On Being Battered

My story proceeds thusly. After attending a local convention, I allowed myself to be convinced into participating in camaraderie with colleagues, as is my wont. Following some revelry and libation, during which stories were told and darts were shot, I elected to retire for the evening.

Whilst returning to my coach, I encountered some young dark-complexioned fellows, I believe there were two in number, who begged my assistance in giving them some direction. As I composed myself to oblige, a yet unseen gentleman elected to strike me upon my skull with some dense and apparently inflexible object. Although I would not know it until later, these gentlemen then opted to take my wallet and keys and to punch, beat and kick me at their leisure.

My next recollection is vague and dreamlike and involves a long, staggering journey toward the hospital a mere mile away. I next recall discussing with the physician the fact that I had been discovered by a motorist who found me lying in the street near the hospital. Rather than running me over and risking staining the underside of his vehicle, the motorist kindly elected to stop and to contact the hospital.

A mere few hours later, after CT Scans and who knows what else already had been performed, I became alert enough to remember who I am. We all agreed that this was a major improvement, "we" being the doctors, the nurses, the policemen who had assembled around my bed, and myself. I asked permission to call my wife, did so, and reported to her that I was in the hospital as a result of "a fracas." Knowing me as she does, my wife was very concerned. You see, I am not the type of person who typically gets involved in a fracas. I am often involved in a ruckus and occassionally a brewhaha, but I normally have enough sense to extricate myself before things escalate into a fracas. On this occasion, I don't think I was given a fighting chance.

After a few more hours of observation and treatment, I was released to my wife's care. I had a concussion, some whiplash, stitches in my lip, bruises all over my face and up and down one side of my body and severely wounded pride. Other than a non-stop headache which has lasted for a week, I have healed up for the most part.

It turns out that my attack was not unique. There have been about 20 such attacks in the last month involving groups of 5 to 15 young guys. The detective on my case believes that it is some type of initiation rite. I'm not sure what sort of fraternity these fellows are joining, but I'm happy that I was able to help them realize their dreams. Have I become jaded? No, I am too old and stubborn to be taught any lesson that I don't want to learn.

And so, my apologies for missing this week's service, and my thanks for all of the warm regards.