An Alcohol War Story...

1990...

As we walked into the bar, I thought this was going to be another night of paycheck spending. Using the limited amount I had on hand, it was to last the night, while trying to keep up with friends that appeared to have either limitless funds or no bills to pay. I never could figure out which it was. I knew that I was paid more than they were. I was a freshly promoted Sergeant and they were only Officers. Overtime at the Jail back in the early 90's was only limited by our desire to make it. We didn't get paid much, but because of the O.T., we thought we lived well, spending anything above what wives or girlfriends thought we really made.

The bar was dark as you walked into it. It took time for our eyes to become accustom to the limited light. The place was far from exhibiting any class, just another place at the Jersey Shore that the locals hung out at. Tucked away between Sandy Hook and the Parkway, you could drive by it without giving too much notice to it. Once inside we were met with rock music played by a D.J., along with a couple of dancers on the stage in various forms of undress. If you saw the girls in the day light, it would explain why the lighting was dim.

There were no less than a dozen of us hanging together that night. I was with my usual five or six drinking buddies, but more joined us as we told others where we were going to start off the night. Most of us belonged to C.E.R.T. (Correctional Emergency Response Team), the Jail's equivalent to what many people know as S.W.A.T. (Special Weapons and Tactics) Team. If you were going to go out for the night in questionable places, these were the guys you wanted to be with. Our usual night started out with beer, shots of bourbon and, cherry bombs. Cherry bombs are Maraschino Cherries soaked in a bottle of grain alcohol for, what I believed, was years. You buy them by the dozen and they are served in large glasses that you pick the cherries from. You really didn't need the beer or shots when you ate a dozen or more of these, but hey, it was pay day.

At some point of the night, I remember being at the bar next to one of the guys from work. I was attempting to count my money, trying to determine if I should go home or not. Ski pulls out a $100 bill and puts it on the bar. He orders a beer for himself and a shot of J.D. for me, knowing that it was my intoxication of choice. One of the dancers returned with the drinks and leaves the change on the bar between Ski and I. Ski tips the dancer and she leaves.

We talked a short while and I turned to watch the girls and order another shot. As the dancer took my order I noticed Ski had left and was talking to others at a table right behind me. Somebody not from our group took his place. It was then I noticed that Ski left his change from the $100 on the bar. When the dancer came back I paid her with my money. The dancer moved, standing across from the guy who took Ski's spot. She made a few suggestive gyrations for him, a quick flash under her bikini top and moved away. I watched him take money from Ski's change and placed it further out on the bar as a tip for her. I looked at him and placed the money back on Ski's pile. When I turned to tell Ski to pick up his money, I saw the guy do it again. Again I put the money back. Again I try to look for Ski to tell him so he doesn't get his money stolen. Then the guy puts his arm around the back of my neck like we're buddies and tells me that if I don't stop touching "his" money, he'll break my arm. The only thing I could think of was "holy shit, this guy is drunker than me". I laughed at him and pushed him away. I told him not to touch me again and to get away from me.

I noticed some of the guys from the team starting to stand, and right away I waved them off. I don't like fighting in bars and this guy was not a problem to me. I just picked up the money off the bar and put it in my pocket. As I began to walk away, he told me that he would be right back. He took off at a quick pace to the back of the bar where the pool tables were. I didn't know what he was going to get, but it was a good time to leave. There were many other bars at the Jersey Shore.

I went to tell some of the guys I was leaving, when a big lean biker type, long wild brown hair and tattoo's everywhere you can see skin, came up to me with a pool cue in his hand. Right behind him was - right - the guy at the bar. Now my friends were starting to come towards us. I felt that this was going to be bad. I noticed that someone behind the bar was moving towards a phone and was watching us. The local cops hated us from the Jail. I never understood why other than that was the way it was throughout the County. We worked for the Sheriff's Department, and the local Police harassed us just short of arrest.

While the long hair was moving closer, I observed that over his standard issued regulation black biker t-shirt was a vest made from a faded military olive green fatigue shirt. There was nothing on it other than a strip of sewn material over his left pocket, with yellow lettering saying "U.S. ARMY". He ordered me in a threatening tone to give the money back to his friend. "His friend" he said. I look at the "friend" and he reminded me of Richie Cunningham from Happy Days. I took one or two steps towards the bar and the guy followed me. I was looking for a beer bottle to use should he try to hit me with that stick. When I reached for one he yelled for me to stop, and he lean his stick against the bar. I put a bottle in my hand, but I didn't do anything with it. He asked me what was on my wrist. I had no idea what he was up to, but I followed his gaze towards the hand holding the bottle. On my wrist was a red metal bracelet with someone's named engraved on it. It was a P.O.W. bracelet. I made a donation for it and wore it. It was to remind people of our missing Prisoners of War. He asked to see it, so I showed it to him. He brought my attention to his rather large ring he was wearing. I have to admit, I did notice it earlier since I was watching the pool cue. It looked painful. The emblem and wording on his ring was 101st Airborne. Then he showed me one of his tattoos, Army Rangers. Crap, this was going to suck! He asked me if I was ever in the Army. I told him no, I was Air Force. Well, that was the end of it. He said that it was good to see that others were still wearing the bracelets and sat down at the bar.

My friends started to come over and asked if we all were still going to fight. I told them no. They looked so disappointed, like I let them down. They all started to get their stuff together and leave the bar. I told my new found friend that I had to go. We did a quick shot together and parted ways.

I was having a difficult time believing what had just happened. The effects of the bourbon were taking hold of me in its numbing, comfortable, and thankfully familiar way. As I walked to my car, I watched Ski get into his. I walked over and said, "Hey asshole, this whole thing happened because you left your money on the bar". At first he didn't remember what I was talking about. But as I handed the money back to him, he remembered and said, "That wasn't my money, I took it off the bar when I went to talk to Steve. I've worked in a bar; I never leave my money on it". Then he pulled away, the money still in my hand. I looked back at the bar and then the money in my hand. There was no way I was going back in there alone. I walked to my car, got in, and drove away. I ended up the night leaving the bar with more money then I went in with.