Paramilitary Intelligence

Story Sent in by Bernadette:

Luis had a white-collar job but carried himself like a back-alley gangster. He dropped an f-bomb every other word and had a chip on his shoulder about everything from computers to bank tellers to dental floss. He was upset at the world, and since I was his date, he was ready to unload.

I didn't feel threatened by him. If anything, during our dinner, I think he thought of me as a kind of ally. He'd say things like, "I know you have the same problem with f#ckin' bank tellers that I do... they're just waiting for an excuse to hit their f#ckin' panic buttons and call the f#ckin' cops on you. I'm just there to deposit my f#ckin' money!"

I nodded silently along with most of his words, and so I was spared his spitfire wrath. During one pleasant conversational lull, he looked around the table and picked up things like the pepper shaker, his butter knife, and a sugar packet.

"I can kill someone with anything at this table," he said, "You just come to big Luis Papa Bear if anyone tries to hurt you."

"Thanks... Luis."

He nodded. "I'm paramilitary trained."

I asked, "Which paramilitary?"

He replied, "Navy Seals. Red Cell stuff."

I said, "Navy Seals aren't paramilitary. They're military."

He didn't seem to hear that and repeated, "You just run to Luis big papa bear... just say the word."

"I will."

I didn't. Only date.