|Don't mess with Persians!
A night out with the boys
By Arash Seyedalikhani
March 13, 2003
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
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,