The night
The guy punched me in the face to make a point.
I had walked into White Hen, a 24-hour convenience mart a block from my home, at 1:30 am on a Tuesday night directly from a fraternity floor party, craving cigarettes and a hot chocolate lollipop. As I entered, I came upon a man sobbing into his hands. He was drunk and crying because he had been (allegedly) accosted earlier in the night by a group of Mexicans. Now, he himself was Mexican, and he was relaying his plight to the also-Mexican cashier in Spanish. As I sat in line, the drunk man began to make sideways glances at me as he spoke. Now my grasp of Spanish is only half-decent, but I know when I'm being talked about, and I was unappreciative. So I told him in spanish that I could understand him, but it did not deter. It only made him switch to English. I guess so he could be more readily understood. He asked the cashier why mexicans attack their own people. He lamented the fact that if he went to the police about his fight, nothing would happen, but if he punched me, I'd go running to the cops. Then he switched languages again---this time to the language of fists.
He punched me in the face to make a point.
Then he got into his car, backed into a snowbank, drove off, and got arrested. Now I'll be at his trial in March for DWI and battery.
I totally proved his point.