Bouncing Along

When the news came out about the bouncer allegedly manhandling and robbing the alleged drug dealer, if you’re like me, your first question was probably not “Is this racist?” or “Who exactly should I have been rooting for?” but rather — “When exactly did this happen?”  (And then your next reaction might have been like my husband’s: “Stuff like this never used to happen at Pudgy’s!”)

By the process of elimination, I’ve narrowed the range of possible dates.  I can definitively tell you when this did not happen:

The Lunch hour. “But, Nicole,” you say, “it was dark in the video.  I think this is a given.”

Ah!  But this never could have happened at lunch, because everyone’s at Hurricane Betty’s having a turkey club.

Prime rib night. This is less scientific deduction and more of a hunch.  Or, rather, prime rib night looms so large in my imagination that I cannot imagine anything untoward happening on that night.

Amateur night. From my frequent watching of Lifetime movies and the aforementioned overactive imagination, I’ve concluded that this could not have happened on amateur night.  There are just too many witnesses around (that is, the scuzzy boyfriends milling around in the parking lot trying to push their young girlfriends into competing). 

Now, you might argue that videotaping the whole incident would bring more witnesses than, say, any imagined horrible-Lifetime-movie-boyfriends, but this is Worcester.  This is the same city where residents’ “shortcuts” take longer — in both time and distance — than the regular route.  This is the same city where people will pay a cover charge at Hurricane Betty’s in order to play Keno.  In short, this is a city where it makes perfect sense to take video of an incident that you will later lie about to the police.

This did not happen on Super Bowl Sunday or Mother’s Day. These two days tend towards the male revue traffic.  It’s a well-documented statistic that bouncer-on-drug-dealer violence goes down sharply every time a male revue is in town.  It’s unclear whether this is caused by the sound of women laughing hysterically driving away drug dealers, whether the presence of men in g-strings cuts the testosterone so sharply that no one within a three-block radius can engage in fisticuffs, or another, as yet undiscovered, reason.

Tuesday nights. We all know that nothing of interest/significance ever happens in Worcester on Tuesday nights.

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