Written on 4 November 2018
I thought the weekend after Halloween would be a safe place to avoid fancy dressed goons. I was wrong.
Still, I wanted a beer, so I find myself sat at the bar at The Castle, trying to avoid all the sexy cats and buff vampires. A man squeezes himself through the costumed throngs and sits on the bar stool next to me.
“I'll take a Budweiser please barkeep” A deep drawl straight from the American South. I glance sideways at the gentleman. The guy is dressed up as the narrator guy from the Big Lebowski. I revert my attention back to my beer, but my glance seems to have caught his attention.
“Howdy friend.”
“Stop overcommitting to the bit.” I say, in an attempt to end the conversation.
“Begging your pardon sir.” he receives his beer, and for a few minutes him and I sat in silence. Occasionally glancing round at the increasingly rowdy fancy dressed party.
After an hour or so, a ruckus brakes out at the other end of the bar where Hulk Hogan is shoving The Crow. Wonderwoman attempts to break them up, but Hulk is having none of it. He smashes The Crow with a stiff right, his gigantic arms popping with veins, his face a mask of rage. The bouncers moved in, grabbing Hulk, who struggled and kicked all the way out the door.
The gentleman next to me goes back to his beer, chuckling. I looked at him.
“Something funny?” He shook his head, smiling broadly.
“You've obviously never heard of Mr No-Days-Off.”
“Obviously not. Who is It?” The stranger looks off reminiscently at the liquor shelf behind the bar.
“That fella you just saw being dragged outta here. I used to go to the same gym as him. Now, I know what you're thinking, I don't look like the gym type. Well, couple years back my doctor told me I needed to lose a couple pounds, so I took up a free membership offer at a local gym, just to hit the treadmill, you know. That's when I first came across Mr No-Days-Off.” There is something very engaging about this gentleman's put upon accent, I feel myself being drawn in, so I nod at him to go on.
“It'll be no surprise to you that the reason they call him Mr No-Days-Off is on account of the fact he's in that gym every day. Every time I went in there he was pumping iron. Lifting heavier weights looking bigger, and with a louder mouth.
“Now, it was clear to most of us folk that this fella was taking some sort of steroid, such was his ever increasing hair trigger temper. When he'd complete his reps he'd shout at anyone in ear shot, which with his big mouth was most of the people in the gym. He'd holler and yell, challenging us all to a competition of strength. We mostly ignored him, but a few tried. Those poor souls were soundly beaten and were ritually humiliated by Mr No-Days-Off.
“One day I was on the treadmill minding my own business when Mr No-Days-Off went into one of his rants. On this day, however, a gigantic fella stepped out of the locker room and accepted the challenge. This fella’s name was Henry Jones.”
“The Olympic power lifter?” I ask, pretty damn captivated by now.
“The very same. Now Mr No-Days-Off starts to back track. Telling Mr Jones he was only joking with his gym pals. But the rest of the gym had had enough of his hollering and sell him down the river. Jones suggests they go outside. There's an empty skip in the parking lot. Whomever can lift it the highest will be the winner.”
A devilish grin comes over the stranger’s face as he signals the barman for two more beers. I look over at the door. Mr No-Days-Off is now yelling at the bouncers with his shirt off, his Hulk Hogan handlebar peeling off his face.
“Now I'm not usually one to revel in others misfortune,” the stranger continued, “But this guy had made my gym a depressing place to be. So I joined everyone else outside to watch the competition of strength.
“Jones went first. He heaved the skip up, tipping it about 4 feet in the air, before dropping it with a crash. The crowd all cheered and whooped. The pressure was now on Mr No-Days-Off.” He pauses for dramatic affect, sipping his beer slowly.
“So, the Big lug powders his hands, walks to the back end of the skip and starts to try and lift the son-of-a-gun. He huffs and he puffs and he groans and he moans, but no doing. People are starting to laugh now, but Mr No-Days-Off will not give in.
“Now, I mentioned before that it was fairly obviously this fella had taken some kind of performance enhancing drugs. I don't know whether y'all are familiar with some of those supplements and whatnot, but it does have the often unwanted side-effect of loosening your stool. Add to that the sheer exertion this fella was putting in to lifting this skip, and I bet you can guess what happened next.”
“No way?”
“Shit his britches right there in front of the entire gym.” we're both laughing now, just as the police arrive to subdue Mr No-Days-Off.
“The look on his face was priceless. He let go of the skip and ran inside as everyone there pointed and laughed.”
“Wow, you would've thought that might humble him a little” I say, shaking my head. The police have wrestled Mr No-Days-Off to the ground now, slapping the big bastard in handcuffs.. The stranger finishes his beer and gets up to leave.
“Pride is a very fragile thing. Plus, those steroids will melt your brain after a while. That fella won't learn a Damn thing till he learns to love himself and stop worrying about what other folk think.”
“Are you sure I can't buy you another drink?” I ask him.
“I appreciate the company, but I must be going. It's been a pleasure, friend.” He turns to walk away, but I have to know.
“Wait. Is that accent real?” the stranger turns and smiles at me.
“I stopped worrying what folk thought of me a long time ago.” and he walks out the door, past the policemen, who have resorted to using a taser on Mr No-Days-Off.