When Being Witty Almost Got Me Killed

My previous post dealt with my disconnect from fashion. This story has something to do with that, but more than anything, it is about how saying something witty almost got me killed.

It was 1988 and I was 15. One winter night, I decided to go for a walk. I had this wool poncho made out of an old, green army blanket that I liked to wear on those really chilly 50° California nights. I also wore this knit cap my grandma had knitted me. Yeah, I know, maybe it was not too cool, but it was warm and come on, Grandma made it.

So there I was, walking around in the dark through the gritty underbelly of Vacaville's south-side. I popped into the Round Table pizza to see if anyone I knew was there, and in full disclosure, to use the bathroom. Hanging out front were some gangbangers and their girlfriends.

I am pretty sure that the guys would have left me alone had it not been for those girls. But, guys being guys, they wanted to impress their ladies. As I was leaving the restaurant, one of the guys called out, "Hey, you look like a condom."

As I continued to walk and without skipping a step, I turned around and said back, "I might look like a condom, but you guys are a bunch of big dicks." Yeah, I was a stone-cold killer potty mouth back then.

Well, again, these guys had their girls to impress. They started yelling; I kept walking. They got into their cars and came my way; I started running.

I spent the rest of the night playing cat-and-mouse with these guys until I got to a doughnut shop where a friend was working. From there, I called my sister who came and got me.

Moral of the story? I guess you could take your pick. One moral would be to watch what you wear out in public. Another would be to think before you speak. The moral to the story I prefer, though, is that thinking before you speak, the essence of being witty, is exactly what you do not want to do. Being a smartmouth can get you killed.