Stephen was his real name, but he liked to be referred to as Scooter, for whatever silly reason. He accosted me in a parking lot outside of the only Starbucks for miles around. "I'm here to stomp you into the mud," he boasted.
I sat my syrupy frap down on the hood of my car and asked, "Who the hell are you and what's this all about, pal?"
Scooter stood a hilarious 5'1" tall, and maybe weighed 130 pounds. Wet. While I wasn't worried, one can never be sure of the skills a person may have when it comes to some fisticuffs.
"You stole my girlfriend and you know it!" he shouted for all to hear. "Now you will pay with crimson blood!"
"Is there another color I'm aware of?" I mocked.
My sarcasm riled the attacker. Scooter began punching the unfazed air and I had to grin. His punches were weaker than a used tea bag in a half cup of steaming water.
"Lookout, little man, you might hurt yourself," I warned. "Now what's your real beef with me?"
A small crowd of about a baker's dozen was gathering from inside the coffee shop. "Hit him, Scooter!" hollered one guy.
As I turned to see if Scooter had brought some backup, the little runt lunged at me with fists wailing, none of which struck.
I leg swept him to the pavement.
"Let's be reasonable," I said, as he got to his knees. "I have a girlfriend, sure, but I believe you have the wrong dude, dude."
In the reflection of my car window I saw a few people on their cell phones recording the confrontation.
"Oh, you're the right guy, alright, and I have pictures to prove it!"
"Listen, dude, you're sounding like my real girlfriend now."
Scooter paused, dropping his fists to his waistline. "Say what?"
"My real girlfriend accused me of cheating, so I told her she was starting to sound like my wife."
The crowd giggled behind me, but Scooter didn't get the joke. It went over his puny head. He frowned at the growing crowd and began dancing around like world champion Manny Pacquiao.
"Once I bloody your square nose, I'll get my girlfriend back and dance some more in the middle of the street during quarantine!"
"First imagine you have a girlfriend," I teased. "I smell liquor, dude. You been hittin' the whiskey jug?"
Scooter attempted a flying kick at this point, but landed on his tail instead. I could have pancaked him in seconds flat.
"Yep," must be the sauce," I teased further.
"I slipped," was all he could muster. He was out of breath.
"You have a picture of this, uh, girlfriend I supposedly stole?"
"You know what she looks like, punk!" he raged.
"Well," I began, "My little dish is 5'1", you know, about your height, maybe taller, but she tips the scales at 106 pounds. Reddish blonde hair, green eyes. Not your gal, homey."
"That's her!" he screamed.
This sent me in a bit of a tailspin. Was she sneaking around behind my back? I had to inquire further. "My gal has green braces on her teeth."
"I already know," he fumed. "I bought them," he continued.
Could this be? Was I so blind to notice that she was dating other guys? Sure, I was certainly no Adonis, mind you, but I wouldn't scare Jason from "Friday the 13th" away, either.
Scooter began a series of karate or Kung Fu moves, I don't know which, but he surely looked rather funny...and slow. "Brown belt?" I inquired.
"9th degree black belt," he responded.
"I didn't know they added 4 additional belts. Hmmm, guess you're a real killer, then, huh?"
"I don't wanna kill again, man; I just want Jessica back."
I began to laugh. I reached for my wallet, when all of a sudden Scooter kicked it out of my hand. The crowd ooohed and awwwed.
"That's not cool, shorty," I snorted.
We both looked towards the wallet. There on the ground was the picture I had sought to show him of Penny, my girlfriend. A $10 bill skittered away in the breeze. Two jobless losers from the crowd chased after it.
"That's you gal, PacMan?"
Scooter bent over and gave it a look.
"Oh, wow, that's not her at all!" But he immediately raised his fists again. Meanwhile, sirens could be heard in the near distance. Someone had called the law.
"Now what?" I asked, bored with it all.
"I'm taking you down for kicks and grins."
The sirens drew closer. "Looks like you better Scoot, Scooter; the cops are coming."
"Ain't scared of no cop."
Two squad cards pulled up and screeched to a halt, 4 officers bailed from their squad cars lickety-split.
"What's the major malfunction here with you two?" a bulky sergeant asked.
Someone from the crowd crowed, "The little guy is trying to fight the bigger guy!"
"Is that true, son?" the officer asked.
"I'm not your son, pig!" Scooter scowled.
The cops laughed. "We got ourselves a live one here, boys," the sergeant said. "How about we take a ride to the station, turkey?"
"For what? What's the charge?"
"Foul play," replied one of the other policemen.
"Hey, Scoot!" I shouted as the officers were placing him in the cop car in handcuffs. "Guess what's for dinner tonight?" I paused but he didn't respond. "Turkey pot pie! Enjoy!"
My kid of style, comedy drama.