Returning from the embassy the proud new owner of more than a couple hundred dollars of honest-to-goodness American groceries, I was pretty excited when I pulled into my apartment building's garage door.
After eating at miscellaneous diners, restaurants and cafes over the past 45 days, I've had enough of relying on others to feed me and decided (finally) to take the task upon myself. A run to the embassy's commissary was needed as I figured that the Tabasco, mustard, mayonnaise, cheese triangles and Diet Coke previously sitting in my fridge just weren't going to cut it.
I was so excited that I even planned out how to get my six boxes (no bags - paper or plastic - here) of food and alcohol up all the floors from my parking garage to my apartment without hogging the single elevator: unload all of the goods from the truck, take them to the elevator, call the elevator, slide them all inside and reverse the steps upon arrival to my floor. Easy enough...until the building's bully started picking a fight.
Known as the Red Dragon in my apartment, he stands a little over 6'6" and lifts over 750 lbs up multiple floors without so much of a whine. Our red-faced bully likes to pick on unsuspecting tenants daily. A week ago, he taunted me during 11 consecutive trips by opening and closing his big, fat gaping mouth at my floor multiple times before "deciding" to "play nice" and take me to the ground floor.
Before that, he must have just finished taking someone's lunch money based on the 76 Moroccan Dirhams I "happened to capture" lining his cardboard pockets.
I won't even dignify mentioning the heartache his work stoppage caused two weeks ago when he was "under the weather" for three days and "bandaged up" with yellow tape. It's my bold assumption that a certain someone decided to take part in the country's mediocre demonstrations for the day, hoping to pull a Ghaddafi on us...
But today, he wanted a fight. Being the cunning type of bully who's patient and knows when to strike, the Red Dragon picked today to start things with me this week. Seeing that I was overwhelmed with bottles of whiskey, boxes of cereal and a smattering of spices busting out of flimsy reusable boxes, he struck as I was herding cats of black pepper, steak rub and chicken seasoning back into their container.
Impatiently closing his toothless mouth (not uncommon 'round these parts) several times already to hurry me along, he saw me move my foot from the jam and laid a left hook on my right eyebrow. Using my head to stop the blow, I was stunned and (actually seeing stars) had to take a moment to gather myself...
...and then - sticking up for all poor tenants everywhere - laid my best left hook on the beast...
...and then a right...
...And he just stood there. Motionless. Dazed. After years of being able to pick on Moroccans without any repercussions, he didn't know what to do with the frustrated fists of this American. Then, with both of us wondering what was next, he blinked his central light and made a surprisingly more pleasant "ding." Keeping his fat mouth open long enough for me to load the rest of my booty, we proceeded up to my apartment in humbled silence.
Upon our arrival and unloading, the uncomfortable silence remained through peering eyes. After five long seconds, he dinged once more, closed his gap and retreated down the stairs. Though we seemed to reach a temporary understanding, I see more problems with this ogre. Until then, I returned to my apartment a little dented, but able to enjoy a fully-stocked kitchen....
Thank you, R!
After eating at miscellaneous diners, restaurants and cafes over the past 45 days, I've had enough of relying on others to feed me and decided (finally) to take the task upon myself. A run to the embassy's commissary was needed as I figured that the Tabasco, mustard, mayonnaise, cheese triangles and Diet Coke previously sitting in my fridge just weren't going to cut it.
I was so excited that I even planned out how to get my six boxes (no bags - paper or plastic - here) of food and alcohol up all the floors from my parking garage to my apartment without hogging the single elevator: unload all of the goods from the truck, take them to the elevator, call the elevator, slide them all inside and reverse the steps upon arrival to my floor. Easy enough...until the building's bully started picking a fight.
My Nemesis
Known as the Red Dragon in my apartment, he stands a little over 6'6" and lifts over 750 lbs up multiple floors without so much of a whine. Our red-faced bully likes to pick on unsuspecting tenants daily. A week ago, he taunted me during 11 consecutive trips by opening and closing his big, fat gaping mouth at my floor multiple times before "deciding" to "play nice" and take me to the ground floor.
Before that, he must have just finished taking someone's lunch money based on the 76 Moroccan Dirhams I "happened to capture" lining his cardboard pockets.
Yup, a 50 MAD bill and 26 in change. Enough for two lunches.
I won't even dignify mentioning the heartache his work stoppage caused two weeks ago when he was "under the weather" for three days and "bandaged up" with yellow tape. It's my bold assumption that a certain someone decided to take part in the country's mediocre demonstrations for the day, hoping to pull a Ghaddafi on us...
But today, he wanted a fight. Being the cunning type of bully who's patient and knows when to strike, the Red Dragon picked today to start things with me this week. Seeing that I was overwhelmed with bottles of whiskey, boxes of cereal and a smattering of spices busting out of flimsy reusable boxes, he struck as I was herding cats of black pepper, steak rub and chicken seasoning back into their container.
The scene of the assault
Impatiently closing his toothless mouth (not uncommon 'round these parts) several times already to hurry me along, he saw me move my foot from the jam and laid a left hook on my right eyebrow. Using my head to stop the blow, I was stunned and (actually seeing stars) had to take a moment to gather myself...
No teeth here: most Moroccans don't have medical coverage or see a dentist until their teens
...and then a right...
...And he just stood there. Motionless. Dazed. After years of being able to pick on Moroccans without any repercussions, he didn't know what to do with the frustrated fists of this American. Then, with both of us wondering what was next, he blinked his central light and made a surprisingly more pleasant "ding." Keeping his fat mouth open long enough for me to load the rest of my booty, we proceeded up to my apartment in humbled silence.
The Central Light of Submission
Upon our arrival and unloading, the uncomfortable silence remained through peering eyes. After five long seconds, he dinged once more, closed his gap and retreated down the stairs. Though we seemed to reach a temporary understanding, I see more problems with this ogre. Until then, I returned to my apartment a little dented, but able to enjoy a fully-stocked kitchen....
"Why do you wanna fight?" - Adrian, "Cuz I can't sing our dance." - Rocky
Small but Stocked
Victory Suds...and tomorrow's breakfast
Fantastic AAR with great pictures. Glad to know you've still got it.
ReplyDeleteExcellent story! Can't wait for the sequel.
ReplyDeleteI've been enjoying your adventures since I saw your blog listed on Milblogs. I'd watch that elevator bully if I were you - seems a bit sneaky. Try putting one of those cold beers against your wounded head. That and drinking the beer should make you feel better.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the feedback! The AAR may have been a little more dramatized than previous reviews, but I figured it was worth it. R - Here's to there NOT being a sequel! BB - Thanks a bunch! The beer definitely felt better going down the hatch than nursing my lid!
ReplyDelete