How Did I Get Here?

Saturday

Quote of the Day: “In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock.”

- Thomas Jefferson

Today was the wedding but it turned into a total rock star day that will live in infamy!!!

How I got roped into this wedding thing was easy: I was ambushed. A friend and fellow-Adj set me up by inviting me over to dinner and her friend was there. Within five minutes, the questions turned to “Do you have your Blues with you?” and “Do you have your sword?”

Since the answer was “yes” to these questions, the question came quickly, “How would you like to be in a sword detail at my wedding?”

“Nice to meet you, too, Jen.”

Actually, it sounded like a great time although I didn’t know anyone but Marisa and Shawn. But hey, free chow, free drinks, and … well, isn’t that enough?

I had it all planned out. I would pack an overnight bag, drive to Marisa’s house, ride to and fro the wedding with them, and plan to crash there tonight so I could drink, NOT drive, and best of all, SLEEP IN THE SWEET COMFORT OF A/C!!!

When I arrived, there were bridesmaids in various stages of dress but they all had a few things in common:

1. They were all stressed out to the max
2. They didn’t know me from Adam
3. Because of #1, #2 didn’t seem to phase them

Me and Shawn (Marisa’s husband) just stood in the kitchen, drank beer, and laughed at the complete spazatronic machinations going on and the complete lack of humility in front of two strange men when it came to things such as tape, private areas, and other such unmentionable approaches to looking good in a bridesmaid outfit.

After the total meltdown of getting them out the door (women!), Shawn and I took our time and climbed into our respective uniforms. We got a ride from Marisa’s sister and when we walked along the sidewalk to meet her, we got the strangest looks from passers-by. I think they might have thought we were on our way to inform a family they lost someone in the war. Little did they know we were on our way to a wedding and general drunkardness.

The wedding took place on a Navy base (there are approximately 143,000 of them around here) but we got stopped at the front gate by Joe Rent-A-Slob because Marisa’s sister didn’t have a sticker on her car.

Nevermind that there are two fully-decked Marines in Dress Blues with valid military IDs in the car. As you know, I’m just crazy about civilian gate guards. The classic line was that we could walk in or fill out a bunch of paperwork to get a temp pass. Only O6 and above were authorized to enter without a temp pass.

Bastards.

So we climbed out of her car, stood in the sun and sweat profusely (having 3 layers of clothing to include a full jacket) while they filled out the useless paperwork.

I was more than a little pissed off and kept imagining me using the sword I had to lop off the head of Barney Fife and his little buddy.

The wedding went fine except there was no coordinator, per se. So Marisa being herself (Italian and an Adjutant) took over the job and did the Field General thing. The sword detail was made up of all Marines, both Enlisted and Officer, but I knew none of them. After a few minutes of practice, we had it down and I ended up where I would be the one smacking the bride on the ass with my sword.

But there was a bit of confusion because the traditional line is “Welcome to the Marine Corps, Ma’am” after you smack her but she was an Captain of Marines herself so what do you say?

I think we went with “Congratulations, Ma’am” which probably confused the crowd because to them, I was breaking the official sword detail pose to hit her with my sword and telling her congratulations.

But that wasn’t the problem. The bride and groom decided the switch places so when they came through the arch, the bride was on the other side. I didn’t notice this until the very end and I locked my frantic eyes with the Marine across from me. Like Marines can do, we communicated an entire conversation with our eyes:

“She’s on the wrong side!”
“I know!”
“What do we do, should I reach all the way over and smack her?”
“No, I’ll do it.”
“You know how to do it and what to say?”
“No problem.”
“Go for it, ooh-rah.”

And thus, he performed the role flawlessly and the arch went off without a hitch.

At the reception, supposedly I was sat at the “fun table.” I don’t know what made it more fun than any of the others but I knew exactly 2 people: Shawn and Marisa’s sister. I was determined to make it the fun damn table regardless, especially after a few beers.

To my right was a young lady who I didn’t know. Or I thought I didn’t know. I really didn’t but kind of did.

I was informed by Marisa that I actually went to The Basic School with this person but I had absolutely no recollection of her. Out of 250 Lieutenants, it’s not hard to imagine I would NOT know a particular person but this seems to happen every time I meet someone who I supposedly went to TBS with. I guess that means I was either very non-observant during that time or I’m getting old.

Probably both.

To my left was another young lady but I was pretty sure I didn’t attend any formal Marine Corps Schools with. She was too young and upon questioning, I discovered she knew almost no one at the wedding. She was there via a friend of a friend just like me but with my help, we made the “Fun Table” … well, the fun table.

I don’t remember what I said or the stories I told but I can assume my general entertainment value was high, especially as the empty bottles started to collect. At least that’s what I’m going to go with since I was there and you weren’t.

At some point, we all impressed Ruth to the point where she invited the whole gang to her nightclub.

Her nightclub?

I just assumed she was a server or something but the invitation was out there and we suddenly had a place to go after the reception. She requested that we Marines in uniform keep them on and she promised we would have a great time.

We passed the word around and gave out the name of the club but I think most of the wedding guests were having a bit too much fun because as these things go, it was just kind of a drunken free-for-all with loud music and drunken promises of staying in touch.

In other words, it was a great reception.

At some point, we gathered the people we knew and decided to make a break for the club. I ended up in Ruthie’s car with a couple of other Marines which was my plan to get there without having to depend on people who were just going off directions given them.

Yeah, see, even after a few beers, I still had my wits about me. Always scheming, folks.

Here is the point that the night got very interesting.

The first thing I notice as we drive up is that there is a line down the entire block of people waiting to get in. Ruthie had made a phonecall while en route but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I soon found out that she had called ahead and they were expecting us.

We stopped directly in front of the entrance and got out when all of the sudden a valet rushed over, smiled at Ruthie, gave her a hug, and whisked away the car. I thought that was strange but I hadn’t seen anything yet.

We stood there in the middle of the street after the car drove away and a couple of hundred people were looking at us in our full dress blues.

Out of the crowd came three rather big gentlemen who looked like they could beat down the Cracken with one side of beef tied behind their backs. They wore black suits and were wearing the Secret Service earpieces with the springy wire. They also greeted and hugged Ruthie, swallowing her up like a small child. She introduced us and they surrounded us as we moved to the entrance.

They had a velvet rope. I mean a REAL velvet rope and as we got near, another bouncer unhooked it for us in front of the hundreds of people waiting to get in. We blew past everyone with Ruthie in the lead and the bouncers all around us.

From the reactions of the people we passed, it did not take long to realize that Ruthie was not just a server. She was some kind of big fish in this pond and we all realized we were going to be treated like rock stars.

She took us through the crowd with the bouncers running interference. We went through the kitchen and back to the rear part of the club while everyone we passed seemed thrilled to see Ruthie.

When we got to the back room, it was everything you imagine a bumpin’ night club could be. The music was blaring, the lights were swarming everywhere, there was fake smoke everywhere, and the dance floor was packed with a collection of gorgeous California people dancing in unison to the infectious beat.

I was in total shock.

The bouncers took us to the back of the room where there was a raised platform with couches and comfortable chairs. Ruthie gave us some plastic wrist bands that identified us as the highest of high-level VIP as we arrived at our destination. It was obviously a VIP section but there were already people sitting there.

Temporarily.

While we stood by, the bouncers moved forward and hustled the people away. And it was no polite affair; they were rather forceful in getting the people out of there and the poor slobs barely had time to grab their drinks and shuffle away a bit miffed but not even thinking about challenging the goon squad shooing them away.

The moment they were gone, two bussers showed up, cleared the little table, wiped it clean, and disappeared as fast as they appeared. We sat down as as if on cue, three beautiful waitresses showed up with smiles and announced,

“What would you like to drink? Everything is at your disposal.”

Did I hear that right?

I looked over at Ruthie and she had a big smile on her face. She nodded in the waitress’s direction as if to say “Go ahead.”

“Well, do you have Coors Light?” I said tentatively.

The waitress laughed because she knew I was in a state of shock and told me she would be right back.

A minute later she came back with three Coors and a platter full of water bottles. She told us that if there was anything that we needed, just ask.

I turned to Ruthie and asked her “What is it exactly that you do here?”

“Assistant manager.”

“And what did you tell these people when you called?”

“I told them that I was coming here with a bunch of Marines and if any of them showed up in uniform without me, let them in and give them the VIP treatment.”

I stared at her blankly.

This is about the time the receiving line started. One by one we got visits from the DJ, the waitresses, the other managers, and even the bussers. I felt like the friggin President and they just kept coming, treating us like we were some kind of royalty.

At one point, I stood up to go to the bathroom and one of the bouncers that had posted himself near us looked over at me and then whispered something in his sleeve like an agent. A moment later, there was a bouncer that just fell into step in front of me and ran interference through the thick crowd, making a path for me as we headed toward the restrooms. I felt really strange and the looks I was getting reinforced my feeling.

Imagine, I am in full Dress Blues in a loud nightclub getting a personal escort from one of the bouncers all the way to and from the bathroom!

When I returned, the waitresses showed up with a platter of champagne glasses and a bottle of something.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Ruth said, very nonchalant, “Don Perignon.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I had NEVER in my life tasted Don Perignon?”

I was telling the truth. In all of my 37 years, I had never tasted the stuff. Ruthie poured us all a glass and we toasted the Corps and Ruthie for this wonderful evening.

I think what developed was this. None of us had ever been treated in such a manner. I mean, being in the military, we don’t normally get the high class treatment simply because we can’t afford it. The opportunity for such rock star treatment is so rare that when it coes along, we don’t know exactly how to react. I didn’t want to seem insincere but I didn’t want to go overboard in my appreciation.

But add in free booze and the appreciation factor went off the scale.

As Ruthie noticed the utter disbelief and apprecaition we had for such treatment, she poured more and more on. It was like she was getting a thrill by upping the ante at every opportuntiy, enjoying the reaction we had as she treated us more and more like celebrities. We fed off of each other as the night became more and more unreal by the minute.

On the heels of the Perignon, the waitresses were instructed to bring a parade of different offerings and soon, we had bottles of what I assume is some very good stuff filled the table. I hated to waste any of it but two things occurred to me: I didn’t want to get so drunk I couldn’t enjoy myself and two, I did not have the discerning tongue to fully appreciate the high-end beverages being offered. It was life buying the latest computer for an infant.

I tried to stick to my old standby in such situations: one bottle of water for each glass/bottle/high heel shoe full of alcohol.

If you have ever been in a club, you know the prices for something as simple as a bottle of chilled water approaches the criminally insane. That fact made the collection of free water we were given all that much more special. Something as simple as a bottle of cold water in a nightclub struck me as the height of rock star treatment.

The bouncers were watching closely but there were still some people who snuck through who wanted a part of the star treatment we were getting. Many of them wanted to say to us “Semper Fi” and tell us about their time in the Corps. Suddenly we were the lightning rod for every Marine in the place and they came to give us their respect.

Usually, they would just come up, wish us well, and leave. One guy even walked up, slammed down a full bottle of tequila in a bottle that looked to me to be Jeannie’s bottle from “I Dream of Jeanie,” exclaiming “SEMPER FI!!” in a booming voice as he slammed down the bottle. He then turned around and melted into the crowd.

As Marines, we were adept at spotting a poser and this created some fun moments. One guy came up and started talking and staying too long. His banter didn’t sound quite right so I asked him, “What was the name of your Senior Drill Instructor?”

“Uh, I don’t remember.”

Wrong answer, dumbass.

I caught the eye of the bouncer and gave him a quick head move and he leapt into action, grabbing the guy and escorting him off the platform. It was very “Godfatheresque.”

Another time, a rather fetching young lady dressed in what I can only describe as “DAAAAAAAAAMN!!!!” came dancing up to the platform. She didn’t say a single word to any of us but stared me right in the eye as she danced a rather suggestive dance.

Great, that’s just what I need after being away from my wife for a month and then consuming a fair amount of alcohol. She got the same head nod to the bouncer as the poser and soon enough, she was whisked off the platform. Sorry honey, your talents will not be necessary tonight. I assume she was not used to being treated in such a way which made it all that much more rewarding.

We all sat around, talked, laughed, drank, and enjoyed the general atmosphere. The treatment continued all night and as it got late, Ruthie said she had to take off to meet someone but that we were welcome to stay as long as we wanted. She grabbed the waitress and told her to get us anything we wanted for the duration of the night.

How do you thank someone who does this for you and your friends? I felt I had no comparable offering to give to her and the best Marisa and I could come up with was a promise to invite her to the Marine Corps Ball in November. We gave her an open ticket to come see the base and see where Marines were made and she told us she had never even been on the base. I know it couldn’t compare to the A-list treatment we got tonight but it was the best we could do.

The last thing she told us is that we shouldn’t even think about paying for anything tonight. We tried to argue but she would not even let us talk numbers.

“It’s complimentary. My thanks for all that you do for this country.”

I had to try real hard not to burst out in tears. It’s so damn uncommon.

I limited myself to a Red Bull and water for the rest of the night. Again, I sheepishly asked the waitress if they, by chance, had a Red Bull and she laughed out loud, walked away, and a minute later returned with an ice cold Red Bull for me. I looked at it as though I had found it while wandering around on the moon. It seemed so out of place but it was just the thing I needed.

For the rest of the night, we were attended to by the staff. The guests continued to come to us and thank us for our service and just to say hello. It was far and above the best I have ever been treated and I have to say that I was equally stunned as I was appreciative of one night, ONE NIGHT when I was the king of the court.

At the end of the night, the lights came up and the bouncers started herding the leftovers towards the door. I tried to get up but one of them told me that I didn’t have to fight the crowd and could stay until the masses left. They brought us water and we relaxed, wondering if this night had been a dream.

When the crowd was gone, we walked outside and there was a huge line of people waiting for cabs. When one of the bouncers saw us standing there, he came up to me and asked if I needed a cab. I said I did and he leapt into the street, in front of the next person waiting for the cab, and hailed the next one. The guy protested but then the bouncer told him it was for me. When the man saw me in my full dress uniform, he smiled and motioned for me to take the cab.

I was again, stunned silent. I got in the back and the bouncer shut the door, poked his head into the passenger front window, and said “Take this Marine to ANYWHERE” he wants to go. Send the fare to us.”

With that, we zoomed off and he took me to Marisa’s apartment a few miles away. I got up to the guest bedroom, undressed, and laid in a clean bed, breathing air conditioned air, and wondering if this night had really happened or if it was just an intricate fantasy.

Wow, rock start treatment.

Free Advice for Today: “In business or in life, don’t follow the wagon tracks too closely.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 5th, 2006 at 7:48 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.