One...Two...Punched???

It was warm that evening, the air at work was not working, as usual, and my freshly tanned skin was moist with perspiration. I had just returned from a brisk walk down to Savemart on my break to buy some popsicles and was delighted with my purchase; push pops, fudgesicles and a big bag of cheap popsicles filled my brown paper bag. After some time, during which, Sammy, Jessica, and I had our fair share of frozen treats, two girls with large purses approached me.
"Where's your bathroom," they asked very rudely.
Catching onto their game, one that was all to familiar, I quickly responded, "We don't have a public restroom."
"Then why have I used it before," replied one of the girls.
"I don't know because we don't have a public restroom, it's for employees only!" I retorted, but they also knew the routine and despite my insistence on our lacking a public restroom, they continued to push until I finally I asked them if they wanted to talk to a manager. This of course didn't help the situation. My face was beginning to grow flush, as it usually does when I am embarrassed or frustrated, and they began making cat-calls and telling me, "Don't get all upset Tom! Just calm down Tom." I figured this was some racial slur which I had yet to learn, but simply ignored it.
Eventually, they walked away, continually talking about the fact that I wouldn't tell them where the restroom was because they were black. And after returning some unwanted merchandise to their respective places in the store, I noticed another girl, also with a very large purse, acting very strangely. And, as was usual protocol, I began watching her; unbeknown to me she was with a large group of people, including the two girls who approached me earlier.
And as the night continually got better with each passing moment, two other girls in her group began saying they needed to "stink up the bathroom," and "make an explosion in the toilet." Now, if they thought I was going to tell them where the bathroom was so they could drop a stink bomb in it or steal merchandise, whichever was their true motive, they were crazy! But, before they could ask me, two of the rude girls from before said that I wouldn't let them because I was nothing but a "prick!" As, I was still upset from the way I had been treated earlier, and looking for a reason to throw them out of the store I quickly walked over and said "If you are going to call me names, you can get out right now!"
And as before, they began saying "It ain't no big deal Tom, calm down, Tom." And, not allowing myself to be walked all over, I continued to tell them to get out of the store. I suppose it was at this point, my heart pounding rapidly, and my face growing flush again, that I neglected to notice their boyfriend walking up to me. He was taller than I was, wore baggy jeans and as if to make himself appear more wealthy than he actually was (he wasn't fooling anyone), a t-shirt with dollar signs all over it. He started speaking in ebonics, a language which I have yet to fully understand, and said menacingly while hopping in my direction, "What's up cuz?" I told him what was "up" and told him if he didn't leave, then I would be calling someone to make him leave. Well, once again, my mouth had gotten the best of me and before I knew it his hand was in my face. And despite his great effort to knock me out cold, I continued to yell at him to get out of the store.
Once reaching a phone at the front register, all the while the girls calling me foul names and the loser still trying to get me to fight back, I called my manager to call the police. Eventually, after they saw that I was getting a hold of the authorities, they zoomed off in their little Jeep Liberty. As I watched them drive off and feel my face beginning to turn red, I spoke to the 911 operator and told her what happened.
And upon helping her last customer, Sammy rushed over to assess the damage. Her hand was cold as it touched my inflamed face. Being caught in a moment of passion and distress (fearing my life would be cut short by the group of gang bangers that was going to shoot me in retaliation), I grabbed her in my arms and pressed my lips against hers; they were soft and tasted sweet like the cherry chap stick she had just put on. And it felt so wrong, it felt so right, don't mean I'm in love tonight!
Okay, so maybe that last bit was a bit of an exaggeration...I did not take Sammy in my arms (though now looking back it sounds like it would have been a really good idea and muy rico suave), and I did not break out into song, singing Katy Perry's, "I Kissed a Girl," (though that would have been rather hysterical)...Instead, I simply ran to the back, reached into the freezer and began eating a cherry flavored popsicle.