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 Don't mess with Persians!A night out with the boys By Arash Seyedalikhani March 13, 2003 The Iranian Since I started going out with my girlfriend about four years ago, I kind of stopped hanging out with the good-old Persian boys and took up a quiet, private life where I spend the majority of my time with my girlfriend. We go to university together and come home together and we spend most weekends together. Last summer, my girlfriend decided to go on a trip to Europe with her family for a month. Summer had just arrived, my classes were all done and I had NOTHING to do. The following Saturday, I was extremely bored and decided to call up a few friends and go out. It had been a long time, but I called up a fellow Persian friend and asked him if he wanted to hit the club scene. So naturally, he called up four of his other buds whom I had not met before and we decided to meet up. I agreed to be the driver that night and we all squeezed into my Jeep. Since the weather was good, we decided to take the roof off, plus, with the roof on, we all probably would have suffocated from the powerful combination of designer colognes we were wearing. Even with the roof off and driving 60 K/hr, our powerful, yet mysteriously attractive stench of cologne seemed to be invincible against the elements. We decided to go cruise downtown for a while, grab some grub, and hit one of the clubs at around 11:00. We looked like a bunch of Mafiosos with our leather jackets, funky tight Versace muscle shirts, stylish pants, and all reeking of a combination of Italian designer colognes. We parked the car and started to walk down Vancouver's busiest street (Robson). Yeah that's right, we were the shit! So we thought. We walked like we owned the place. Our proud mighty Persian shnozes pointing to the sky, walking to a techno beat, while leaving a trail of Versace, Armani, and Gucci fragrances behind us that burned people's eyes. As we walked down the street, ladies threw themselves at us... or tried to jump out of the way.  Suddenly, the inevitable happened. One of the boys
decided to demonstrate his irresistible ways with the ladies and approached a fine
young blonde specimen standing at a door of a restaurant: "Vaat's your name
beautiful?"I was quite embarrassed at first, but I thought maybe that's how the Macs operate. So I watched with curiosity. The girl rolled her eyes and turned away. He then said "come on girl, you are a virgin until you've been with a Persian." I could not believe my ears! Was this dick-head serious!? Holy shit, I began to quickly flee the scene. What the hell just happened? I tried to forget what had happened and said, okay big shots, let's go to the club. The tough guys decided that although we were projecting the million-dollar rich-boy image, it was time to all pitch in and go to the liqueur store and buy a $10 micky. They claimed that the club drinks were too expensive and watered down. They all counted penny by penny and finally gathered enough to buy a micky. Since I was driving, I decided not to participate. Plus, I wanted to be in the right frame of mind, so I can take off as soon as these geniuses create another scene.  It was about 11:15 and we made our way to the club. There was a huge
line and one of the guys said with pride, "Don't worry boys, I know the owner."
He walked up to the bouncer and began to negotiate. I watched this frickin moron
try to slip the bouncer coins while negotiating like he was in a bazaar in Isfahan.
He twisted and turned his head while waving his hands around in a frenzy of gestures.
Suddenly, a few sharp words were exchanged and he came back proud."This club sucks anyways guys. I gave him a piece of my mind. Let's go somewhere else." You drunken moron! Where the hell are we gonna go now? "Don't worry," he said "I know another club owner and the DJ at this club; let's go there." I knew he was full of shit, but we started to walk. Just before we left, I noticed the bouncer pointing at us and talking to a few other big beasts. It didn't look good. As we got a few blocks down the road, one of the bad asses suggested that we kick the crap out of some punks to display our Persian might. The others agreed and began cracking their knuckles as we walked down the street. What the hell was happening? I felt a sudden blow to the back of my head -- that's right, it was the bouncer and a bunch of his buddies. Unfortunately I took the first punch. Being the only sober one, I was pissd off and started swinging like Tyson. I felt confident that us proud Persians would take these gorillas in a hurry. My blood was boiling and I shouted "bacheh haa! Bezzaneem!"  I saw the one of the mighty Persian warriors unconscious
on the ground while the others were running for their lives. I took a few more punches
and then also ran for my life. What a disaster! The police arrived from every direction
and apprehended the monkeys. I began giving a statement and the officer assured me
that I had a good case against the bouncers. Then out of nowhere, one of the proud warriors appeared out of the bushes he was hiding in and began shouting threats to the bouncers. "I'll kill you! Don't mess with Persians." He ran towards them and began swinging his fists while cautiously keeping his distance. The cops took him down, maced his face and Rodney Kinged his ass while taking him to jail. The officer then told me that my case just went down the toilet and it looked like we were attacking the poor bouncers. This was probably one of the worst experiences of my life. I went home with a black eye and decided to stick to my old ways and mind my own business. Live and learn, I guess. * Printer friendly
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