This post continues the story from last week’s “MINOU’S PREDICTION.”
“E-A-S-Y!” I said to Yoshi on the phone, “It’s just a report.”
It was February 3rd, 1994 in Weehawken, New Jersey. It was rapidly turning into a bad day.
The line was, however, already dead. Behind me, I heard and felt a massive weight flying up the stairs from the basement. In an instant the door burst open, and there was Yoshi in my face, ranting and raving. Again, he repeated the line about me abusing my family name; just because it was “Olcott,” I had the right to treat others poorly.
Strange how that never occurred to me. If he only knew what my last name really entitled me to!
But how could he, of course?
In any event, I saw an apoplectic 250 pound man in front of me, acting like he just got sprung from Dannemora, smashing his fist in his other hand repeatedly, all the while screaming at me. He wasn‘t just angry. This was harsher than the “if you want my sneakers, take ‘em” stare. This was “your ass, his foot.” I was being threatened. Physically.
At least, I was used to being shouted at.