The Thin Red & White Line
So, I'm heading back home to my apartment after visiting a friend. I get to my street and find that it's blocked off with police tape and three cops are standing there wearing full body gear, helmets and carrying uzis. I asked what was going on, but Polish cops don't talk. I did see the cop turn away an old lady and an angry businessman on his way to an appointment. Nobody was allowed to pass.
I decided to go around and try another way, but it seemed that every single entrance to my street was swarming with cops holding uzis, turning everyone away. They meant business and weren't telling anyone what was going on.
Somehow I told one cop that I had to quickly get home, so he let me through and I walked through the little park behind my house towards my door, noticing the hustle and bustle of lots of cops in the park behind my apartment, all carrying uzis and walking around.
I quickly ran upstairs, got some money, and then ran back down. Now, all the cops were hiding behind cars with their guns at the ready. Some old man was standing next to me at the doorway, and I asked him what's going on. He had no idea. I told him I had to get to work, but he said they likely wouldn't let me pass. I kept looking at one cop behind a car and made motions like I was about to start walking, but he kept waving me back. I ingored him and started to make my way out of the street, and he yelled at me "Hurry up, go now, go!"
I began walking faster when suddenly the sound of machine gun fire filled the air. My killer instinct kicked in and I dove behind a car next to one of the cops with a gun and covered my head. Another day in Poland was starting off right.
I looked to the cop next to me for guidance, but found none. He was busy readying himself for who knows what and he looked at me with no sympathy. Here was a row of tough Polish cops holding uzis decked out in helmets and full gear, with one Polish teacher in the middle holding a purse and wearing a professor's jacket.
Suddenly, a door opened right behind me. It was the back door to the bookstore which opened up on the other side of the street. A curious old lady had opened it up to see what all the noise was. This was my chance to get the hell out of there. I made to go towards the door, but the cop yelled at the old lady to close it and hide, which she promptly did. I was stuck.
Now, for most of the day, my decision making part of my brain was troubled with such questions as, "Do I have McDonalds today or do I eat pierogi?", or perhaps my real difficult decision, "Do I shit now before work, or wait until after?". Now suddenly, the decision at hand, with the panic button firmly depressed and the "Grip on Reality" meter hovering around zero, was: do I crawl on my belly through the dirt towards that door and try knocking and hope someone lets me in, or do I stay hidden behind the Fiat while well armed people shoot machine guns at each other. My previous big decision of the day, 'when do I shit?', was on the verge of being made for me.
I decided to stay put. I intermittently poked my head up and peered through the car windows to see what was happening, but saw nothing except cops hiding. I then heard another round of machine gun fire, followed by a huge explosion, which shook the buldings around me and set off every single car alarm in the neighbourhood. This scene was now very familiar to me: cops hiding behind cars, guns firing, bombs exploding and the sound of car alarms. I was the innocent bystander in a bad action film.
This nerd wasn't ready to die. I ducked back down and clutched my purse, my lifeblood. I took inventory, hoping something in my purse might be of help.
1. Chapstick - check
2. Notebook - check
3. Cell Phone - check
4. Polish-English dictionary - check
5. Sub machine gun - nope
No. It seemed I was shit out luck. Only the Polish-English dictionary was useful, and I couldn't find the phrase I was looking for, "When the fuck did my day turn into Polish 'Die Hard'?"
I poked my head out again and saw a car race around the corner, tires screeching, followed by another. More gun fire. I stayed down for a bit longer, purse in 'shield mode', until after a few minutes of silence, the cop told me to get out of there.
I bolted from the park and ran through a huge crowd of people who had gathered by the next street, wondering what all the noise was. Nobody seemed to have any answer. When I got to work and told the story, of course, nobody believed me.
Do you?
I've asked everyone what happened to me yesterday, and I've heard everything from police training, film shoot, to a crazy guy blew himself up.
Whatever happened, Poland...I love you. This was the best day ever!
15 Comments:
Sympathy?
are you nuts? that was AWESOME! it was my favourite day so far!
This is gonna mess you up for life. I wish I was there.
Yo, only my sister seems to understand. this was fucking fantastic. i joked about how scared i was for the sake of the story, but i was enjoying it for most of the time.
i've found out since then it was a suicide bomber or something. crazy!!!
As dear ol'Chopper once said: "Never let the truth get in the way of a good yarn". Your well crafted pulp diction, cinematic pacing, spot on casting (stone-cold coppers, curious old ladies, purse clutching euro-sissies)& too good to be true(or fair)luck . . . not to mention the seemingly obvious nod,wink & snicker concealed in your open-ended:
When I got to work and told the story, of course, nobody believed me.
Do you?
all reek of classic Tom prankery . . . is it true,is it not? You practically dare us to believe.As Jasmine pointed out your track record stinks . . . and thats the funniest part, the way you dangle the carrot in front of those of us who should know better. True or no this story is gold an' I'll tell my all friends & lovers 'bout my buddy Toms's polish shoot-out drama, and they'll ask: "isn't that the same weirdo you said carries a purse & just because its not gay to do in Poland,holds hands w/ a 300lb, cut off sleeve backstreet boy t-shirt wearing, buzz cut having man named Zenek?" And I'll say yes . . . yes it is. By the way I recieved your "reasons to go to Europe besides the architecture" post card today. I thought #1 drinking beer in a castle sounded good but public shoot-outs? Thats completely tits man! Then again you could always move to Scarbourogh drink in Horton's parking lot & get caught in some good cross fire. Anyhow, I'm gonna go eat some Care Bears ice cream & shoot some dope. See ya Stolloneski
brokenheartitis
You nerds.
I can't believe the reception I'm getting here. From a perfect stranger I'd expect doubt, but as my sister said, our family has a magnetic attraction to the weird and improbable.
The only thing I exaggerated in my story is how scared I was, because the truth is that I had a nervous grin for the whole affair. The next three days the park was swarming with cops, so I don't think it was an excersise.
Don't all of you know better? This group has always been on the inside of my pranks, not the victims of them.
No people, the moral of this story is that when you stay at home and sit on your couch, nothing happens, but when you pack your bags and go put yourself out there, your life is full of machine guns and crazy babcias. Believe it or not!
Okay the seige, if that was what it was, was definitely real, I am in Wroclaw too and had this reported by two independant sources, none quite as first hand as Tomski but.....
The bit that stinks of bullshit is the police story that it was a training exercise!! A training exercise during a busy afternoon two hundered metres from the central square...please...
All a day in the life in Wroclaw...
My dear Tomek, all apologies if you interpreted the vibe of my initial response as that of disbelief. Without out diving into a lengthy scholarly meditation on the historical & present day socio/political/religious/economic factors that make it so, the truth is Eastern Europe is fuckin' bad ass & tough as nails!
Hell, for a contemporary and more importantly comedically relevent example one need look no further than the modern phenomenon of Eastern European Black Metal. A musical scene where fans and performers alike rail against the laws of the unholy trinity of God, Man & Music. Cutting a swath of murder, mayhem, cannibalism, burned churches and tortured eardrums across the plains of Eastern Europe. We might have the gangsters over here, who swear themselves to the broken & dismal depression of the 'hood yo! But they don't have the conjones to swear themselves to the all mighty power and opulence of the Black Lord!
I mention this as not only an example of Eastern European Bad Assosity but more specifically as a suggestion . . . or perhaps even a dare. This is an social anomoly of your new digs you should fully take the opportunity to investigate my friend. I have a strong sense it is an (under)world teeming in not only the nefarious,illegal & bizzare, but practically erupting in their inevetible & glorious climax of:
FUN,HILLARITY,ADVENTURE & GOOD TIMES !!!!
I will forward you via email some more details and whatnot (some pix of the recent burning of a historic church in Poland, a condensed history ect). In the meantime checkout "Lords of Chaos" on Feral House press for a more indepth account of the rise of this specter claiming the soul of Easter Europe.
I digress, no the jist of the first response was not disbelief but rather, hilarity at the prediciment you now find yourself in, faced with a healthy suspicion from those you love & trust . . . which I knew you would and have seen transpire before . . . and thats funny!
As you say "we" have always been on the inside of your pranks. The result: your methodology, tactics & signitures have become more discernable. The mark of any good prankster is his/her ability to "pull it off" something you have in spades. I've seen you do it more than once. The way you sell your pranks is the way you sell the truth . . . the differences are subtle (and I have yet to catolouge them all). There is little difference of expression between your poker face & real face. Leaving those around you on gaurd & looking for subtle ticks & markers in your pantomimes (like in that scene from 'True Romance' where Walken explains to Hopper how he can always spot a liar by the pantomimes of his face . . . then he kills Hopper's lyin' ass!)Given the added anominity and cloaking this whole blog(not in person)element affords you it seems suspicions are a little hightened.
The behavioral trait I find curious, more intriguing and retardedly hilarious and was alluding to in my 1st response is the way you frame everything truth or no as though it "may" be a prank. Kinda like the way a crim returns to the scene . . . like you wanna get caught or you want folks to be suspicious. Seemingly taking more delight in the process, execution and socio-implications, than the actual outcome. It seems you relish your victims twisting w/ uncertanity as much as biting the proverbial hook, line & sinker and promote as much the way you construct your pranks. Like in Oz, it woulda been so much simpler to sell AA J as a dog killer than Master (of Master/Blaster fame). But you picked the mark that would foster the most suspicion, doubt & investigation. Practically begging the gods to reveal your ruse. Just as I alluded you did in this instance. Example:
I bolted from the park and ran through a huge crowd of people who had gathered by the next street, wondering what all the noise was. Nobody seemed to have any answer. When I got to work and told the story, of course, nobody believed me.
Do you?
Pure fuckin' Tom! Like I said its like your daring us to believe, just planting that little seed of doubt . . . I think its awsome! But a little psychotic perhaps? But yeah, awsome none the less. Its what gives all your tales their Tom-ness be they true or not. You frame everything truth or not as prank, giving every story a tall tale quality . . . its beautiful, hilarious, & completely fucked. Mabey you don't even mean to do it . . . but I think you do, and I think its one of your best, intriguing, and hilarious qualities. Regarless, I beleive you Tom. Anyhow I gotta go an' let my cornrows out brother. So, take her easy and give some serious consideration to that Black Metal shit I was speaking of earlier . . . oh yeah and send me your addy so I can shoot ya some mp3s
Dude, don’t bother with these nuts and this cock, I’m still Jenny from the block. Puerto Rican transsexual . . . Over & Out
ps: They got ice cream in Poland? Fuck man, I've been all about ice cream lately . . . hard serve, soft servre, covered in chocolate, formed in a cake. . . Shit yo it don't matter! You should eat more ice cream dude . . . trust me on this.
dr. wight, it is you who writes pure gold!
i got your postcard too tom, i remember ugly tomatoes in the garage and i agree, they are very yummy. i'm thinking of scheming a complicated round trip ryanair'd adventure to get to poland this christmas/new year, will you be there?
it's true, dr wight does have the gift of writing, and i often wonder how much they appreciate it at Zehr's. do something great with your life wight! don't squander it.
and yes, i should be around for christmas, i have time off then. come visit, bring money.
didn't we already discuss this tomek? Man/Lady-purses must contain the following items which are essential:
Pocket Light,
Band-Aids,
Advil,
Sharpie marker,
Needle and Thread,
film canister full of plastic explosives.
How many times do we have to go through this?
Thank you Liz!
It has always been a great mistery to me.... What a woman keeps inside her purse/handbag... (yes I am English).
As a small child, my mother's handbag was a 'no go' zone. This has continued on to my current girlfriend.
This does bring us to the question: Tom, What the fuck have you got in your 'Manpurse'?
Personally I opt for the baggy trousers with big pockets... They only contain the usual crap, you know - Money, Keys, cigarettes, wallet etc.
Manpurse.....honestly!!!
As we say in India (and Brampton): Happy Bird Day!
Yeah...
Hippo Birdie
Yeah, make sure you bring your purse witchya for your annual spanking old man
Post a Comment
<< Home