"Don't Mess With Me, I Watch Ultimate Fighting!", and Alas, Poor Biebs...

(migrated from my Tripod blog on 11/05/2011)

Jillian and I were walking through our local mall yesterday afternoon, grabbing a few essentials for the week, when we saw the funniest thing we'd seen in some time.  A surly looking, heavily-tattooed fat man swagger-waddled out of the local mixed  martial arts fanshop, chest puffed out and glowering at passersby.

I  walked by him with a bemused smile on my face, which caused the man to  sneer a sneer that I swear said "I'm the toughest man in the mall,  because I shop at the local MMA fanboy shop!", and the equally-toned look he shot us was priceless.  At which point I burst out laughing.

The guy shot me another look, but otherwise just kept walking.

I'd  largely put the encounter out of my head.  But for some reason, it was  all I could think about during the commute this morning.

I have no idea why it amused me as much as it did.  I mean, as someone who studied martial arts (Kendo), I know the sheer amount of work and training these MMA fighters do, and the discipline they have. The very notion that this guy could be transformed from lardass to badass simply by wearing a Tapout shirt  and sweatpants is laugable...

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Speaking of discipline, I realized how out of shape I really am.

About a month ago, I bought a call bell for our front counter at work.  Experience told me I should affix a sticker that read "Please ring bell ONCE for service", otherwise we'd have idiots hitting it a few dozen times to announce their presence.

With that in mind, I also made up a sign that read "Prices increase 5% with each additional ring" and slipped it under the bell.

It has worked so far, at least as far as our customers are concerned.  Staff, on the other hand...

One of our counter guys has a habit of ringing the damned thing and encourages others to do so as well, knowing how much it annoys us.  Today, it was our youngest member of staff's turn.

The lad, an 18 year old whom we'll call "Biebs", decided he wanted in on the joke.  After the first ring, I got up from my chair, walked out of my office and into the counter sales area, and saw Biebs giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Time to have me some fun," I thought...

"Biebs, we love ya and all that," I began my warning, "but if you ring that fucking bell again, I'm gonna stuff it into one of your smaller orifices!"

He reacted in mock horror, and I turned around to walk away, waiting to hear the bell.

Biebs didn't disappoint...  He rang the bell like an angry telegrapher on speed.

I ran over to the counter, grabbed the bell in my palm, and proceeded to chase the lad around the showroom.

Biebs was quick... a little too quick for 38 year-old CJ, so I figured I'd draw him into MY game.

After our first lap, I half-pretended to be out of breath.  Pulling a loonie from my pocket, I walked over to the vending machine to grab a Coke, as though I were signaling my defeat.

Our fellow coworkers (who'd put Biebs up to it and egged him on) laughed and started razzing me.  I smiled... all part of my plan.

Right on cue, Biebs ran over to me and smacked me upside the head.

"I'm younger and faster!" he giggled.  The guys all roared with laughter.

Obviously, young Biebs has never seen Fried Green Tomatoes.

As he trotted away, I bent down, grabbed the ends of the floormat he was running on, and pulled.

Poor Biebs went flying, landing on his face.

"Face it, kid," I mocked, "I'm older and have seen better cartoons!"

 At which point, the guys nearly all fell over laughing.  The boss, who was coming out to tell us to knock it off, bust a gut when he saw what had happened.

So, today Biebs learned a lesson about Tom and Jerry, and not to screw with people older, wiser, meaner, and better versed in cartoon hijinks than himself.