It was slow last night, blame the season, blame the crowd or just blame the band. I had started the closing chores early on and had another fifteen minutes to finish and go the fuck to bed. Fifteen minutes. As I was closing the very last shutters to the door at 2 am, I look left and right to see what crackhead Olympic event is going on now. Better than anything on television. Dramas, fights, sex and everything Springer. LIVE! I look to my right and coming down Toulouse are 4 fast walking black dudes being pursued by a ginger frat boy yelling "YEA! I'M TALKING TO YOU!" and doing the stagger / run to catch up to the four individuals who were obviously trying not to stop and converse.
"You are about to have a very bad night" I mumbled as I brought the shutters towards closed position. Half closed and the five of them are in front of the door on Toulouse. "Doing I really want to watch this?" I thought. About then ginger frat boy catches up to the four dudes in the middle of Toulouse, about 15 feet in front of me. Frat boy staggers up sideways grabs a shoulder and yells "Hey I'm.." The four individuals never broke stride, one right cross to his temple and kept jogging.
Remember when Wiley Coyote would run out of cliff and just suspend in the air for a few seconds before the rule of gravity kicks in. That what this guy seemed to do. Then he fell like a Redwood face first onto Toulouse street. That combination of the sound of a crack and the sound of dropping a pumpkin. Ask any Quarter Rat, they know that sound. My immediate thought was "REALLY?" My second thought was to continue closing the shutters and pretend I didn't see it. He's in the middle of the street, let some cabbie dial 9-1-1.
I remember the last time we had an unconscious body on the sidewalk with a head injury, Vic called the ambulance. I guess it's company policy on wino head injuries. It's just never good for business and Vic is just a cool guy that way. I yell to the server Petey call an ambulance a dude was just knocked out in front. Twenty feet in either direction would not have obligated me, just sayin.
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Owen dashed out of the kitchen like some sort of Army Medic with paper towels and plastic gloves. The frat boy was face down in a growing puddle of his blood, the blood gurgling like a bad head cold let us know that he was at least breathing. Fortunately for him, he appeared to be knocked out before he fell. If he wasn't, then it hurt like hell. Owen was trying to communicate with him as I scolded a line of taxi drivers for blowing their horns. A guy lying in a puddle of his own blood and you're worried about your tip?
Owen asked me to grab his other arm as we dragged the limp body to the sidewalk as if it was a foxhole. A crowd gathered, snapped selfies with a blood covered face. Traffic stopped and took cell phone pics. A guy who works at Funky 544 came over and asked if we needed help. Our server asked me if the man had been a victim of the "Knock-Out-Game"? I said "No, it was 'The Stupid White Boy Who Didn't Know When To Let It Go' game. He lost." I told 544 we had called 911. He knew it would be a while, he said he would send some over. Eddie trains his people well, in less than a minute two horse mounted cops strolled. Damn, when they send in the Calvary, 544 means it.
Frat boy became conscious and started talking, I wish he hadn't. I think we all wanted to smack him by the time the ambulance showed up. Forgive me for being a selfish bastard, you are getting blood on my sidewalk, thanks. Another 20 minutes. I went back to mopping until N.O.P.D. called for me. I must admit, most of my experiences have been decent with them. We are one of three people to cops, a suspect, a victim, or a witness. I prefer witness only if I have to. I think his name was Anderson, cool as hell.
I joked with a coworker that I was going to leave the huge blood stain and draw a body chalk outline around it. Leave one arm extended with a slice of our pizza next to it. I decided not to, Sicilian Restaurant owners don't dig that kind of humor.
"You are about to have a very bad night" I mumbled as I brought the shutters towards closed position. Half closed and the five of them are in front of the door on Toulouse. "Doing I really want to watch this?" I thought. About then ginger frat boy catches up to the four dudes in the middle of Toulouse, about 15 feet in front of me. Frat boy staggers up sideways grabs a shoulder and yells "Hey I'm.." The four individuals never broke stride, one right cross to his temple and kept jogging.
Remember when Wiley Coyote would run out of cliff and just suspend in the air for a few seconds before the rule of gravity kicks in. That what this guy seemed to do. Then he fell like a Redwood face first onto Toulouse street. That combination of the sound of a crack and the sound of dropping a pumpkin. Ask any Quarter Rat, they know that sound. My immediate thought was "REALLY?" My second thought was to continue closing the shutters and pretend I didn't see it. He's in the middle of the street, let some cabbie dial 9-1-1.
I remember the last time we had an unconscious body on the sidewalk with a head injury, Vic called the ambulance. I guess it's company policy on wino head injuries. It's just never good for business and Vic is just a cool guy that way. I yell to the server Petey call an ambulance a dude was just knocked out in front. Twenty feet in either direction would not have obligated me, just sayin.
Google Map
Owen dashed out of the kitchen like some sort of Army Medic with paper towels and plastic gloves. The frat boy was face down in a growing puddle of his blood, the blood gurgling like a bad head cold let us know that he was at least breathing. Fortunately for him, he appeared to be knocked out before he fell. If he wasn't, then it hurt like hell. Owen was trying to communicate with him as I scolded a line of taxi drivers for blowing their horns. A guy lying in a puddle of his own blood and you're worried about your tip?
Owen asked me to grab his other arm as we dragged the limp body to the sidewalk as if it was a foxhole. A crowd gathered, snapped selfies with a blood covered face. Traffic stopped and took cell phone pics. A guy who works at Funky 544 came over and asked if we needed help. Our server asked me if the man had been a victim of the "Knock-Out-Game"? I said "No, it was 'The Stupid White Boy Who Didn't Know When To Let It Go' game. He lost." I told 544 we had called 911. He knew it would be a while, he said he would send some over. Eddie trains his people well, in less than a minute two horse mounted cops strolled. Damn, when they send in the Calvary, 544 means it.
Frat boy became conscious and started talking, I wish he hadn't. I think we all wanted to smack him by the time the ambulance showed up. Forgive me for being a selfish bastard, you are getting blood on my sidewalk, thanks. Another 20 minutes. I went back to mopping until N.O.P.D. called for me. I must admit, most of my experiences have been decent with them. We are one of three people to cops, a suspect, a victim, or a witness. I prefer witness only if I have to. I think his name was Anderson, cool as hell.
I joked with a coworker that I was going to leave the huge blood stain and draw a body chalk outline around it. Leave one arm extended with a slice of our pizza next to it. I decided not to, Sicilian Restaurant owners don't dig that kind of humor.
