my neck wound story All my friends have heard this story, but it's fun to tell anyway: In the spring of 1990, I was employed as a bartender at the Royal Albert Hall in London. Three or four nights a week I would tend to the concert-goers on the main level bar. I was listening to the Beatles on my Walkman one night on the way to work. In A Day in the Life, there's this line, "Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall," and I just stopped, whoa, that's where I work. It doesn't take much to impress me.
The second night after I started working at the Albert Hall, the only people in the bar were this 250-pound drunk, his friend and their dates. The men were asking the women if they could see their boobs (the women thought it was hilarious). I pass by behind the bar and the 250-pound guy says, "Two brandies." Ever the cocky young American, I reply, "You've had enough."
"What'd ya say, mate?" he shoots back, and because I'm so tough, I put my hands on the edge of the bar and come back with, "I'm not going to serve you." Quick as a whip, the lout grabs me by the shirt (we wore formal shirts and bowties with Velcro fasteners) and pulls me up and onto the bar. I'm 6'5," so this is no easy feat.
I'm lying on my stomach on the bar, my toes barely touching the ground, and he asks again, "What'd ya say, mate?" I'm more angry than afraid, so I repeat the fact that I won't serve him. I keep thinking of the last physical confrontation I was in, in the fifth grade. I remember someone saying, "Rowe's pretty tough, he keeps getting back up," and me thinking, "Why do I keep getting back up?"
I put my hand on the lager lout's neck and squeeze. He doesn't flinch. He's thick, like a bulldog. His buddy sees this and puts his smelly mug in my face and says, "I think you'd better serve us."
My boss is about five feet away with his back turned, washing dishes. He doesn't notice (we weren't that loud, and it took about 20 seconds). Suddenly the guy grabs my hair, snaps my head to the side and bites me on the neck! I'm not kidding. He starts growling too. He clamped his unbrushed teeth down on my fair skin, and I was like, "OKOKOK, what do you want?"
It didn't hurt, but it was painfully weird. I remember one of the women in the background touching the guy's arm and saying, softly, "Ray, Ray," but you knew that she couldn't say it too loud or he'd smack her. He let go. I stepped back, and real cool like straightened my shirt and walked over to the supervisor. I said, "Uh, David, that guy just bit me on the neck." Security came and escorted the guy out and just as he was about to leave he put his fist through a plate glass window. Back home, my roommates took snapshots of the bite mark.