I'd almost forgotten about it and was cleaning up tables, when this big huge son of a bitch trucker with fucking Popeye arms come tearing out of the john with a big wad of mustard smeared toilet paper in his hamfist screaming, "Who's da muthafucka done dis? I'm gon kill da bastard!"
I was torn between the desire to yell triumphantly to the crowd that i was the one who had done the deed and my common sense telling me to keep my mouth shut and live to do it again another day.
In the silence that fell from the trucker's wrath, what escaped from my mouth was..... a giggle. A small giggle, but loud enough to be heard by the trucker. Our eyes locked. That was all it took. He KNEW.
He could run fast for a big guy. Almost caught me before I made it to my car.