Rules of Engagement

By Thomas Gangale

It seems that a pink slip is never a good omen, even when the pink slip isn't meant for you. This particular pink slip appeared to be innocuous at first glance. It was a Notice of Attempted Delivery from the post office. It was easy to see how the attempt failed. The intended address was a hundred yards up Magnolia Avenue. So I did what any good citizen would do; when I had a spare moment, I hiked up the street, past the sheep pasture and the horse corral and the baying bloodhounds. I found the right mailbox, and put the pink slip in it.

Mission accomplished.

Well no, not quite. You see, I had gone into action without first devising an exit strategy. Never a good idea. Just as I had delivered the pink slip to its rightful owner, a woman stepped out of the house across the street. "What are you doing messing around in my neighbor's mailbox?"

"The letter carrier mis-delivered a piece of mail...."

"You know, that's a federal offense!"

"Well, as I was explaining, ma'am...."

"In fact, I could shoot you. I've got a gun in my house."

A poster child for the Second Amendment. I thought to myself, what would Charlton Heston do? "All right, let's see it."

This staggered her. "What?"

"Your gun. Go and get it. Let's settle this thing right out here in the street. If you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, what the hell do I care?"

She crossed her yard toward me, stepped up to her fence, and pointed at me. "Who are you?"

I crossed the street to her fence and pulled out my wallet. I didn't immediately see one of my business cards, so took out the handiest piece of identification: my long-expired Air Force ID card. "That's me. Gangale, Thomas E., Captain, USAF. A few years back, but that's me. My hair hadn't turned white yet."

She look at my green military ID card and said, "I was CG," which I took to mean Coast Guard, and she gave me some rating that must have been an enlisted rank. We didn't have too many boats in the Air Force (but the few we did have were pretty nice).

"All right. Are you ready to hear my story or what?"

"Okay."

So I finally got the chance to get my story out. "Are we cool now?"

"Sure."

"Outstanding. Now, where's your salute?"

For all I new, this might have made her snap all over again and this time she really would get her gun, but I was willing to risk it for a little payback on what she had just put me through. I was surprised that she snapped a smart salute. "Sorry, sir," she said with proper contrition.

I returned her salute. "As you were." As any officer understands, one must maintain good order and discipline.

After that, the conversation turned friendly. In fact, it turned very friendly very quickly. It wasn't long before she grabbed my arm and asked me, "You aren't married, are you?"