feel any actual pain but saw blood on my fingertips when I pulled them away. After rapidly taking into account the facts that;
A) I was rather buzzed from the gin I had been swilling
I did the only thing possible and bum-rushed Ginsu boy. We collided, rolled around like twice on the floor and then separated. Now this effectively ended our altercation because of the strobes and the crowd, but my friends and I decided it was time to round up the posse and get the hell out of Dodge. I got all kinds of great attention from the girls until I took my shirt off at the car and we came to realize that the 4 inch long cut in my shirt covered a barely two inch, very shallow wound. Not much to show for having gotten into a gang fight at a DC club. Oh well, I can always hope for next time.