From: rigler@galileo.ifa.hawaii.edu (Max Schnell)
Subject: My Lamest Moment
Organization: IFA
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1992 08:07:09 GMT

grendel@canetoad.UUCP (Rage y Romance) writes:
[an adventure story from his poverty-stricken youth]

Hey, this is very similar to something which happened to me six years ago:

I was so poor back then that I lived on rice and beans, and shared a really
crummy single-room apartment in Waikiki with my fellow grad student, Matt.  
At night, we slept on the cement floor, because we couldn't afford furniture.
It was like an oven, because the concrete parking lots and buildings around 
us radiated away all the heat stored during the day.   So we both slept naked.

It's just as well we had no possessions, because our apartment was easier 
to break into than it was to use the key.  Before going to sleep, I would 
lay out an array of weapons within arm's reach:  a bo, a wooden katana, 
shurikens, darts, a bayonette,...etc.  It sounds silly, huh?  Matt used
to think so, too, until he woke up one night to find an intruder standing
over him.  He chased that guy for a block through Waikiki until he remem-
bered he was naked.  After that, he borrowed half of my weapons.

So, one night I get home at about midnight, and I pop over next door to 
a dance club called The Wave (open 'til 4 am) to blow off some steam.  
After an hour or so, I come back totally exhausted, lay out my weapons, 
and instantly fall asleep.  About one hour later, Matt and I are awakened 
by the sound of a woman in great pain:

"Oh please...no...Oh God, stop it...<moan>...No, don't!...Ohhhhhh...
won't somebody help me?...No!  Noooooo...."

It goes on for a several minutes, before I begin to fully wake up.  I'm
so tired I can hardly think, because I've been working something like 
100+ hours per week.  My head is like a fog and I can't clear it even 
by shaking it hard or slapping myself.  I'm not sure if I'm even awake, 
or if I'm having some sort of nightmare.  Finally, I manage to slur out
some words to Matt:

"Matt, W-wha S'apnin'?"

"Shit.  I keep expecting it to stop.  It's over by The Wave, right?."

I listen harder and realize that it sounds like it's coming from right
in front of The Wave, where there is also the underlying noise of the
crowd that hangs out in front.

"Yeah.  There's people all over.  It must not be serious.  Or someone 
will <yawn> help her.  Right?"

"Um...yeah, I guess..."

Still the moaning goes.  I doze off and slip into a nightmare.  The 
moaning and pleading gets worse.  After some unknown length of time, 
I hear Matt's voice:

"Shit."

"Yeah...fuck this.  What the fuck's going on?"

"Shit.  Shit.  Shit."

I get a surge of energy from somewhere and stood up.  I grab my favor-
ite weapon, a 3' wooden stick, and head for the back door.  I don't waste 
time with clothes.  For some perverse reason I want to be naked when I 
crush this guy's skull.   Matt follows, similarly armed, and hands me 
my sweat pants to put on.

"Jesus H. Christ."  As soon as we get out the door I know that the 
voice has been coming from the opposite direction from The Wave all 
along.  It was some trick of the accoustics.  The crowd in front 
of The Wave _could not_ even have heard the voice.  Only me and Matt
and other timid people in our building.  I feel sick.

We peer through the black maze of concrete, shadows and chain-link 
fences stretching back into darkness behind our apartment building,
and there she is, lying on her back, moving slightly and moaning.
Apparently alone.  Too late to catch the assailant, but not to late 
to try to help her.

In our haste to get to her we tear up our skin.  A policeman arrives,
driving one of those little patrol carts, just as we pull ourselves
over the last chain link fence.  Apparently someone thought to call 
the police at least.

Boy I tell you...something like that can only happen once.  It should
not have happened at all.  And I'd leap straight into the gaping maw 
of death before I'd let it happen again.

Rigler
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