Jumping on the Grenade

There are times, when faced with an imminent asskicking, that we learn just how far we might go for our fellow man. How far will you go? Let me share with you a story, of a time I came *this* close to jumping on the grenade.

I was on a deployment at Keesler, and hanging out with Kit quite often. (See the Slidell Saga) Of a Saturday night, we’d do whatever adventure we were doing, and hit the Denny’s on the beachfront for late night breakfast.

A midnight Denny’s crowd can be a group of regulars, and such had become the case at this location. We had a regular waitress, a regular table, even though we weren’t entirely regular ourselves. Sort of off-normal, which suited us just fine…there was a section where nerds and geeks would regularly be seated, and the rest of the restaurant for the late night drunkard crowd. You can probably guess which section we frequented.

On this particular night, we were just being served when the large table behind us was invaded and conquered by a bunch of teenagers, fresh out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. As you might imagine, they were dressed quite strangely…one young lady in a clear skirt and gold lame’ panties, a young man in a dress…I’m pretty sure they had played Rocky and Janet that night, but gender-switched. Both were probably 16, at the most. The rest of the table was equally as wild, and Kit and I smiled at each other, reminiscing about our own Saturday night floor shows, truly beautiful to behold.

Don't dream it...be it.

We finished our meal, chatting and enjoying ourselves…even when the boy with the Mohawk asked Kit for the rest of her sausage. Some may have been bothered, but we just smiled at his boldness and rewarded it with the sausage. Michael Rennie might have been ill, but we were just having a good time.

Unfortunately, what would have been a lovely evening started getting murky as I noticed 4 military meatheads at another booth, giving the kids the stink-eye. My danger sense was tingling so hard I started looking around for radioactive spiders. I’ve been military myself, and proudly, but these guys took me straight back to high school in a hurry…I can recognize a dung beetle when I see one, and I was looking at four of them.

Kit noticed me go quiet, as I started truly listening to the Fucktastic Four. The kids were gathering up and getting ready to leave, when I heard the lead douchemuppet utter “I swore an oath against all enemies foreign and domestic, and that looks like a domestic enemy to me” all the while giving the boy in a dress (a knee length floral number, by the way) his best Deathglare. (I'm not sure who writes southern villain dialogue, but they need to be fired.) He looked like a stocky version of Dolph Lundgren, a true poster boy for the Aryan Nation. I swiveled my legs out to the side so I could get up quickly, and called for the waitress.

“Crystal, you need to call the cops, there’s about to be trouble in your lot.” She didn’t even question me, just went for the phone. The kids left. Two of the four meatheads followed. Our waitress dialed the phone, while Kit went a bit pale.

I stood and quickly crossed to the booth, addressing the remaining two. “You guys need to stop your friends before they do something stupid” I exclaimed. Neither looked up from their Grand Slams, gazing into their plates as if divining the future in their scrambled eggs. Or maybe they just couldn’t lift their eyes under the colossal weight of their shame.

Some quick calculations went through my head, and I was worried these two would follow me out the door if I went. I knew the scrawny kid wouldn’t have a chance, though, and I remembered all too well the years I had been targeted like that. Somewhere within, a flame grew hot. I hit a quick about face and headed for the door, figuring to grab my mag-light out of my trunk on the way. When I can, I try to avoid a 4-on-1 without some sort of equalizer.

For the second time in the Deep South, Dangerboy was ready to receive a good old-fashioned ass-whoopin’. Hey, Alex, what do you think?

The category: Timely Intervention. The clue: Faster than eggs through a hen.

What is the fastest police response I’ve ever seen without a Krispy Kreme involved?

Correct for $200!

Thank you, Trebec.

As I rounded the corner, I saw the lead meathead reaching into the kids’ car, grasping for the lad with the fashion sense. At the same moment, one of Biloxi’s finest pulled into the lot. They had to have been right next door, as the response time was under a minute from time of call. Seeing the cop hop out of his cruiser, I turned around, heading right back inside. Kit was happy to see me, to be certain...and for that matter, so was I.

The girl in the transparent skirt came back in to retrieve something they’d left at the table, and I noticed she was wearing a rather large shiny pentacle. I caught her eye. “So,” I said, “is that for show, or are you pagan?”

She straightened her back and met my eyes with pride, and said slowly “I’m a witch.”

“Well then, Blessed Be.” I replied. Her eyebrows made a climb for her hairline, as she realized that I wasn’t busting her chops at all. I winked at her as she thanked me and left, and I’d like to think that perhaps she put two and two together there on the whole who-called-the-cops issue.

I called for the check, and decided to finish my coffee and pie. It wasn’t long before the 2 douchehats came back in and sat back down in their booth, and then the glares got heavy. I pointedly ignored them, though truth be told I made a huge mistake not going over and asking for the name of their CO so I could end their careers. Fortunately for them, I had so much adrenaline pumping in my system that rational thought was difficult to maintain.

After about 5 minutes of enduring the stares, Kit and I paid and left. I flashed the dung beetles a wolfish grin on my way out, and you can be sure I kept my eye on the door until after we’d pulled out of the lot.

I’m certain that I would have been hurt, and likely badly, had the balloon gone up, but I’m proud of myself that a young man would have avoided that fate had it happened. Still hyped up on adrenaline and caffeine, I stayed up with Kit for several more hours, playing Mortal Kombat 3 until the wee hours just before dawn. A repeating chorus of “Sub Zero wins” finally serenaded me to relaxation. I’m still just fine that none of the Fucktastic Four managed a “Get over here!” though. I might have broken out in bruises.