Did I just meet the Persian Chuck Norris?

A true crime story, or maybe not

Friends often ask, “is this going to be in Situation Normal?” By “this” they mean whatever we happen to be doing. That’s how slice of life humor works. One minute, you’re living your life, the next minute you’re slicing off a piece and turning it into a funny story.

The other day, Christina and I met our friends, Avi and Marjan, for lunch at a Persian restaurant. At some point, Avi asked me if “this” was going in Situation Normal? Probably not, I told him. It’s always fun to see friends, but something has to happen for “this” to make it into Situation Normal, and as far as I could tell, the this in question was just lunch. Which was lovely!

But then something happened.

Marjan spotted a friend from high school. The man came over to our table, said hello to Avi and Marjan, then introduced himself as Pj to Christina and me. In one hand, Pj held a cup of hot tea, but his other hand was bandaged.

“What happened?” Avi asked.

“Crazy story. Do you have five minutes?”

Did we have five minutes for a “crazy” story? Um, let me think about it…

Pj’s “crazy” story

Late one night, Pj stopped at a gas station in Calabasas. If you’ve been keeping up with the Kardashians, you know that Calabasas is a really nice city in Los Angeles County. If you haven’t been keeping up with the Kardashians, I can assure you, as a lifelong Angeleno, that Calabasas is a really nice city wedged between Woodland Hills and Malibu, which are also really nice. And when I say really nice, that’s code for high property values and low crime rates.

“I don’t smoke, but sometimes I smoke, so I went inside to buy a pack of cigarettes,” Pj said.

Pj’s smoking confession seemed odd. Was he in denial about? Was he actually a two-pack-a-day-smoker who was so ashamed about his habit that he felt the need to shade the truth when telling a story to friends and strangers? Or, was this Pj’s way of telling us that he’s one of those unreliable narrators, like Amy from Gone Girl, or Verbal Kint from The Usual Suspects, or The Narrator from Fight Club? I couldn’t be sure, but I made a mental note to stay skeptical.

“Soon as I walk in the convenience store, I see trouble,” Pj explained. “There’s a homeless guy inside. I just know this is going to be a problem.”

Pj might’ve turned around, gone back to his car, and left trouble behind. That’s what I do when I sense trouble, but maybe that’s why my stories are comedies, not thrillers. But Pj didn’t turn around. Maybe he really wanted the cigarettes. Or, maybe Pj was looking for trouble.

“As soon as I buy the cigarettes, the homeless guy starts yelling. He wants money. He wants cigarettes. He wants a light. He’s aggressive.”

I wasn’t sure what Pj meant by aggressive. Did the homeless man mean to harm Pj for the cigarettes? I couldn’t tell. But that’s the thing about unreliable narrators—they lean into ambiguity.

“The guy is yelling really loud,” Pj continued. “He’s not making sense. He’s high, or crazy. And mad. He’s a few feet away from me, like from here to that table.”

With his bandaged hand, Pj pointed to a table about ten feet away.

“He starts moving toward me, so I yell, ‘stay back!’ But he keeps coming. I yell again. I’m thinking, this guy is going to attack me. I haven’t been in a fight since high school. I tell the cashier to call the cops. Then I tell the guy to stop.”

“What happened?” Avi asked.

“He fucking charged at me. Excuse my French.”

I didn’t mind Pj’s French because I’m also bilingual motherfucker.

“What did you do?” Avi asked.

“I cocked my hand back, like to hit him. I didn’t want to hit him, but he kept coming, so I threw a punch.”

“And that’s how you hurt your hand?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it at the time. Adrenaline. Fight mode.”

“What happened to the guy?” Avi asked.

“I knocked him out cold. His teeth went flying everywhere. One punch.”

Pj’s claim seemed hyperbolic. One punch to knock a man out cold and knock out his teeth out too?! No way. But then again, Pj’s hand looked messed up. Maybe he wasn’t exaggerating.

“It’s all on the security camera,” Pj said. “I’ve got the footage on my phone. I can show you.”

Video tape evidence would put my skepticism to rest. But Pj didn’t take out his phone to show us the footage. Instead, he kept telling his wild story. Classic unreliable narrator move.

“The guy is on the floor, bleeding, no teeth. The cashier is screaming. But I don’t have time to think. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another homeless guy enter the store.”

“What?!”

“The second guy has a knife. A switchblade.”

“Oh my god,” Marjan said.

“He’s waving the knife wildly,” Pj continued. “But he’s really messed up on drugs or something, more messed up than his friend. He’s coming at me, and all I can see is this knife.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I waited for him to come close. He took a wild swing with the knife. He missed me. That’s when I kicked him in the leg.”

“Like in the shin?” Avi asked.

“No, no. I aimed for the area by the knee. That’s a weak spot. I broke his leg. The bone was sticking out.”

One kick, one compound fracture!? I didn’t buy it. Pj’s story sounded like some Chuck Norris shit to me.

“It’s all on video,” Pj said. “I can show you.”

There was that promise of video evidence again. But just like the last time, Pj didn’t put up, and he didn’t shut up either.

“Then I hear sirens,” Pj said. “I walk outside. There’s a dozen cops. Guns drawn. The two guys who attacked me are Black. I’m brown. Who knows what the cops are thinking? I put my hands up.”

Pj raised his hands, the good one and the injured one, over his head to demonstrate.

“The cashier told them what happened.”

“And there was the security footage,” I prodded.

“Yeah, it’s all on video.”

I wanted to see the video, but everyone else wanted to know what happened with the guys who attacked Pj.

“I get a call from the DA. She says, ‘you gotta come downtown for a hearing.’ I told her, ‘I don’t think so.’ But then she says, ‘that’s me being polite.’ Then she says she’ll subpoena me. Whatever. So I go downtown. The guy with the broken leg is in a cast. The other guy is in one of those masks, like Hannibal Lecter, because he was spitting on people and trying to bite them.”

“Oh my god,” Marjan said.

“I told the judge what happened. The cashier was there too. She told the judge what happened. The guys took plea deals. Two years for the first guy. He’ll be out in a month. The other guy got eight years because of the weapon.”

“Did they play the tape for the court?” I asked, hoping to bring the video evidence back into the conversation.

“Yeah, they played the tape,” Pj said, simultaneously answering my question while dodging the opportunity to play the promised video footage. “Here’s what’s really messed up. The cashier had to miss work. She lost a day’s wages! Her son had to drive her. He missed work too. The DA didn’t give a shit. But I felt bad. I gave the cashier what I had in my wallet. Like a hundred bucks.”

“That was nice of you,” Marjan said.

“Unbelievable,” Christina said.

Speaking of unbelievable, I wanted Pj to show us that video. So I said, “I’d love to see the video.” But instead of showing us the video, Pj told Avi and Marjan not to tell his mom, on the off chance that they might run into her.

“I told her I tripped and fell down some stairs,” Pj said, extending his arms out away from his chest, as if breaking a fall that never actually happened. Another lie, another classic unreliable narrator move!

“You gotta learn to defend yourself because it’s crazy out there,” Pj continued. “I’m getting a concealed carry permit. You have a gun?”

“No,” Avi said.

“Get a gun. And get Marjan a taser. I don’t know you two very well, but I advise the same. Gun for you, taser for your wife.”

I wasn’t sure why guns were for guys and tasers were for women. It seemed sexist. But Pj left before I could ask about his gendered weapons choices, or cross-examine his “crazy” story.

The way I saw it, either Pj was telling whoppers about what happened at a Calabasas gas station, or I had just met the Persian Chuck Norris. What was the truth here? I honestly can’t answer that question. But I do have an answer to Avi’s question: the Persian Chuck Norris who may, or may not, be a smoker, who lies to his mom and asks his friends to do the same, and who allegedly kicks ass like it’s going out of style, is going to be in Situation Normal!

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Shout out time!

A big kickass shout out to Michael Rubin, Situation Normal’s newest paid subscriber! Thank you, Michael!

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Stick around and chat!

1. I believe Pj was the victim of an attempted mugging, but I have my doubts about his ass-kicking prowess. Do you believe Pj’s “crazy” story? Is he the Persian Chuck Norris? Explain.

2. Isn’t unreliable narrator just a fancy writer term that means liar?

3. What’s the best Chuck Norris movie? Hint: all of them! But also, Delta Force because that movie co-stars Lee Marvin.

4. Are you trained in self-defense? Do you own a taser, or a gun? What’s your plan to survive the crazy denizens who inhabit the doomed hellscape of our wildest imaginations? Details, please!

5. Why is cursing considered French, when every language on Earth has curse words? Tell me I’m fucking wrong about that!

Want more stories? I’ve got two books for you!

Ride/Share: Micro Stories of Soul, Wit and Wisdom from the Backseat is a collection of my Lyft driver stories🚗🗣

Not Safe for Work is a slacker noir novel based on my experiences covering the adult entertainment industry💋🍑🍆🕵️‍♂️

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