The foreigners still had no clue. The language barrier prevented them from knowing they'd been ridiculed by the Filipina Bar Girls all afternoon; and that I publicly scolded the girls' impolite behavior.

Ironically, since all the hookers were now solemn and looking like they would soon burst into tears, the vacationing foreigners decided to come to their rescue.

Trying to appear as macho as possible to the objects of their desire who were currently putting on an academy award winning scene of hurt and despair, the four virile, young men dramatically raised themselves out of their chairs with their arms and performed a feet-first, airborne egress onto the tiled floor of the bar, landing in a crouched position with one knee bent, opposing leg outstretched and the opposing hand's fingers touching the floor. Half of the Fantastic Four almost fell over trying to stand up from their - what they thought menacing, but for me ridiculous - Spider-Man pose.

Catching a chuckle mid-stream, I coughed and put my hand over my mouth; and was currently grimacing from the stinging pain as my beer decided to make its own egress via my nose! To me, they looked like a group of 2nd Rate Comic Book Hero Wannabes. But I must confess that the stunt was rather impressive; albeit, in an awkward, attention-starved kind of way.

Stifling another laugh, I almost applauded.

These modern day action figures decided that circumstances were so dire that a strategic planning session was in order.

They took two minutes to hash out their battle plans. Standing beside their table in an inward facing circle, they put their arms around each other's shoulders; basically looking like an American football team's offensive huddle. With their preliminaries complete, two designated champions emerged from the huddle and headed my way with clenched teeth and balled fists.

Referring to my public scolding of the hookers, the Lead Man growled, "Whatever you just said made those girls lose their spirit, mate. I think it's wise that you apologize nicely right now. Unless you want to step into the parking lot and handle this another way?"

I'm certain that I failed miserably at trying to conceal my rolling eyes and sardonic smirk. In the lowest volume possible without being heard aloud, I said, "Oh boy. Here we go again."

Pretty good at picking out foreign accents, I surmised that this alpha male of the group hailed from Australia or New Zealand and spoke the official, globally recognized language called: BIDP-E (Barely Intelligible, Drunken Pseudo-English). He got within four feet of me when I took my stub of a stogie cigar out of my mouth, put up my hands and said, "Whoa, son! Let me buy you guys a round of beers and explain what's really going on..."

Past training had me automatically heightening my situational awareness.

I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stiffening up into a mini-patch of hair-like spikes. Experiencing Temporal Distortion, a phenomenon that makes one feel like everything is happening in slow motion when in reality it's only one or two seconds, I began taking stock of the current state of affairs.

With a panoramic, Matrix Style scan complete with a suspended animation visual, I was almost in awe of the tragic and comedic, but predictable chain of events that lead to where we all were now.

"Hats off to the pouty new girl's spirit." I thought.

She had jockeyed her way to a position between the two Defenders of the Hooker Universe. And with arms draped over the Leader's shoulders from behind, she was pressing her body against his back.

Then, with a smoothness borne from years of practice, she purred her sexy, throaty words into his right ear. Looking at me, she lobbed her next salvo; but this time trying to garner a strategic alliance from the Lead foreigner and his group of drunk, horny lycanthropes.

"Honey Ko, that bad man say mean things too much me and my friends. We want go other bar now." she said, complete with professionally well-timed sniffles.

The group dynamics of public human interaction never fails to amaze me. Sometime during this mid-afternoon drunk fest, the two head honchos of each group automatically coupled up. The alpha male was posturing to impress, hoping that this show of gallantry and infinite supply of testosterone will ease the way to a more intense physical reward in the near future.

The Lead Female, now known as the pouty new girl, instinctively bolstered her chosen man's confidence and motivation by proudly showing support and standing by his side (Well, in reality, hiding behind him. But nonetheless, spooning out a little bit of breast-to-back sensual physical contact).

Of course, feeding the conflict served many purposes; almost all for the girl's personal gain. The poor boy was the fly that did not know or care that he was already hopelessly trapped in an invisible web.

While the alpha male and his bitch in financial heat were still formulating my demise; or more likely, negotiating the cost of tonight's activities after dispatching this stupid old man, I simply turned my back on them. They were so engrossed in their own intimate conversation that they didn't notice my perfectly executed, military style about-face for a full 45 seconds!

I wanted to tell them that they were slowly torturing me with boredom until an attractive thought entered my head. "Oh Hell...I'm bored. Let's have some fun, shall we?" I said to myself.

Catching a glimpse of my image in the mirror above the hand washing station near the restrooms, I could see that I was already grinning from ear to ear. It was my trademark shit-eating, "Willem DaFoe'esque, Evil Serial Killer" grin.

Individually and in succession, I pleaded with my date, Evelyn, the head waitress, the bartender, and The Hobbit, my short - and when at 5' 6" I can call someone short, believe me, that person is truly SHORT - bar owner friend named Joel. Joel rarely left the security of his domicile located at the rear of the premises. Consequently, this quarter-century long habit led to his moniker of "The Hobbit".

"Respectfully request permission to 'play' - Sir/Ma'am?" I asked while standing in a rigid, inspection ready "Aaah-Ten-Hut" position; that is, standing tall, eyes forward, shoulders back, chest out, stomach taught, legs and heels together, toes visibly pointed outboard at a 45-degree angle from the heels of my flip-flops, palms on thighs, fingers together and vertically pointing to the deck, and thumb and index fingers aligned with the imaginary crease at the outer midline of my cargo shorts.

Because of an incident that happened many years ago and the accumulation of embellishments that were added with every subsequent retelling of it, I became the main character of a local urban legend.

Supposedly, I single-handedly rescued a fair maiden in distress from an army of evil-doers from the Empire of Rich Foreign Lechers, whisked her away to the safety of this bar, and vanquished all remaining challengers that had the gall, or stupidity, to attempt to recapture the "Princess Desired by All".

...And with his work done, the hero silently slipped into the night and vanished like the wind; leaving only a slowly dissipating, archangel-shaped mist behind. Yeah right. Sure. And shaking a plate of jello doesn't resemble a fat hooker on a cold night?

In reality, I simply subdued four guys who were hassling me and a woman friend of mine, then took an hour or so to console her with her beverage of choice (tequila), left her in the care of her trusted friends - virtue intact, ready to hit the streets again.

Then I left the bar.

Reason for leaving the bar?

The truth was that while drinking tequila with the rescued maiden, I was summoned to the police station. Upon arrival, the wise, kind, and generous duty chief gave me these three options:

1. Make a payment at the hospital for the medical care of the four assailants.

2. Make a respectable donation to the Police Family Fund and immediately go for an extended vacation elsewhere.

3. Spend at least 72 hours enjoying their "fine, luxurious accommodations" - complete with cockroaches so large they were named after continents! And be confident in the fact that no one has been seriously harmed while in Protective Custody. Imagine that? I chose option 2. - only because it was far cheaper than option 1.

Anyway, since everyone in this small town had heard one or more versions of this urban legend by now, Evelyn and the others understood what I was actually asking: "Please let me handle these Bozos my way. I promise not to hurt them too badly or damage too much stuff. C'mon, please?!"

Without exception, they all vigorously shook their heads "No!" Additionally, with a scolding, maternal tone in her voice, Evelyn said, "WTF? Not just no, but Hell no I heard what you did to those guys eight years ago."

In my defense, eight years ago I was simply trying to make sure no harm came to my dinner date, to my friend's bar, and to myself from a group of drunk and obnoxious vacationers.

Hoping to avoid escalating hostilities, I attempted the good guy approach. Hands up (as if being robbed at gunpoint), I said, "Boys, I don't want to make any trouble here in my friend's bar. How 'bout I buy y'all a round and we just call it a night, ok?

But the Leader of the group would have none of this talk of peaceful resolution. He and the rest of the chest thumping quartet seemed determined to fight that night. "Fine, old man. Have it your way. Not here," he snarled. Then he took a long pull from his beer bottle, swallowed half, and while pointing at the parking lot with his thumb, explosively launched a half-gulp of beer-spit at my face.

Slowly wiping the spittle from my face with my sleeve, I said to myself, "Oh Brother. Here we go again." As a last ditch effort to avert a Melee, I said, "C'mon guys. We really don't need to do this, do we? Besides, I'm not in the mood to dance. If y'all just leave me and my lady friend alone, we'll get along just fine. And nobody has to get hurt. Comprende , amigos?"

By now the men were hyped up and, as the Leader told his Merry Men, eager to teach this rude old man a lesson. The stubborn young sharks smelled blood in the water and were circling now. Crazy-eyed, they were not receptive to anything else I would say.

Then the closest man assumed an awkward, old style Boxer's stance. He looked like an old fashioned, turn of the century British Boxer - skinny, swayback, arms up, and fists (palms toward the face) in front of his nose. I completed the caricature by slapping an imaginary handlebar mustache under that nose. It was hard not to laugh 'coz I thought he resembled a "Punching Kangaroo" cartoon from my youth.

It was then that I could feel myself smiling. The front man, as well as the men behind him, now looked confused with the sudden change in my demeanor; especially when they saw me pull up my beer-spit soaked sleeve and start my stopwatch.

Imagine that?

I honestly tried to stay within the Force Continuum, using appropriate and measured responses. But early on, it was an obvious exercise in futility because, which I later documented on the official Police Report, "...the assailants were Hell-Bent on repeatedly striking the top of my head, knees, and elbows with their faces."

The final scene of this drama showed the following: A disgusted me, blotting someone else's blood off my shirt with a handkerchief and brushing dirt off my shorts. All the assailants were neutralized - alive, but in no condition to continue the fight. They were bloody and supine or prone on the ground. One was unconscious. The other three were squirming around in the dirt like discarded fish bait and nursing multiple injuries.

According to my stopwatch, the fight took a disgraceful twenty-one seconds! I commenced to reprimand myself. "Shame on me. That should've taken only nine, maybe eleven seconds tops! Sheesh! I've become lazy in my retirement years! Dammit! A fu€kin' sloth could fight faster than me now!" I said aloud.

But the four men on the ground were still not listening...]

Getting a "No-Go" from all the people who mattered, I felt myself physically wilting. Deflated, eyes down and chin to my chest, I was the perfect picture of ultimate defeat, disappointment, and surrender.

But the juvenile portion of my psyche couldn't let things rest without firing a wise-ass, parting shot. Besides, I was honor-bound to retain at least one morsel of dignity, wasn't I?

So, before turning around to face the alpha male and his partner, I yelled to the now departing Hobbit, "Hey Joel! When do you think was the last time a tiny, old brown man kicked this guy's ass?"

My statement produced a palpable, deafening silence. And all the people that I asked for permission to "play" did a simultaneous group cringe, followed by a shoulders-up-and-down heavy sigh; resolving to let fate decide what happens next.

To his credit, Joel tried to squelch what he thought would surely be a bloody and expensive reenactment of my altercation with that group of vacationing foreigners similar to these guys eight years ago.

"Listen hear, you scrawny 'run around in the shower to git wet' deviant adoptee, don't forget your promise - the promise that convinced me to let you drink here again. You told me that if I allowed you back in my place, you would be the epitome of everlasting tolerance and benevolence?

And also, might I remind you that you did not, I repeat, DID NOT get the green light on that last request?" he said, obviously praying that I would come down to Earth and was still open to reason.

"Aaaww Shit, Man! You're pulling that card on me again? Shit, shit, shit! OK. Roger that. Standing down now, Master Chief," I grudgingly mumbled.

But Joel's badgering and my strained compliance did little to decrease the hostile atmosphere. Anyone in the place could still cut the tension-filled air with a knife.

Now all eyes were on the alpha male and his sinister partner for some kind of retaliation...

By JaiChai

About the Author

He is a retired U.S. Military veteran. Believing that school was too boring, he dropped out of High School early; only to earn an A.A., B.S., and MBA in less than 4 years much later in life – while working full-time as a Navy/Marine Corps Medic. In spite of a fear of heights and deep water, he freefall parachuted out of airplanes and performed diving ops in very deep, open ocean water. He spends his days on an island paradise with his teenage daughter, longtime girlfriend and three dogs.