A Blockbuster Customer who had kept a movie so long enough that it was automatically sold to his account brought it back to the store to complain to my friend, the Intimidator, who listened and quickly tired of Customer’s whiney bullshit.

At that point, the Customer — who is always right — punched the Intimidator in his shoulder. Intimidator reached under the counter to that space where the can of whoop-ass was kept, sprung it open, grabbed the Customer’s punching arm, elbowed the Customer — who is always right — then knocked the Customer down with a counterpunch.

"I’ve been wanting to do that shit for so long," reported the Intimidator. He cracked his knuckles and let out a belly laugh. "They always expect us to take their shit."

"Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?"

"No. He punched me first."

Thing is, the Intimidator really does think he’s a superhero.

When I worked retail, I thought I was a ninja. Things like this never happened to me. I was so cool, so in control, so handsome and muscular; incidents always just fizzled out, like a fart in the wind. Stuff would happen during other peoples’ shifts; shoplifters, credit card fraud, back-room blowjobs; but I always miss the good shit. Except for the blowjobs. I never miss a blowjob, unless I’m in Kansas.