How would you Red Blooded, Rural, He Man, Country Boy, Bubba types have handled this self defense issue?

My room mate was having some of his Russian Home boys come over. Could I please make some of my famous cabbage rolls? Sure. Need some cabbage, dill, pork, and some Russian spices. The only market in my area that sells that is this gigantic Armenian market near my house. Armenia used to be a part of the Soviet Union, and this place carries every Russian food you can imagine. Problem: it's in a REALLY bad part of town on San Fernando Road. So I put my .25 auto on, hop on my Moto Guzzi California (I know what I am getting, and it will all fit in my side panniers) and off I go. So I am walking in the rice aisle. For reasons that make no sense, in a Russian market, there are like 20 varieties of rice, mainly in gigantic 25 to 50 pound bags. There is a very pretty woman, but she is blocking my way, and the aisles are not that wide anyway, and she can't seem to understand the concept that there are other people in the store, and they would like to p. So I wait. She leaves. I start looking on the other side for my Russian spices. Out of nowhere comes a very mean looking Mediterranean man with dark circles under his eyes and a very intense stare. He just comes up and stares at me from about 20 feet. OK. I am small (five foot four, 118 pounds) and gay. I have dealt with predatory gays before. This guy then grabs me by the neck and pushes me up against the spices, and gets into my face. He says I was looking at his girlfriend. Oh, Ok. I tell him not to worry. I couldn't care LESS about his girlfriend. I am Gay. I don't care about ANY women. Wrong thing to say. This statement for some reason drives him insane. He then says "You think you smart guy. Smart guys like you get hurt." WTF? OK. Well, the good thing about Supermarkets in ghetto Los Angeles. They have a lot of security. So the guy leaves in a huff, and I go notify one of armed guards. It's a really big store, so by the time I hit the exit where the guard is standing, Mr. Psycho is no where in sight. I explain the situation. The Mexican guard stares blankly at me. I explain the situation in Spanish. The guard says he will keep an eye out for the guy, and ignores me and goes back tot his conversation with the girl selling lottery tickets and money orders to Mexico behind the booth. So I buy my stuff, pay, and head out the enormous lot in the dark to find my back. Heck. Mr. Psycho is right behind me, materialized out of thin air. "So smart guy, you go to cops, cops no help you, here I am." I can't shoot the guy. I will get in trouble. I turn the cart around, start heading back. He grabs me again by the neck, and starts to slap my head. I scream like a woman. He backs off. I scream again, and flail my skinny arms, and manage to break contact with him. He now looks like he will go berserk. I am now screaming bloody murder and people are staring. He puts his hand under his coat, and I figure he has a gun or a knife, and I break and run. I go back to the front of the store where they have fabric softener and watermelons. Two different armed guards are now all alert. They came out from under the store and about 50 feet into the lot to investigate. They are staring at me. I tell them a crazy man is bothering me, and could they escort me back to my bike. One says he has to stay at the front and guard the watermelons, and strawberries and nopales and fabric softeners out front, but the other one says he will walk me back to my bike. He does so without event, even though now I have a profound headache from stress. The guy leaves me before I put on my helmet and gloves, so I am looking around for Mr. Psycho to reappear. He doesn't so I hop on, and drive off. Sure as heck, right by the drive way exit is Mr. Psycho Dude. I gun the bike to get out of there before he can do anything to me. As I drive off, I wonder how would a normal American man have handled this?