The FUCKING GUYS, The Midget and The Most Pitiful Mugging Ever...

God Damnit Lincoln!  Did you walk here or drive here?  

Karen stands behind the bar with her hands on her hips and throwing a pissed off but playful frown in my direction. 

She's originally a Richmond, Virginian girl that has now lived in Puerto Rico for over eight years.  She speaks perfect Spanish and yet still has her southern Virginian accent when she talks English.  She now bartends at the Ambique, one of my favorite bars to catch a game and look out at the ocean at the same time.  Karen lives in Puerto Rico and hates just about everything about it.  She curses like a Sailor and smiles like a Princess.  I liked her from the first moment we met.

Me at the Ambique with an Oakland Raiders Fan.

What brought her here?  Who knows, what brings most people here?  It's always an interesting story. 

Karen stands behind the bar and waits for an answer.

So, did you walk here or drive here?

A little bit of both.

What the fuck kind of answer is that?  Which is it?

She shakes her head impatiently and keeps staring.  I can tell she's really getting steamed but I can't help but keep laughing.  The more I laugh, the more pissed she gets.

No, for real-  a little bit of both.  My Dad dropped me off around the corner.  We just got done working late on that Solar house move (See MY NEW CASA post, August) I was telling you about.  He went on home and I came here.  But I guess I'm walking home.  How bout' a beer, huh Karen?

Fuck no.  I told your dumb ass a hundred times I'm not going to serve you when you walk here.  You're going to get yourself killed walking home and using those fucking footbridges.  The Fucking Guys (A popular local PR slang for all muggers, gangsters, badmen, etc.) are all over the place and it's just a matter of time before you get hit.  I don't care how big you are, you can't out run those Cabrones and their fucking guns!  

Yeah, yeah, I know.  I promise I'll be careful.  Now how bout' that beer.  No shit, Karen, it's been a long night.  It's my birthday, after all.

Oh,  that's right!  O.K., well just because it's your birthday.  But for now on I want to see you driving when your drinking, got me?

I laugh and love the irony.  In the states every bartender's civic and legal duty is to make sure you aren't drinking and driving.  Here in Puerto Rico it's the opposite.  God I love this place.

Yeah, O.K. Karen.

So she serves me a beer and soon follows with a couple of Birthday shots.  The beer taste greats and the shot is smooth. 

The Solar House move did go great, one of the coolest things I've ever seen, but more Video, Photos, and description on that one later.

Time passes and I'm feeling more relaxed as I unwind.  Karen and a few other locals are cracking me up every few seconds.  It's quiet and peaceful, about six people in the bar.  Perfect for me- muy tranquillo.

And then, this is where the story gets really crazy... might wanna put on your seatbelt for this one.

So after a while and a lot of laughs it time to go.  The Ambique, like all bars in PR, can stay open all night if they want and especially if business is good.  But it's the slow season for tourism and the bar is just about empty and I can tell the Bartenders are ready to call it a night.  I thank Karen again for the advice, do one final shot with her for luck, and give her a hug goodbye.

Well Link, if you insist on walking, your big ass better run.  It's bad for business when one of our customers gets hit by a Fucking Guy- and you're one of our best customers.  So move your ass, son.  O.K.?

I laugh with her on this one, give one more final hug goodbye, and I'm off.

I head down the street, smiling and content but still totally conscious of my whereabouts.  It is GAME ON and one can never be to careful.

O.K., now just so I don't scare all of you into never wanting to come to Puerto Rico, let me break this one down for you.  It is totally safe here - mas o menos (more or less).  We live in one of safest places in all San Juan- Isla Verde - and the main lifeline arond these parts is the tourism business, the huge luxorious Hotels, and the idea that visitor's can walk around at night and spend money freely without having to worry about the  Fucking Guys.  Most tourist never know they exist to begin with.

However, it was a long night and it was a Monday at 3:30 in the morning.   The intensely patrolled street by the Policia de Tourisma (Tourist Police) are a little light due to mininmal supply and demand of the slow Monday night.

So I'm aware of all of this.  I check my six (watch my back) and constantly look 30 yards ahead (or 30 yards downstream in Raft Guide talk).  I watch out for blind corners and constantly change my pace and angles every few seconds.  It's 3:30 in the morning and one can never be to careful of an ambush.

Soon I come to a narrow walkway that leads you from the main beach road to the main Marginal (side street) where another fresh row of bars and stores are.  It's the main strip of Isla Verde and it runs parallel to the expressway.  Got the picture?  Well close enough I hope.

So I peer down the walkway and look for strange shadows in the corner.  Coast is clear.  And then it's GAME ON and I huff it  at a good pace down the alley/ walkway.  I zip through it and just as I get to the end I feel a slight sense of relief.  I emerge into the well lit entrance of the Isla Verde strip and that's when it happens.

Give me your money, Gringo!

I turn to my right and see hiding behind a tree... hell, the best way to describe it is a little Keebler Elf holding something that looks like a knife.

Shit how did I miss that blind spot behind the tree?  But wait, what the fuck?

I focus my eyes and look before me.  There, standing about three feet away is the Fucking Guy.  But Fucking Guy or not, he only comes up to my chest, is skinny as a rail, and most importantly is holding something that is... no wait... yep, it's a small nail file about two inches in length. And Oh wait, it's plastic as well.  We're  in the bright lights, on the sidewalk of the strip, and just across the street I can see my friend Nosario, the manager of Taquitos Bar, standing outside with a few bouncers and watching all this.  Trust me, I'm O.K.

Give me your money, Gringo... please?

I can't help but let out a small laugh and smile.  This is gotta be a joke.  This guy is scared shitless, obviously desperate, but at least he's polite and speaks pretty good English.  Maybe Karen planted this four foot tall crackhead here just to prove a point.

Give you my money?  For what?  You gonna give me a manicure?

I hear Nosario and the rest of the boys laugh across the street.  The little midget looks around not sure what to do.  IMPORTANT NOTE:  Don't try this at home, or anywhere.  Again, I knew I was safe and could tell from his waistband and thin Tshirt he wasn't packing a gun just for luck.  Even if he did strike me with the pitiful little plastic shiv, the nail file would probably snapped in half.  But again,  you never know.

Frodo looks at me and tries and slightly different angle.

Come on man, please?

Sorry bro, I'm about tapped out.  How bout you trim my toenails a bit and then maybe we can make a deal.

I point my foot toward him revealing my sandaled bare foot and my toenails. 

Damn, I really do need a trim.

The boys across the street erupt in another fit of laughter.  And then it happens. 

The little Elf starts crying.

Ah man, I can't even do this.  I'm hooked on these fucking drugs and I just need one so bad. Oh man.  Fuck man!

He sobs, staring at the ground.  Now I feel bad.  You had to at least give him an A for effort.

Oh come on brother, you didn't do that bad.  Look, I'll tell you what.  Let's try again.  I'll go back about ten feet and then you come at me again.  More Bravo this time, a bit more tougher, O.K?

Minnie Me stares at me, tears in his eyes, not sure what to do.  Still facing him I back pedal a few feet.  The Taquito Gang is really howling now.  There loving it.  Me, not so much.  I really do feel kind of bad for Tiny Tim here.

I shout at the guy to hide behind the tree again.  He looks at me for a moment, shrugs, and then goes back behind the tree.  And then I come again, stumbling a bit, hamming it up just a little, and trying to seem nonchalant.

GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING MONEY, GRINGO!

And then Mighty Mouse jumps out again.

Eso Aye!  (That's it!)

I give him a high five and in his eyes I see he's still a bit confused but the tears have almost dried up completely.  Still he looks. 

Oh yeah, there was some mention of a deal, huh?

Please?

Look man, I really am tapped.  I just moved here and my boss is a pure fucking slave driver, he doesn't even pay me minimum wage (Oh the irony).  But here, I got a bunch of change, cool?

Yeah, cool.

I pass him a handful of coins.

Thanks man.

Yeah, todo bien.  Just do me a favor and don't try that shit on me again.  You do suck at it and I'd hate to see you get shot by one of the thousands of cops around here.  Cool?

Yeah, Okay.

The Little Engine That Could nods his head and then turns and walks in the opposite direction.

I walk across the street to a roar of applause and high fives.  Nosario and the boys are in good form tonight, much like myself.  They buy me a beer and we sit on the front deck where they explain that they've been watching the crackhead fall all over the place all night.  They saw me coming down the walkway and could tell that he was going to go for it.  The Fucking Guy.  They had my back the whole time but just wanted to see how things played out for a bit just for curiosity sakes.

Gracia Amigos.

We laugh our asses off and have another beer.  Later, Nosario gives me a lift home.  As funny as the situation was I figured I don't feel like pushing my luck with the foot bridges over the expressway-  That's the real playing field.  Although I'm getting quite good at checking my six and looking down stream, I don't want to push my luck to far.  Besides it's late and a ride is always appreciated.

And then I go home.  Made it to work at Nine a.m. with a slight toll of a hangover to pay.  But for that story, it's all worth it.  One of the best B-Days gift ever- except for hearing from my Cuz whose doing a lot better.

You Rock Girl. Thanks.

And I know what most of you are thinking-  BULLSHIT!  Typical Lincoln over exaggerating.  Well, I can honestly say this really did happen, at least as I remember it.  Hopefully I'll take some pics soon of Karen, Nosario, and all these places.  I might just have to pass on scoring a photo of the Fucking Guy.  Next time he might be a lot more strung out and packing something more than a plastic nail file.

And that's how it is.  The best thing I can say is that if you don't believe me I totally understand.  I probably wouldn't believe me either.  Then again, you're always welcome to come here and meet these people, see these place, and find out the truth for sure.

For now, I'll just sit here at my desk, smile, and think of you.

Hope you're doing the same.