The other day, I described being put on the spot in sort of a bad way or in a hostile situation through no fault of my own. Well, what if you were the object of someone’s affection? No, I am not talking about love or adoration, exactly. Suppose that someone wanted to make you their pet? They even go so far as to ask permission to keep you. No, they are not asking you for permission. They are asking their parent or leader figure (someone in authority) for permission to keep you. Have you ever found yourself in that rather dubious and embarrassing situation? It happened to me once and I didn’t even see it coming. One night one of my buddies from Fort Benning, Robert, asked me if I wanted to go out for a spin on my bike with him. Robert was another local yokel of sorts. He was from Macon, Georgia. We both rode Hondas and we thought we were cool. Not. We wound up at this bar called “Someplace Else” in Columbus, Georgia. It was a little dive in the basement of a building, but it was purported to be a biker bar. We thought we would just stroll on in like we owned the joint and have a beer. When we got there, the place was dead. It was completely empty except for the bartender. We ordered beers at the bar, paid, and sat at one of the empty tables. The bartender walked over and said, “You can’t sit there, that table is taken.” We looked at him like he had been smoking something and said, “Are you high? There’s nobody here.” He repeated, “I’m telling you; you can’t sit there.” About that time, there came a loud roar of hog engines outside, then a thundering din of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the bar. In walked the biggest bunch of bikers I had ever seen in my life. The smallest one in the bunch was at least twice my size, and they all had weapons. These two women walked over to the table Robert and I were sitting at and said, “You’re at our table.” I shot back without thinking, “Look, lady, we were here first.” Oops. Wrong thing to say. And just so you know, I am not a small guy by any stretch of the imagination. She lifted me out of my chair and repeated, “You’re at our table!” Now, I was scared. Even the women were stronger than me, and Robert was smaller than me. We were in serious trouble. I tried to negotiate, “Cool. We were just leaving anyway.” But this big dude, obviously the guy in charge, wasn’t having any of that nonsense. He walked over, slapped a chain down on the table rather briskly, and said, “Are those your rice burners parked outside?” When he said that everyone but us started laughing. We didn’t say Jack. We were too scared to say anything. Then the lady who originally accosted me looked over at the guy in charge and said, “This one is kind of cute. Can I keep him?” The big dude simply said, “Suit yourself.” I halfheartedly tried to make an excuse, “Look, lady, I’m in the Army. I got to get back to base. What about my bike?” She said, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’ll take really good care of you, sweetie. I’ll get you home all safe and sound like, and your bike will be fine right here.” And another big burst of laughter erupted from the crowd. “You can ride with me.” Somehow, I didn’t think they were going to take no for an answer. But my friend, Bob, Yeah… He got off scot-free because, well, he sorta got lost in the shuffle. It was another exercise in futility. And that was how I came to ride with a biker gang for a couple of years.
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