A few years ago, I was in a Walmart store searching for a new large-screen television. I was meandering through the aisles looking for a DVD player to go with the television I’d chosen when I saw a blonde in tight jeans and Harley shirt talking to some young girl near the counter. I think she was inquiring about cell phones because I saw her pull one out of the back pocket of her Miss Sixty’s and show the girl. Now, if you’re smart, you know the people at Walmart don’t know jack shit about anything. They’re just there to respond to customers’ questions the best they can and make a sale.
The blonde, who was about thirty and slim, must’ve asked a question that the girl couldn’t answer because she was soon on the phone with someone else. A couple minutes later, the sales girl left the counter and walked to the back room. I don’t know why I was staring—probably because the blonde was hot and filled her jeans out to near perfection. I was also thinking that something wasn’t right about the way the woman was acting. She seemed a bit antsy.
Several minutes went by as the blonde kept looking around the store and back at the storage room. With no one apparently looking, except for my prying eyes, which were now out of the woman’s purview, I saw the woman grab a handful of gift cards, slip them into the back pocket of her jeans and take off up the near aisle.
The woman was walking fast and had just passed the second gondola (large shelving unit), when a tall, sturdy girl came out of nowhere and plowed into her. She drove the blonde sideways and tackled her on top of a beanbag chair in the center aisle.
“Uhhhhh,” the woman aspirated, as the girl pounced on top of her and crushed her slim body on the plush cushion. The girl then got to her feet, pulled the woman up, jerked her across the aisle and slammed her against the side of the gondola.
The blonde just stood there with her arms extended and legs bent as if she were ready to collapse. "Please," she said. The amazon girl ignored her plea, walked forward and grabbed the front of her neck with her left hand.
“I saw you take those gift cards, bitch, so just hand them over now.”
“What gift cards?” said the blonde, as she goggled at the girl, who was probably only eighteen.
“The one’s in the back pocket of your jeans.”
“Oh, those,” she said. The girl tightened her grip on the blonde’s neck. She started coughing.
“Yeah, those, bitch. Hand ‘em over or I'll shove the whole lot of them up your little ass.”
“I bought them.”
A crowd of a couple dozen formed around the blue-jeaned blonde and girl—myself included—as we awaited the turnout of this strange spectacle.
The girl shook her head and took her hand off the woman’s neck. I don’t know what possessed her to do what she did next—and I know it wasn’t store protocol to beat up customers. But the girl smirked, balled her fist and punched the blonde in the stomach. And I mean she really socked the biker chick.
“Uhhhhh!” The blonde dropped to her knees and started retching, but the girl grabbed her under the arms, pulled her up, slapped her arm around her neck and walked her back over toward the beanbag. Once she was over the beanbag chair, she hopped on top of the woman and smashed her face and slim body into it.
The woman’s body went limp as the crowd let out a big, “Oooooooooo!”
Honestly, I thought the big blonde girl had crushed the biker chick to death as she lay on her stomach with her arms draped over the beanbag, bootheels turned inward. The girl didn’t seem to care one way or another.
“Stupid bitch," she said, as she kicked the blonde on her ass. She then reached into the woman's jeans and pulled out the gift cards.
"This is what happens when you steal from my department," she told the crowd. She looked down at the blonde and smirked before walking back to the sales area.
I didn’t see the girl in the store after that. I assumed she got fired for crushing the shit out of the blonde. But one day when I went back to Walmart for something, I saw a blonde—who looked like the same one the amazon blonde had leveled—roaming the food aisles. She turned and looked at me as she grabbed a can of tuna. And I could swear she was trembling as set the can in her cart—as if she were anticipating another attack. I guess some experiences leave lasting impressions.
It wasn't two months later when I saw the blonde a third time. Why the f*ck she was there, I hadn't a clue. But sometimes the bikers let their bitches make drug runs for them. Whatever the case, the biker chick was again clad in jeans -- with a black bandana wrapped around her head. It was twilight and I was at a high school football game with a friend. The blonde was standing by the far end of some bleachers, cussing out the girl who had pretty much owned her ass at Walmart. After the woman finished cussing the girl out, she turned to walk away. That's when the girl grabbed her from behind by her hair, pulled her back and wrapped her thick arm around her neck from behind. The blonde gasped as the girl tightened her grip and dragged her by her boots behind the bleachers.
At this time, the running back for the team I was rooting for (my old high school) was tearing down the sidelines like a greyhound son on of bitch. The crowd was roaring and no one was paying attention to the blonde woman and girl who were now traipsing down the far hill. The amazon had the Harley chick by the arm and was taking her down to a restricted area to presumably fight her. The woman, who wasn't resisting, had her head down--shoulder's slumped--realizing how helpless she was against the strong teen.
As I followed the duo, I heard another roar from the crowd. I assumed someone had gotten a touchdown as the running back had made it all the way to the two yard line before getting shoved out of bounds.
I made my way down the hill, and just as I hit bottom, I heard the first punch land with a thud. I soon saw that the younger girl had punched the blonde and knocked her down on the ground. I found a thick tree and hid behind it so I wouldn't discourage the two combatants. But I wasn't behind it very long. The high school girl continued pummeling the blonde until her face was covered with blood. The Harley babe couldn't even fight as she tried to slap at the girl as she ambushed her. A brutal blow from the bottom of the girl's fist connected with the biker chick's nose and put her on the ground for good. She landed on the pavement spread-eagled--with blood splattered across her shirt.
The tall teen walked over and kicked the unconscious woman in the side as a thud echoed amid the cluster of trees.
"I guess you finally learned not to mouth off at a high school girl," the amazon shouted. "And, trust me, I have no qualms about beating up an older chick. You got that, c*nt." She kicked the biker chick in the side again. The woman didn't even stir. "You weak little wimp. You're not the first biker slut to get her ass kicked at my high school, and you won't be the last. But If you ever show your bald little twat around here again, they'll be carrying your ass out in a body bag."
Moments later, a couple teachers broke the fight up. They both glared at me as they assisted the biker woman up the hill, probably wondering why I hadn't broken up the fight. But we all know why I didn't.
Anyway, I never saw the biker woman again. Maybe she got so embarrassed by getting her ass kicked twice by the same girl, she moved away.
Bikeman
