Ok, so there was no widget and I just wanted a catchy title. There was however a midget…and so begins an embarrassing tale. A tale that, surprisingly enough, I have never told the interwebz before.
Picture the scene a young, free and single Dave* is hanging around with a group of somewhat older RAF lads**. Much to the chagrin of my Dad***…but I digress. We were regularly found to be going to a Night Club of a weekend for fun and, where possible, hi jinks.
Now, it should be pointed out at this point that the club was in a place called Ashby De La Zouch. Not, as the name might suggest, somewhere just south of the Dardogne but actually in the far more exotic Leicestershire.
Now for a club in such an upmarket location, it is quite the surprise to discover that there was no dress code. I know, right?
So, in an effort to stand out, myself and my good friend Craig came up with a series of cunning plans.
Plan #1 – Clothing
We would stand out from the (jeans and t-shirt) crowd. This involved wearing suits. It really is amazing what a difference that makes. Think about it ladies…you are in a club, dressed up to the nines. Looking good, feeling great and every guy you see is dressed in whatever the early 90’s equivalent of Hollister T-Shirts and Wrangler (hey…90’s remember, don’t judge) was. Then, in walk two guys that are also dressed to the nines (personally, I would say tens but I guess I am a little biased). Of course you are going to notice them, maybe even pay more attention to them than the clones wandering around the club. See…psychology innit.
Plan #2 – Backstory
Now, if you are going to a club like that, dressed like that, it is clear that you are trying to trigger female interest. That suggests the potential for playing around. So Craig and I came up with the great idea to be interesting each weekend. We would pick an accent (for we are both talented in that area) and then pick a job that we could make shit up about. Weird when most people would have been quite impressed that Craig was a serving British Airman and repaired jet fighters for a day job. It would probably have just been easier for me to “work with him” and that would have been that. But that wouldn’t have been fun enough…so we made shit up. I absolutely can’t remember all of them, but we were (in no particular order):-
Scouse Firemen (duh!), Scottish Oil Riggers, Cockney SAS Servicemen, German Footballers, Irish Vetinary Surgeons, Doctors (recently returned from Ethiopia, thanks Comic Relief for the info on that one)…
Along with various other job and accent combinations that we thought made us all windswept and interesting. Certainly it made us stand out – Which was the goal after all.
Plan #3 – Cheesy Lines or even Cheesy Non-Lines
“Get your coat love, you’ve pulled.”
“Is that the telephone I hear or are your knickers (w)ringing?”
“Aren’t you tired?” “Why?” “Well, you’ve been running around my head since I got in here”
“I seem to have lost my phone number, can I borrow yours?”
These are just a few of the lines that may or may not have been used. Adding to that, and I can’t quite believe that I am telling the internet this…to be honest, I will be quite surprised if the internet believes it at all..but it’s a thing…we also used to have a go to “move”.
In the inside pockets of our suits, would be a number of red roses. The move involved waiting for the object of your
lust desires to be sat at a table or leaning at the bar. You approach, place the rose in front of the lucky (hahhah) lady whilst saying, and this is important, NOTHING. Don’t look at her, don’t say anything, don’t acknowledge her in any way…then walk away. You might be surprised at how often that worked.
So, with all of that taken into account, we had reasonable success (as we measured it anyway) and were having a rare old time. “But where does the midget come into the story” I hear you cry..or at least wonder vaguely. Well, I am getting to that.
So, we have arrived at the club, suits on and I believe we were German Footballers on tour (please please please don’t judge us, we just wanted to get laid…nothing sleazy ). Craig and I head straight to the bar and order a couple of beers in our best broken English. Also at the bar, two women and a little further along the bar two guys…OK so maybe 1.5 guys.
The women decide that we would be prime targets, for reasons best known to themselves, and approach us at the bar. To be honest, we hadn’t even received our pints yet and had been in the club for around 3 minutes, so we weren’t all that ready and/or interested. You know what it’s like, you have to warm up, get the lay of the land…you don’t pop off shots at the first person you see when there you have a target rich environment
The ladies seem to get the message and head off, which causes both of the guys to sidle up to us. Whereupon the tiny one proceeds to give me some advice to “stay away” from their girlfriends. Had the jealous little fecker been watching the interaction (which I can be fairly certain he was), he would have noticed the direction of the interest and our distinct lack of interest. However, rather than deal with issues in his relationship, he decides to threaten two people who want nothing to do with the girls anyway, even more so now we know that they have boyfriends. Meh, guys…what can you do? Amiright?
Fast forward to later in the night and, to be quite honest, a time where Craig and I are a little drunk now. Dances have been danced, women have been
insulted hit on (and in some cases made out with) and generally a fine old time was being had. There was, however, one constant..well two actually. Both of the women from earlier just wouldn’t leave us alone. We would dance on the left side of the dancefloor…so would they. Mid-dance we would dance across the floor to a new position…they would follow. Frankly it was throwing us off our game. To top it all off, we had the Lilliputian equivalent of the Family Guy monkey tracking our every move.
After a while, the diminutive dolt decides that enough is enough. Both myself and Craig have been pursuing his girlfriend (in reverse obviously) for far too long. He has warned us once, he shouldn’t need to again. He decides another conversation is in order.
Craig, it should be pointed out, is at this point at the bar. I am therefore alone, separated from our little herd of two and ripe for the plucking…or something. The minuscule moron approaches me in the fashion of a mafioso while his friend stays back to keep an eye on both the situation and Craig.
Aspersions on my parentage were cast, Oedipus complexes accused and other such pleasantries were delivered. I would say exchanged, but damn if those little dudes can’t speak quickly. Plus, after trying three or four times to point out that neither Craig nor myself were trying anything and maybe he should consider having a chat with “er indoors” instead of the guys she and her friend won’t LEAVE ALONE, I started just laughing at him.
Now, maybe that was cruel. Maybe he has been laughed at for his entire life due to his height. Maybe I undid 10 years of therapy. Or maybe it was simply the fact that I was clearly not listening to him.
Whatever it was, he was quite severely triggered.
Now you might be thinking, quite rightly, why didn’t I just put my hand on his head so that he would be forced to ineffectually swing wildly while I continue to drink my beer…until he eventually tires and I can just walk away? Well, I didn’t have any beer (that was why I was alone, Craig was off buying said beverage) and secondly, the pint-sized prick was a lot quicker than I gave him credit for.
This meant that he jumped ladies and gentlemen. Jumped with such pinpoint accuracy that the top of his head connected with my nose.
My node**** exploded and I was too busy trying not to get blood all over my suit to react. Things went into slow motion, I turned away to avoid Mr Rocket Boots getting another shot at me. When I turn I see a couple of bouncers heading my way and Craig (my hero) vaulting over the railing that separated the bar from the dance floor. They all converge at roughly the same time and luckily for the teensy tosser (or possibly Craig the way things had gone thus far), the bouncers were a step or two ahead of Craig and grabbed him before Craig could do anything.
He was thrown out and the police called. I get cleaned up and carry on my night. It was a very good night in the end…and no, I did not go after his girlfriend to spite him, although I was sorely tempted.
So yes, a midget with a distinct lack of widget beat me up in a night club.
Jeebus, why do I tell you this stuff?
* much like at the moment
** not at all like at the moment
***meh, probably like at the moment if I bothered to ask
**** You see what I did there?