The VF*n*W Chronicles, Part I

Some people just don’t get my whole VFW thing. Why hang around a bunch of old vets in a smoky canteen? Well, some are like that. Most are not. I have had the best times and made the closest friends in this organization. But I have to tell you, my Post MAY be just a little more, um, unusual than others. We definitely have a lot of characters. For example:

After the girls told how they jumped into bed with the Old Quartermaster last weekend, there was much speculation on WHY he had the covers pulled so tight. Was he wearing boxers, or maybe a thong?

OQM: No, I had my sleeping shorts on. I hate boxers. Especially those silky ones someone bought me. It’s like wearing women’s panties.

(raised eyebrows from around the bar)

OQM: Oh not that I’ve ever…er…maybe I’ll give those to Michael J.

Now, bringing up Michael J. and mentioning thongs leads to a whole ‘nother discussion. MJ is a large man, late 50’s, heart of gold, but…eccentric doesn’t begin to describe him. He lives in a Quonset hut amidst his collection of tires, rocks, crap, etc. He doesn’t always have a sense of what is appropriate.

Wilma: OQM, remember the first time you brought MJ in here? He was wearing a T-shirt, his work boots and Speedos!

OQM: Well, that’s what he wears to chop wood. Except for the T-shirt.

Wilma: So here’s this big lumberjack of a guy parading around here with no britches on, not thinking a thing of it! Told me I could stop by every Saturday and watch him chop wood!

RM: So they were flannel Speedos?

Wilma: What? No, but I have to change the sign.

OQM: What sign?

Wilma: The one that says “No Shirts, No Shoes, No Service”. I’m a puttin’ britches on there too.

Then there is The Mayor. (He is a former mayor, but not of this town.) He is a relative newcomer to the Rogues’ Gallery, very smooth, with a somewhat inflated sense of his own importance. On Thursday nights, he has a “business colleague” who meets him at the Post and they usually leave together. The colleague is a she, of course. One particular Thursday, the bartender was locking the outside doors at closing, and sees that the Mayor’s van is still parked in front, although he has left some time before. And the van, as the saying goes, is rocking. She is staring at the van, when a head peeks out the window. He looks at her, she looks at him, then she goes back inside and stays there for 45 minutes until the van leaves. Upon hearing this story later, one of the guys makes a cartoon of a van with a Kilroy character looking out the window, with the caption, “Yoo-hoo! Sheila! It’s Thursday night again!”

Yeah, we are all about the love.

I’m thinking VFW stories might become a regular feature.