24/7 Behind the Tussle for the Texas Instrument Pt. 3

After about a month of arbitration had passed, I grew weary of all the stories as to when the prodigal calculator would make its way back home. The next time I asked where my calculator was and got the “monkey in the middle” story, I peaceably decreed (and I may be paraphrasing) “I didn’t give it to them, I gave it to you. Where’s is my calculator?” He sensed my tone grew combative and agreed to give me the 15 dollars for the calculator instead, which of course was to be paid at a later date. So the role of the calculator will now be played by the 15 dollars and here we go again. Now this guy never has the money to pay me back but all the while, I am witnessing him gambling daily in plain site. I had had enough. You are telling me you don’t have my money but you are the number one customer at the makeshift Foxwoods in the back staircase AND I hear you hollering Seelo! At that point, I basically issued a warning through one of his other boys (and this time, I’m not paraphrasing), “Tell him to give me my money or I am going to fuck him up!” Of course now that I had called him out publicly, he couldn’t very well just pay me now could he? His ego wouldn’t let him submit to justice and I was hell bent on principalities so it looks like we’ll be meeting after school.

About four to five of my boys had assembled with me and he had equal if not more numbers on his side. My crew wasn’t a crew in the sense that we ran around town in matching jackets calling ourselves the Dancing Leopards or the Flying Mangos or anything of that nature. We were actual friends (until this day) and if you saw one of us, the rest weren’t that far behind. Albeit unspoken, we shared similar experiences regarding crews and bullies so no one was going to let the other get jumped. Plus these other dudes failed to realize that there was so much disdain and animosity toward them that all I was doing was presenting the perfect opportunity for my boys to settle three years of unresolved tension. So here we all were, standing outside the Academy Diner in broad daylight where many a police officer had retrieved their morning cruller. Before we commenced to fisticuffs, I asked one last time, “You gonna pay me?” I really didn’t want to fight and I was looking for any alternate but conscionable exit strategy but of course he said no so off we go!

“Let’s get ready to rumble!!!” The very first punch we both throw and one of his sneakers comes off (right foot I believe). We used to wear our sneakers or boots unlaced with the front of the pant leg tucked into the shoe. This was done to reveal as much of the sneaker as possible and highlight your footwear’s sexiness (plus it looked cool, at least to us). Since he had on the new red white and blue Olympic edition Air Jordans, rest assured, every part of his sneaker was dangling for all the world to see. When his shoe comes off, everyone just paused. This was clearly my opportunity to finish him as I had the advantage of having both sneakers. Conventional wisdom said I should’ve at least stomped on his pinky toe or something. As stated earlier however, I was still fighting fair so I backed off and let him put his sneaker back on, much to the amazement of everyone in attendance. No one could believe what they were seeing. It was appearing that I was so skilled that I needed no advantage. It would also appear that I was an asshole for not beating him down on the spot! Be that as it may, I let him put his sneaker on and off we went again. A couple more blows are thrown and my junior varsity basketball coach happens to walk by at that moment. He immediately breaks up the foolishness but all he really did was delay the proceedings. We took the fight one block down away from the watchful eye of faculty to the Brooklyn Academy of Music and continued the show there.