Enter the Fist

Story Sent in by John:

This was in college. When I took Vera out to a cafe for our first date, she asked if we could sit by a window. It was a warm day and the place's windows were open.

We weren't sitting for two minutes when she turned to the window and said, "There's a huge draft here."

"We're sitting by a window," I reminded her, "Close it if it's bugging you."

She turned away from the window and we talked for a little while. I assumed that the breeze ceased to be a problem.

In the middle of a conversation about a play she had acted in when she was in fifth grade, she turned to the window and smacked the pane with her fist. It was loud enough to make the other patrons look over.

"What was it?" I asked, "A bug?"

"Just a draft. It's blowing and not stopping."

I stood up and said, "I'll close the window."

She put a hand out to stop me. "It's not your responsibility. There's a draft in their restaurant. They should be the ones to close it."

"It's no trouble," I said and I continued toward the window.

"No!" she said and punched the window screen like a stupid little child.

"Stop punching the window!" I yelled at her, tired of her behavior. She then slammed a fist on the table and gave me a nasty look. I had it with her and I left on the spot.


  1. guess that's why they call it window pain

  2. ^ For you sir/madam.

    I totally thought this was going to end in a trip to the emergency room.


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