But they wouldn't really do anything, would they? That big talk was fine and good and all until they were reminded that he was a cripple! And that he was entitled to a certain amount of courtesy. And that he was allowed to be an asshole because he had a bum leg. And they could be fined up to $500 just for parking in one of his spaces with the blue and white sign!
Oh, House. You're too awful.
Actually, it was kind of funny. House was a doctor. He had pledged an oath to do no harm and to help whenever called upon. Or not called upon. It was his duty (technically) to serve the people as a man of medicine. And yet, if he saw someone else being attacked by a demon? Well, he'd hardly bat an eyelash before walking away. But that's how House was. It didn't have anything to do with saving lives and everything to do with figuring out what the problem was. The patients were irrelevant to him. It was the cause of their symptoms that he was interested in. Nothing else.
But to the situation at hand. House didn't know what he'd done. Maybe he'd stepped on the creature's tail. Maybe he'd called him a bad name. Maybe he'd whacked him with his cane. Maybe, all of the above. That didn't matter. What mattered was that this beast (whatever it was -- a Vicodin hallucination?) was preparing to attack, and House couldn't run.
His one major downfall. Literally, an Achilles' leg.