Till Death Do Us Fart.
I think it would be a pretty safe bet to say that most people will live their entire life without ever having a knife held to their throat. A knife being held by a total stranger and who was threatening to kill them.
I can't because it happened to me, not just once but twice. I was just ten years old the first time when a knife was held to my throat. My mother, brother and I had just finished visiting Ontario Place. Ontario Place was a theme park on the Toronto waterfront that opened back in the spring of 1971. It was a very unique and popular attraction that first summer when the three of us first visited. While we were exiting the main gates on our way to take the bus home, I was grabbed by a skinny, long hair psychopathic stranger.
It all happened so fast.
Apparently, there had been some kind of altercation between this individual and the cops just outside the main gate area. At precisely the exact moment they were about to apprehend him, I walked out and he tore my shirt as he grabbed me. I had literally walked right into his arms and I definitely was in the wrong place at the wrong time on that day.
He had a knife in his hand and he held it to my throat. I was now going to be his hostage and he threatened to kill me if the cops came any closer. I remember my mother screamed and there was a mass commotion while others quickly left the area. Anyways, the cops quickly subdued him; butterfingers had dropped the knife in all the excitement. The knife wasn’t a little pocket knife either; it was more like a steak knife with a wooden handle. He was immediately tackled by the cops, handcuffed and taken down the stairs where he was thrown into a police car.
I never saw him again.
My first hostage incident ended just as fast as it had started. The three of us continued our long walk over to the Dufferin Gates to catch the bus home. I remember my already paranoid mother being very upset and I don’t remember if I cried or even how I felt on that day. Afterall, I was just a little kid and I guess I didn’t understand the gravity of the whole situation. However, I have never forgotten that day and I know I never will.
Fast forward many years later to the mid-80's. I was newly married and working in the ice cream business as a driver salesman. As was my daily ritual, I would frequent one of the many greasy spoon restaurants on my route for lunch. I was never much of a fast food eater back then and I always preferred the daily lunch special at one of the diners.
I never brought my lunch from home because I didn’t like eating in my truck; I liked to get out of the truck and have a good lunch. There were many diners to choose from throughout the city and naturally I had my favorites. Lunch specials were good hearty meals and always included a bowl of homemade soup, a dish of rice pudding and a coffee. It was a pretty good deal and most of my lunches would cost me a fiver including tax and tip.
The Logan Restaurant was located on the southwest corner of Gerrard Street and Logan Avenue in Toronto’s Riverdale neighborhood. Although it was not one of my usual stops, I had probably already eaten there two or three times in total. It was owned by a Greek guy and there was an attractive tall woman who also worked there waiting on the tables. It might have been his wife, but I don’t know for sure.
My last visit to the Logan Restaurant was one I will never forget.
I took a seat at the first booth as I walked in. I remember the Greek guy was working alone on that day and it was not very busy. There was only one other guy sitting at another booth and nobody was sitting at the lunch counter. I don’t recall what I actually ate on that day, but before I left I needed to take a piss. The washrooms were located at the back of the restaurant and I passed another four or five booths as I walked to the back.
I did my business and proceeded to walk back up to the front and pay my bill before leaving. Suddenly, the one guy who had been sitting in the other booth comes up from behind me and he puts me in a chokehold. He had a steak knife in his hand and he held it right at my throat. Once again everything happened so fast and I was fuck’n terrified to say the least. I froze, I honestly thought he was going to kill me.
I was at his mercy. What could I have possibly done to evoke this crazy lunatic's wrath?
He was screaming that when I passed him on my way to the washroom, I farted and the smell was so bad it had ruined his lunch. He told me he was going to kill me for farting and ruining his lunch.
Seriously?
I don’t recall farting, but even if I did was that a good enough reason for killing me? I remember thinking to myself. The owner knew this potential killer by his name, yet I forget what it was. He told him that he needed to put the knife down and let me go. He needed to stop all this nonsense. It felt like an eternity while that knife was held at my throat, but in reality the whole incident was over within a minute. He pushed me away and warned me that the next time he would not hesitate to kill me. He then sat back down and resumed eating his lunch as if nothing happened.
Next time? You’re fuck’n kidding me, right?
I still was shaking while I stood at the front and the owner was very apologetic, but not apologetic enough to give me a free lunch. I should've just walked right out without paying.
I now wish I had.
He told me that the guy was a regular customer, he was a mental case and he was harmless.
Harmless?
"Yeah right, that guy is attacking your customers with a steak knife. He seems pretty harmless to me," I told the owner before I walked out the door. I never set foot inside the Logan Restaurant again.
Many times over the following years I would be stopped at Gerrard and Logan waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I would look over to see the owner through the front window and just shake my head while laughing. Although it was not funny the day it happened, I laugh about it now. I wonder how many other customers like me his harmless mental case regular customer had scared away. I would bet I wasn't the only one. It most likely was the reason why there was only the three of us in the restaurant at lunchtime back on that day.
That day when a fart could have easily cost me my life.
Seriously, I can't make this shit up.
I can't because it happened to me, not just once but twice. I was just ten years old the first time when a knife was held to my throat. My mother, brother and I had just finished visiting Ontario Place. Ontario Place was a theme park on the Toronto waterfront that opened back in the spring of 1971. It was a very unique and popular attraction that first summer when the three of us first visited. While we were exiting the main gates on our way to take the bus home, I was grabbed by a skinny, long hair psychopathic stranger.
It all happened so fast.
Apparently, there had been some kind of altercation between this individual and the cops just outside the main gate area. At precisely the exact moment they were about to apprehend him, I walked out and he tore my shirt as he grabbed me. I had literally walked right into his arms and I definitely was in the wrong place at the wrong time on that day.
He had a knife in his hand and he held it to my throat. I was now going to be his hostage and he threatened to kill me if the cops came any closer. I remember my mother screamed and there was a mass commotion while others quickly left the area. Anyways, the cops quickly subdued him; butterfingers had dropped the knife in all the excitement. The knife wasn’t a little pocket knife either; it was more like a steak knife with a wooden handle. He was immediately tackled by the cops, handcuffed and taken down the stairs where he was thrown into a police car.
I never saw him again.
My first hostage incident ended just as fast as it had started. The three of us continued our long walk over to the Dufferin Gates to catch the bus home. I remember my already paranoid mother being very upset and I don’t remember if I cried or even how I felt on that day. Afterall, I was just a little kid and I guess I didn’t understand the gravity of the whole situation. However, I have never forgotten that day and I know I never will.
Fast forward many years later to the mid-80's. I was newly married and working in the ice cream business as a driver salesman. As was my daily ritual, I would frequent one of the many greasy spoon restaurants on my route for lunch. I was never much of a fast food eater back then and I always preferred the daily lunch special at one of the diners.
I never brought my lunch from home because I didn’t like eating in my truck; I liked to get out of the truck and have a good lunch. There were many diners to choose from throughout the city and naturally I had my favorites. Lunch specials were good hearty meals and always included a bowl of homemade soup, a dish of rice pudding and a coffee. It was a pretty good deal and most of my lunches would cost me a fiver including tax and tip.
The Logan Restaurant was located on the southwest corner of Gerrard Street and Logan Avenue in Toronto’s Riverdale neighborhood. Although it was not one of my usual stops, I had probably already eaten there two or three times in total. It was owned by a Greek guy and there was an attractive tall woman who also worked there waiting on the tables. It might have been his wife, but I don’t know for sure.
My last visit to the Logan Restaurant was one I will never forget.
I took a seat at the first booth as I walked in. I remember the Greek guy was working alone on that day and it was not very busy. There was only one other guy sitting at another booth and nobody was sitting at the lunch counter. I don’t recall what I actually ate on that day, but before I left I needed to take a piss. The washrooms were located at the back of the restaurant and I passed another four or five booths as I walked to the back.
I did my business and proceeded to walk back up to the front and pay my bill before leaving. Suddenly, the one guy who had been sitting in the other booth comes up from behind me and he puts me in a chokehold. He had a steak knife in his hand and he held it right at my throat. Once again everything happened so fast and I was fuck’n terrified to say the least. I froze, I honestly thought he was going to kill me.
I was at his mercy. What could I have possibly done to evoke this crazy lunatic's wrath?
He was screaming that when I passed him on my way to the washroom, I farted and the smell was so bad it had ruined his lunch. He told me he was going to kill me for farting and ruining his lunch.
Seriously?
I don’t recall farting, but even if I did was that a good enough reason for killing me? I remember thinking to myself. The owner knew this potential killer by his name, yet I forget what it was. He told him that he needed to put the knife down and let me go. He needed to stop all this nonsense. It felt like an eternity while that knife was held at my throat, but in reality the whole incident was over within a minute. He pushed me away and warned me that the next time he would not hesitate to kill me. He then sat back down and resumed eating his lunch as if nothing happened.
Next time? You’re fuck’n kidding me, right?
I still was shaking while I stood at the front and the owner was very apologetic, but not apologetic enough to give me a free lunch. I should've just walked right out without paying.
I now wish I had.
He told me that the guy was a regular customer, he was a mental case and he was harmless.
Harmless?
"Yeah right, that guy is attacking your customers with a steak knife. He seems pretty harmless to me," I told the owner before I walked out the door. I never set foot inside the Logan Restaurant again.
Many times over the following years I would be stopped at Gerrard and Logan waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I would look over to see the owner through the front window and just shake my head while laughing. Although it was not funny the day it happened, I laugh about it now. I wonder how many other customers like me his harmless mental case regular customer had scared away. I would bet I wasn't the only one. It most likely was the reason why there was only the three of us in the restaurant at lunchtime back on that day.
That day when a fart could have easily cost me my life.
Seriously, I can't make this shit up.
