AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN, SORT OF

I consider myself a gentlemen.  As an Officer of Marines, it kind of goes with the territory, as the old saying goes.  But there are sometimes when boundaries are stretched and a good old rude comment is not only deserved but utterly required. This is one such case that I could not pass up.

It happened back at TBS one weekend when my best friend, Jesus Leon, and I decided to go out on the town one weekend. It had been a hard week and we had looked forward to letting the little hair we had down and go clubbing. I was there to have fun with my friends and Leon was there on the outside possibility that one of the local college girls would find him irresistible. This is where the trouble began.

Having already found my life mate in my wife, I had no aspirations to find company that night and was reduced to watching the attempts going on around me. I also had the secondary mission to play cupid and, if possible, introduce lovely young ladies to my available Devil Dogs. With nothing to lose, I could freely introduce myself and, without shame, make the first move. If I got shot down, so be it. I was not making the attempt for myself but for my friends so that initial introduction did not carry with it the fear of rejection.

Back to the bar that night, I was not only physically exhausted, but I was getting rather tired of watching my buddies getting tore apart like Japanese Zeros in WWII. Combined with the beer which reduced inhibitions, I was getting more sour by the minute. These young officers were the finest men the country had to offer and would be a catch for any young woman. But time and time again, I would watch my friends introduce themselves and be utterly shut down rudely by some snobby college princess. To make matters worse, they would then go over to some skinny, ugly, longhaired, nose-pierced, club loser and be all over him. This happened over and over as I watched my friends taking gut shots (and lower) at every turn.

Meanwhile, Jesus and I sat at the end of the bar and I was getting furious. I was at the end by the elbow of the bar and Jesus was to my left. I sipped on my beer as three gorgeous woman drunkenly stumbled up the bar on my right. They were giggling and talking and I could sense Jesus taking notice and straightening up to try to listen to their conversation. The music was loud and he could not hear them but I could hear every word.

I heard them talking about aerobics and ascertained that they were instructors. Below my sourness, I had to chuckle that there could not had been a better opportunity for Jesus than three giggling, drunk aerobics instructors.

Like most club princesses, they were friends with the bartender. As he came over, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked it upward to expose the fact that both of his nipples had crossed Band-Aids on them. What meaning this had I had no idea but it seemed to have sent the girls into a frenzy. Such is the existence of club life, I guess. So it naturally follows that the girls just had to put crosses to match the bartenders. This interested Leon even though he knew even less than I did about the situation. All he knew is that there were three ladies busy putting crossed pieces of tape over their breasts.

But I had had enough. I thought, "This is ridiculous." I was at a club with drunk people, dead tired, and now I had to witness the idiocy of three drunk girls taping their nipples over their clothes because the bartender had done the same. And I just knew any attempt to enter this moronic situation would be met with yet another snobby reaction. But Leon had a different outlook and was eagerly awaiting my introduction.

When all the taping was done, which sparked endless drunk giggling from each of them, one of the girls turned to another and said "Why are my crosses so much smaller than yours?"

There are a few pure moments in your life when the cosmos align just right and God allows an instant of perfection. This was one of those moments and with a beer in one hand and eyelids at half mast, I heard the following statement flow out of my mouth as if in a dream.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to hear the answers to."

Three shocked faces turned to me. Leon did not hear what I said but he knew I said something. He thought this was the moment of truth where he would get his long awaited introduction because I had instantly grabbed all three girls' attention.

With all the hate she could muster, she shot back with, "I don't remember inviting YOU into this conversation." This perfectly represented the very attitude that was driving me crazy that night.

Referencing the "pure moment" explanation above, I could not believe God had given me yet another perfect set up only seconds after the first. In an instant that I will perfectly remember forever, I did not even miss a beat, turned to her and, meeting and matching her bitter gaze,  stated:

"Well, I was feeling like a BITCH so I thought I'd join in."

No words can describe the looks I got but I wish I could have a picture of it. I felt I had dealt a blow to the enemy that night and at least given the princesses a taste of the treatment they and their likes had continuously showered on all my friends. That one was for you, buddies.

As for Leon, well, all he got to see was the utter shock and the three girls grab their drinks and retreat. I turned back to the bar and sipped my drink without reaction. He asked me what happened and I told him he really did not want to know. But after some needling, I told him the whole story. He could not believe that I had said that but it is a story we share every time we talk.

Was it a gentlemanly gesture? No. But it really seemed necessary and felt really good.