CWWH CONTEST - Can You Believe it?

None of this is my fault.

FOXNEWS is calling it “The Payday Massacre”, like I'm some kind of gangster killer. Nothing could be further from the truth.

"Four dead in a rampage at the neighborhood bar”,that's what I saw in booking streaming across the bottom of the screen.

Can you believe it?

First of all, those guys caused their own problems. They came after me, what was I supposed to do? The whole thing was a stupid accident and I'm taking the blame.

The press has everything wrong. They said the bar was in Minneapolis, it's in Colombia Heights. They said the workers at the bar were from a “factory”. Don't they know what a foundry is?

Who trusts FOXNEWS anyway? They can't even get the city right.

FOX isn't the only one that got it wrong. What's with the media anyway? It's all about ratings and selling newspapers. Who cares about the TRUTH?

First of all, they, the reporters I mean, make saints out of those guys. They pretend the bar was just a friendly neighborhood place where people go after work to have a beer. Gimme a break! There are three fights a night there.

For Christ sake, why do you think it's called “The Pit”.

Go down there, walk in, sniff the air. It stinks worse than the name suggests.

Have you seen who owns the place? That ought to give you a clue. The guy, Dwayne, is so fat that every time he takes a corner with that big Chrysler he drives, his gut squeezes up on the steering wheel and toots the horn.

Out of the parking lot, BEEP, left on Grand, BEEP, right onto Broadway, BEEP.

Anyways, he bought this great neighborhood bar, changes the name to “The Pit” and paints over the windows to give it that boozy timeless feeling. He paints the ceiling black, dims down the lights, then takes down all the clocks. All to keep people drinking. All he cares about is money, money, money.

The press pretends the creeps who hang out there are all family guys who just want a beer before heading home with flowers for the wife. Bull. Most of them make a beeline for “The Pit” every payday. They're in such a hurry, they don't even stop to shower.

Once in the door, they cash their checks into a pile of cash on the bar which they drink though while they litter the floor with pull-tabs. Whatever's left at the end of the night goes home to the wife and kids.

They're all brawlers and bikers, almost all of them have been in jail, and who is portrayed as violent? Me!

Can you believe it?

Talk to anyone who knows me and they'll tell you that I've never started a fight in my life. I like to party, not to fight. I'm a social person. I've been in jail here for three days and already everyone's my friend. I get along with everyone because I don't judge people.

Talk to anyone here, even the guards, nobody thinks this is my fault.

Everybody likes me. Maybe that's my problem.

Maybe I like people so much that I am blind to their flaws. Who could blame me for that?

I was fooled completely. I made friends with a total scumbag. I know it's probably bad to speak of the dead like that, but Salty was a bad dude. I mean, I should have known how bad he was and steered clear of him, but he hid himself from me.

Yeah, I knew he did time, and yeah, I knew it was for some nasty stuff, but is that the guy I saw?

No.

He's like all the others at “The Pit”. I met him there four years ago when we both worked at Frasier Electric Steel. That's the foundry. We would head to the pit after our shift to drink and party all night.

God we had fun.

Sometimes we would party right through the next day, and show up for work without sleeping. We were like that; tough – but it's about having a good time, not messing with people.

Salty never even started a fight when I was with him. He may've finished a few fights, if you know what I mean, but he never picked one.

Can you believe it?

Anyways, I was talking about Salty and me partying all night, and like I said we were tough, we could handle it. So what happens?

We show up for work after having a great time, and we get pulled into the Safety Director's office. They ordered us to piss in a cup.

Fired for “substance abuse”!

Isn't that a violation of our rights?, being forced to piss in a cup? They're taking your bodily fluids as evidence against you. Is that  legal?

That's what I am talking about. We are holding up our end, showing up, doing the job, living the life, and Frasier cans our asses.

Can you believe it?

That was four years ago.

Anyway, I ran into Salty at a party. He had just got out of Stillwater. That should have been the tip-off, but like I said, I only see the good in people. His PO is on him to find a job so he asks me what I got going and I tell him that I just got canned from a fry-cook job cause I called in sick and the asshole who took the message didn't pass it along.

Can you believe this shit?

That is what I have to deal with.

Anyway, he and I get talking about the old days. We start reminiscing about “The Pit” and I ask Salty “You got any idea how much cash that place has on hand every other Friday?”

Salty's eyes light up.

He says “you think'n what I'm think'n?”

I told him sure, but this is VERY important, the next thing I tell him is since it's my idea in the first place, we do it MY way.

And he says “sure”. That's what he said.

He said he would do it my way. Nobody was supposed to get hurt and NOBODY but the bar itself was supposed to get hassled. It was supposed to be a clean-in, clean-out deal.

Everyone has got to believe that.

None of this is my fault. I would still be working at Frasier if they hadn't violated my rights. I'd still be at the grill if that jerk had passed along what I told him.

I'd be flush with cash if Salty followed the plan.

The setup was perfect, we came in at 9:45PM just before second shift, that's when there's the most cash on hand. It was so perfect. They had almost $40,000 in $20 bills.

Can you believe it?

What could be more perfect than that?

All we had to do was take the money and run – literally. When we pulled out our shotguns, no one even blinked.

Do you know why?

Because everyone of those assholes had the same thought we did. We were like heroes to them. We were doing what they only dreamed about. Hell, half of them were grinning, egging us on. We had them on our side.

Everything was perfect.

The bartenders were even grinning. They handed over the cash boxes without even breaking a sweat. They knew they weren't going to get hurt. They knew it was going to come out of fat Dwayne's pocket, and who gives a shit about him? The crowd even cleared a path to the door. It was sweetness itself.

Everything was absolutely perfect. Then what the freak happens? Salty loses his head. The idiot reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black garbage bag. I am thinking to myself, what is he doing? That is how stupid Salty was, I had no clue what he was up to. So he goes and demands that everyone take THEIR cash off the bar and dump THEIR wallets into the freak'n bag.

I hollered “What the hell you do'n?” and everyone remembers that.

Keep that in mind.

Salty refuses to listen.

Can you believe it?

I yelled at him, “that ain't the plan” but he kept poking people with his shotgun, pissing them off for no reason.

Asshole!

He got what he deserved. A beer bottle in the head.

All I remember was this bottle sailing through the air, then another, then another and Salty going down. The guys in the bar didn't even look at me. That ought to tell you something. They just started stomping him, ignoring me entirely. They knew who the asshole was. Then this jerk throws a bottle at me.

What was that all about?

Did I deserve that?

What the hell was I suppose to do?

The guy was high, you could see it in his meth-head face. I defended myself. I shot the son-of-a-bitch in the leg before he could throw another freak'n bottle. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, but look at the people I was dealing with.

So what'd they do?

We should've all been cool – then the whole crowd starts throwing bottles at ME. I shot the guy in the LEG, that's self-defense. They should have known that.

What the hell were they thinking?

They weren't thinking, that's their problem.

Jesus Christ, I had to defend myself. All I was trying to do was make for the door and they wouldn't let me leave. I told them, “just let me out of here.” and they wouldn't do it.

You know what, I bet they'll even deny that I said that.

Well, so what if four of those assholes got blown away? They deserved it.

Take a good look at who they were. Run criminal checks on them. Look at their histories. I'll bet everyone of them did time for something, and I have never done time for anything.

Then what happens?

They beat the shit out of me. Stomped me. Broke my ribs, smashed my face, busted up my legs, and a hip. Look at me for Christ sake! Look at what they did. Do I deserve this?

And now the press is calling me “a gangster”.

Can you believe it?

So anyway, you may wonder why I am talking to another lawyer when I have one already.

Here is the deal. Once they started beating on me and I could no longer defend myself, that's assault. What's more; I laid there unconscious for 10 minutes before anyone called 911. That's negligence.

This's what I want. I want to sue “The Pit” for not taking legal responsibility. I want to sue those assholes for assault, and the foundry cause' half those people were stoned and drunk before they left work. Why weren't they forced to pee in a cup?

My other lawyer says I might be able to plead down to manslaughter which means I could be out in less than 10 years.

The way I got it figured, that after we sue, I'd be free in less than a decade, and be rich too!

Can you believe it?

© Greg Schiller, 2007

Author: Greg Schiller