1996ish?: I somehow got invited to the Playmate of the Year party at the newly opened Sky Bar at the Mondrian Hotel on Sunset Blvd. There were a lot of single process blonde, orange hued short girls, bolt on boobs & a lot of cocaine. I never liked cocaine, but there weren’t many motorcycles, golf courses or boobs I didn’t like, so I figured I'd have a look and drink some free liquor.
I end up in a suite belonging to Vivid Video CEO, Steve Hirsch & meet this cute, smart, charming actress. We’re both wearing all white. She’s blacker than volcanic glass, I’m pinker than a Christmas ham & we’re both amused by the contrast. We're also both bored by the terribly unsexy lesbian threesome going on in the bed in front of us.
We became friends & decided to have the occasional slumber party to pass the time between relationships.
It’s a rainy night & I’m driving east on Wilshire Blvd through Korea Town, en route to her place in this old hotel called the Gaylord, across the street from the Ambassador Hotel, where Bobby Kennedy was assassinated & above this dodgy, Bukowskian, pre hipster, nautical themed bar called the H.M.S. Bounty.
I’m chatting on the phone to a friend to pass the time, when I hear a horn honking. Not a “Clearing of the throat” "beep beep" honk, but a constant, rage filled one. Like 15 straight seconds. I realize I ever so slightly had drifted into this guys lane & quickly moved back into my own. No brakes were slammed. No big deal.
We get to the next light and he’s still honking his horn. He’s in a big grey Dodge RAM pickup truck.
I roll down my window.
Me: Hey. Really sorry about that.
Him: Get off the fucking phone, asshole.
Me: Yeah. Totally my fault. Again. Sorry.
Him: Pull over!
Me: Hey. Look. I said I was sorry.
Him: I said, pull the fuck over.
Me: Hey. I apologized. I said I’m sorry, but there’s no way I’m pulling over.
Guy floors it through the red light and curbs me by diagonally blocking my car.
Guy goes crazy. Jumps out of his truck. Slams his fists on the hood of my old black Saab 900 Turbo. He then comes around to my side. Starts kicking my door in and pounding on my drivers window screaming. The glass is flexing & I’m sure it’s about to shatter. This is not good.
Years before, at the suggestion of my friends frightening Israeli Psychiatrist father, I bought some Grizzly Bear pepper spray called BearGuard. Since it was illegal to carry a gun in your car in Chicago (And California), it seemed like a decent, legal way to protect oneself.
I reached into the door pocket for this huge can that looked like a mini fire extinguisher and pulled the orange pin on it.
I rolled down my window 2-3 inches. Just enough to get the nozzle clear. I pull the trigger on the can, and a cloud of this stuff covers the guy from his abdomen to his forehead. From the sounds that followed, it may as well have been a flame thrower.
He hits the ground bellowing. My heart is beating fast and I’m scared, but I can’t help but be amazed how awesome this stuff is.
Flat on his back on a rain & oil soaked Wilshire Boulevard, I could see from the streetlight that his face is redder than an Oragantun’s ass. His eyes are swollen shut. He looks like Sylvester Stallone at the end of the first “Rocky" movie. There is a whitish foam coming from his nose and mouth and he’s howling in agony.
Him: “I’m blind!” “You fucking blinded me”.
Me: (Proud) Yeah, you bet I did! Anyone else would’ve shot you. What have we learned about getting out of cars and attacking people? What have we learned, asshole?
Him: (Rolling around. Crying. Writhing in agony) Fuck you! You blinded me!
Boiling over with adrenaline, I wanted to get out of the car & kick his nuts in, but decided to avoid escalating the issue. I didn’t call 911. I didn’t tell the girl.
On my way home in the morning, his truck was still there. It had a parking ticket on it.
Bear Spray 1 Dickhead 0
Should this be an Amazon product review for BearGuard?
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