Inspired by this thread, in which I related a delicious little bit of linguistic schadenfreude I once experienced. It got me thinking about another incident, also involving military personnel in my hometown.
Note: I swear to God I have nothing against military personnel. Most of my family served at one time or another, and I while I did not, I have no problems with the military on any kind of personal level. These events are coincidental. Thank you for your service. Sincerely.
A few years after the incident in the linked thread, I had moved away from the town in question for a while, and then returned from economic necessity (OK, I had to move back in with the folks for a while. I was desperate). While I was getting back on my feet, I got a job with the state, and my normal commute passed by a National Guard armory.
I was sitting at the left turn in front of the armory, gathering wool and waiting for my light to turn, and I suddenly heard that distinctive SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE - BLAM of a nearby traffic accident.
I look over to my left, and see it. Somebody had been rear-ended on the road I was about to turn onto, about 2 or 3 blocks before the armory. The light turned, and I pulled forward and got out to see if everyone was OK.
The young lady who had been hit got out of the car and assured me that she was fine, but she was going to pick up her husband at the armory, a Sgt. Something-Or-Other (let’s say Smith), and could I be so kind as to let him know what happened?
Sure. No problem. Glad you’re OK. Cops are coming.
I pull into the armory and go inside the office. Two uniformed guys are standing there. I walk up to one of them, note that his name tag does not say “Smith”, and ask if he knows where I can find him.
He and the other guy, who was standing at a counter behind me, lock eyes for just a second, and the first guy says, “Uh, I’m not sure. Ask Jones over there.”
I turn around and approach the other guardsman, and note that he has no name tag on. How convenient. Here we go.
“Do you know where I can find Sgt. Smith?”
“Smith? I don’t think we have a Sgt. Smith. Did you ask Johnson over there?”
I looked at him in the eye, and said, “Look, when you guys figure out who’s who around here, would you mind telling Sgt. Smith that his wife was involved in a car accident up the road, and she asked me to tell him?”
The guy turned absolutely white, stammered out an apology, and as soon as I had given him the details, he left at a dead run.
Yeah, I admit it. It felt good. Sorry. Hopefully, they thought twice before dicking around with a stranger the next time.