Originally Posted By: kenw
Blind date. 4th of July. Fireworks, etc...
Seriously.
I can triple-trump that one! I was the
third alternate on the 1984 BLIND date that got me with my Mrs.
It was Friday evening in Pensacola. I was a flight student back then. The first guy had been scheduled to stand duty as the OOD and had forgotten about that. He ended up reporting late, CO was REEEEAL PO-ed, but that's another story. #1 out of the picture.
The second guy, Tom, a friend and fellow survivor of Marine OCS, had agreed to go, and shortly thereafter, made the cold, calculated decision that he'd fare better rolling the dice down at Seville Quarter (Pensacola's manufactured, mini-French-Quarter). So he bailed. #2 out of the picture.
That left me. I had just returned to the BOQ after a late flight. I was still wearing a skanky, sweaty bag (flight suit), had just opened an ice cold long-neck Bud, and had taken only a swallow or two. Ken, another friend who'd set all this up, starts frantically knocking at my door. I answer, he explains, and I almost tell him, "get lost, I'm beat, etc. . ." Well, I gave in, took a quick shower, got dressed, and well, as the cliche goes, the rest is history. Here we are, more than a quarter century later.
Ah, and the story gets better. A few years earlier, Tom and I were fellow "candidates" at OCS. OCS is, in very basic terms, "boot camp" for officers. The program is so intense, less than 1/2 who report successfully complete. And they run your butt so hard, that even eating three heavy, high-cal meals a day, most guys have lost 20 lbs by the time it's over.
Anyway, one day, Tom and I were kidding around about something long forgotten. At noon chow, for whatever reason, going down the line, the server gave me three sugar cookies, but Tom only got two. At the table, for a moment, I looked away, and Tom snatched one of my cookies and had it in his grinning maw before I could do anything. But for the presence of the drill instructors, Tom might not be alive today... In this calorie deprived world, "candidates" were like hungry pit bulls -- you get your hand near my tray, and you can expect it to be skeletonized instantly. Piranahs? Pfffft, wimpy fish. Chronically hungry OCS candidates -- be careful.
Anyway, as small as the Marine Corps is, I've crossed paths with Tom at least a dozen times over the years. I have never wasted the chance to remind him that while he got the cookie, I ended up with the girl. Oh yeah, he was at Seville Q the night of our first date, and we went there too. He tried to cut in on a dance -- I told him NO. And again, the rest is history.
EDIT: I guess technically, I was the "second" alternate, but still third in line. . .