The Horny Ass Hat

This is my entry for WTB's Ass Hats #5

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Years ago I worked as a security guard and got to meet many "interesting" characters. Most of them weren't really bad but were just people who had too much to drink, or were having problems. Occasionally I did come across real ass hats.

One of the buildings I worked in I'll call "The Towers". It is a large apartment building in downtown Victoria and in the 1990s it had become quite seedy and rundown. We used to travel in groups of three when doing our rounds it was so bad.

One of the main problems at "The Towers" were the prostitutes. They were always sneaking johns in the side doors and leaving these doors propped open. Sometimes they would scam the customers by losing them in the stairwells or elevators.

One night around midnight I noticed a well dressed man looking confused near the office. I didn't recognize him but knew he didn't live in the building. I asked if he needed help.

"I'm looking for a friend", he said, " we seem to have gotten separated".

I asked who his friend was and what apartment she lived in. I also I offered to call her. He looked irritated for a moment and said he didn't know the apartment. He gave a name I didn't know and started for the elevators.

I told him that he couldn't go wandering around the building. He got angry and said he had to find the woman because she owed him money. I asked what she looked like. He described her as a "black chick" with "no front teeth".

The other guards were trying not to laugh but I kept a straight face. We knew all about the toothless "black chick". She was an addict and a hooker who had scammed johns before. This fancy playboy had sure found himself a 'lady of the evening".

The guy wanted us to tell him her apartment number. I told him that offhand I didn't know it. He said he would go look for her and started to leave. I called him back and told him again that he couldn't go wandering around the building.

He got very angry and wanted to know "how in the hell" he would get his hundred dollars back. (At this one of the guards snickered and I knew what he was thinking - this turkey got taken before he was abandoned). I still managed a straight face.

The guy wanted to know why we wouldn't let him go upstairs. I explained that we didn't know the exact apartment the woman lived in. I suggested that he accept the fact he had been scammed and let it go.

"That stupid bitch runs off without putting out and you won't let me do anything about it." He added that we should be helping him and that he was someone important. At that point I didn't care who he was. I just knew he was an arrogant asshole who was wound up because someone has gotten the best of him.

He started getting aggressive with me and was close to being outright insulting. I finally had enough and told him that if he wanted to report a theft I could call the police for him - otherwise he would have to leave.

"Call the cops?" He yelled, "You do know what we are talking about don't you?" He looked at me as if I was stunned.

I looked right at him and said, "yes sir, I know exactly what we are talking about and I think you have to accept the facts that you got scammed. You might want to consider the types of partners you pick up. The point is: you can't go wandering around looking for her.".

For a moment I thought he was going to keep arguing, but then he left without saying a word.

The other guards and I paused for a bit and then began to laugh. We couldn't believe how arrogant and stubborn the guy had been. The guy was one of the biggest ass hats I have ever come across.

The Redhead And The Ass Hat

This is for "Ass Hats at Work".

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My friend C has bright red hair and people notice it. One year she came to visit me in Victoria and we went out for dinner. We chose a quiet pub-style restaurant and had a nice dinner. The food was great and the service was fine. The only odd bit was the waiter who kept staring at C when he came to the table. After we left I joked that he was interested in her. She said, "He probably forgot me as soon as we left."

C left town and I went back to my regular routine. I was working the night shift in a convenience store and hated it. The crappy wages and hours were bad enough but the people could be worse. Usually the best customers were other people who worked with the public. Usually.

One Friday night I was busy on the cash register when a group of university students came in. They had been drinking but didn't look like they were going to be a problem. I turned my attention back to serving those in line. Everything went fine until one of the students said, "I know you!" in a loud voice. I looked up and recognized the waiter who had served my friend and I.

"I know you!" he said again.

"You were with that cute redheaded chick....where is she?...man, I'd love to bonk her."

This all came out in a rush and everyone seemed to pause. Some of this friends laughed while others looked annoyed. I paused hoping he wouldn't say any more, but he went on and on. He loved redheads, he said, and 'she was hot', and then he would get sidetracked and go on about something else.

I finally asked him if he was going to buy something because he was holding up the line. His friends payed for his stuff and got him out of the store. The remaining customers and I had a laugh and the incident was over.

A few days later I wanted to go out for dinner. I thought about going back to that restaurant but didn't. If I had ended up with that waiter I would have asked for someone else. In that place that might not have been possible some nights. Rather than face the possibility of a scene I avoided the place. The restaurant lost a customer because of an ass hat employee.

Meeting The PLO

I had many odd experiences when I traveled to Europe in 1980. One of the oddest and most memorable was when I met a member of the PLO.

I had heard of the organization of course and formed an opinion that they were a terrorist group rather than liberators or warriors. So it was odd to meet a member in person and go for tea.

I had recently arrived in Oslo, Norway and made my second pilgrimage to Frogner Park to see the Vigeland Sculptures. I had always been fascinated by them and wanted to see them at night.

The sculptures, especially the central obelisk, affirm human life in all it's stages. It was here that I encountered a member of a group that destroyed life as part of it's mandate against Israel.

I noticed an Arab man watching me take photos. He was around my age (22) and wasn't threatening in any way. We began to talk and he said he worked for the political arm of the PLO in it's Oslo office. He said he wanted to practice his English and invited me for tea. I accepted.

We sat drinking tea and made small talk. I don't think he was trying to pick me up but just wanted someone to talk to. He seemed wary of introducing topics in case I was offended. I had many questions for him but could not ask them. I wanted to ask how he and the PLO justified the Munich Massacre but I felt that would be rude since he had been a nice host.

I tried to think of other things to talk about but always came back to Munich. That episode has burned itself in my memory for years and would not leave me that night. We finished our tea and I said goodbye and left.

I have thought about this meeting off and on over the years. I still see a pleasant young man sipping tea and wonder if he is still alive. Did he participate in the Intifada? Did he die as a suicide bomber somewhere? I don't know. I know that his life involved a different world than mine. One which tries to solve things with bombs as well as politics and negotiation.

The episode was short but it has stayed in my memory.

I Was A Song Writer

I find music interesting but I am not much of a musician. I have had some training while in school but not enough to make a difference.

A friend used to love going to the bar to sing karaoke. I couldn't stand listening to people who couldn't sing mangling songs I didn't like. I sing occasionally (in private) but most people haven't heard me. You will (sort of) in an upcoming podcast.

I am a better songwriter than singer. Some of my poetry could be set to music but I don't have the knowledge to do so. I have created songs using computers. While most of my music goes unrecognized one song did win a prize.

When I was nine or ten the local movie theatre ran a songwriting contest. They were looking for a song to put in their radio advertising and offered free movies as prizes. First prize was a year of free movies and second prize was three months worth.

I was quite excited about the contest and I wanted to win. I worked on two submissions and listened to suggestions but made my own decisions. I was so happy when I won second prize and got to see so many movies. Sometimes they let me in to see stuff I was a bit young for so I got lots of use out of my prize.

So what was my prize winning song?

Ho ho ho,
Let's go to the show,
And meet Mr. Lowe,
He's the nice little man,
Who runs this stand.

The owner knew our family and that may be part of the reason I won. I do think that the song wasn't bad based on how old I was. I am glad I didn't follow my dad's advice and change 'nice' to 'fat'.

Cheers.