But just as I began to punch out my worn time card, shit came raining down from the starless sky.
A girl burst through the door… mascara rubbed and smeared everywhere on her twenty-something face, tears in her eyes, scratches on her neck, and a big fat lip. She stood staring at Topher and myself out of breath and panicked. One look and I knew immediately.
“He hit me…” she whimpered to Topher and I.
If you have ever seen an episode of “COPS,” or experienced any type of domestic violence, you know the rest.
After calming her down, it became decision time for Topher and me. Our lobby was technically closed (6:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m.) and with all of our rooms were occupied, she had nowhere else to go. For this merry band of self-serving assholes, it was finally judgment day and we decided to do what any decent person would do. We took her in.
After calming her down with some water, she rattled off her story to us.
“I was drinking at a party at my boyfriend’s brother’s house and we got into it,” she quickly spouted.
“You see, my boyfriend is actually in town for a lifted truck/small dick convention,”(Okay I made that part up-but very possibly true).
“We were watching a UFC fight and he just flipped. He took me outside, started yelling, and...and, punched me in face and threw me to the curb,” she nervously explained.
At this point I saw an opening for a little gallows humor to lighten the mood. I took it.
“Well, uh, maybe for future reference, it’s not a good idea to watch cage fighting with this dude,” I awkwardly interjected. She smiled her way into a slight chuckle and her nerves drained from her body.
She then went on to mention that this was “only” the fourth time that this had happened. Again, for anyone familiar with DV, this is nothing new. For those of you who have been living in a cave since adolescence, this uniquely human phenomenon of physically harming the ones we supposedly care about is not restricted to three-wheeled trailer owners in the Smokey Mountains. Yes, as the sun sets in each dark pocket of the continent, thousands of “men” come home and exert their fucked-up will on their supposedly significant other. Rich men, poor men, old men, young men. You are naive to think otherwise. And that night, the raw consequences came wandering in by way of our lobby doors.
It's wrong. Do I even need to say it? Yet somehow, shithead dudes like “Ike Turner” over here, manage to keep women around through a nasty concoction of control, low self esteem, and pure unfiltered fear. I can't stand seeing this.
She wanted to leave him, I could definitely see it in her jittery blue eyes. But it was readily apparent that this Schmohawk knew what strings to pull.
After a long conversation about her future, which concluded with her promising to leave the guy, we were able to get a hold of her sister to come pick her up and whisk her away to safety. I don’t pray, so the best I could do was hope for the best for her. She deserved better. I hope she gets it.
-Burt
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