This crap only happens to me

Sometimes my life reduces itself to a Charlie Daniels song. This was one of those times.

A couple years ago I was looking to buy my wife an over-under shotgun for Christmas. I saw an add that described a peach of deal, but it was in Parkersburg, WV, about a 90 minute drive. This was back before I retired. Julie was late-call, meaning she wouldn't be home until about 11pm anyway. I called her up and told her I had somewhere to go and that I wouldn't be home until late. Now I realize that practically every other wife in the world would piss herself at those words. Julie ain't like most wives. When I told her I was going to Parkersburg, and refused to tell her why, she just responded, "well ok. Have some fun. I'll be home late anyway."

The next thing she said is where the trouble starts. We chatted a little more and just as I was about to hang up she said, "Seriously, go have some fun. Stop and grab a beer or something on the way home."

I didn't really think anything of it at the time. I left work and drove off down the road. As expected the fella who posted the ad about the shotgun was full of crap. It was junk. I didn't mind though. It was a nice clear night. Great night for a drive.

About 30 minutes outside of parkersburg I remembered Julie's words. I thought to myself, "Sef. You're 29 years old, and never once have you just up and stopped for a beer." Then and there I made up my mind. By God I was gonna stop some place.

Drivin' down hwy 50 I finally see this neon sign and I figgered what the hell. So I pulled off, got outta the truck and, against my better judgement walked inside. As soon as I opened the door I knew something was amiss.

See there were lots of girls, and well... they weren't wearin' very much at all. There were chrome polls here and there, and there was some half drunk nekkid broad dancin on a stage. Not at all what I had signed up for.

Well, I was there, and there was in fact a bar, so I figured I'd grab one Corona and head on down the road. I sat down at the bar, got my beer and tried not to draw attention to myself. Of course, a couple girls came around and wanted to chit chat. They flirted quite a bit, but hey, that's thier job at a place like this. So I played nice, but I mostly was trying to finish my beer and get the hell outta there before something bad happened.

That's when something bad happened. I was just about to kill that beer, and I hear, "Just whut tha hail da you thank yer doin' with my wife?" Well shit. This is just what I need.

I turned around to see this mountain standing behind me, and he looked like he'd like nothing better than to squash me like a bug. I said, "Whoa! Easy partner. I'm just sittin' here drinkin' my beer. The girl's came up to talk, and I wasn't gonna be rude to 'em."

The mountain growled, "Are you sayin' my wife was hittin' on you boy?"

Boy? For you who don't know, you do not call a man from the South "boy". So now I was startin' to get a little pissed, but thankfully the bartender chimed in, "Harlen leave the man alone. He was mindin' his own business."

"Yeah? Sounds like the little pissant was hittin on my wife to me, and I think I'm about to bust some ass."

Ok... now the cockly little bastard in me was really startin' to rise up. I said, "Look, if you got a problem with guys hittin' on your old lady, you should consider that before you dress her up like a whore and take her to a titty bar. In fact, why don't keep her tied up outside the trailer. She could keep your mom company."

Granted that was a stupid thing to say. Even while I was sayin' it I knew it was. Tactically I was screwed. I was pinched between him and the bar, he had at least 150 pounds on me, and the .357 was in the truck. Not good.

Well apparently he didn't like the trailer comment. He got red faced and I knew the world was just about to come to an end. That's when Christ himself showed up. Well actually it wasn't Christ. It was in fact a cinderblock shaped bouncer. Probly only 5'6" but he had to weigh 250 pounds. Guy was huge. Bulldogs don't look this freaky. He snatched the mountain up like a rag doll and pushed him up against the bar beside me. The cinderblock said, "Dammit Harlen, I just beat your ass on Tuesday, do I have to do it again?"

The mountain now suddenly resembled less a mountain and more a mole hill. He suddenly had a much different tone. "Yeah whatever. I gotta piss." and off he went.

I ain't the smartest guy around, as this story proves, but I ain't stupid enough to hang around a place of a near death experience either. I paid the bartender, thanked the cinderblock, and headed for the door.

That's when I saw ol' Harlen's wife. I just couldn't resist. I walked over to her, patted her on the ass, and said, "Now you tell Harlen I said bye now."

I heard a lot of laughin' as I left.

And well... That's the story of why you shouldn't stop for a beer on Highway 50.