I met Marti by accident, and I do mean by accident. I was wandering around our small PX on the kaserne, getting in a little OFO time, as we called. Since you probably don't understand, that means Officially Fucking Off! Basically it was slow in the office and I needed to stretch my legs, and I decided to look at some new stereo equipment that had just arrived.
I grabbed a couple of music CDs and a magazine, and wandered to the register to check out. There were a couple of people in line at the only register open, so I was standing out in the aisle. I was minding my own business and leafing through the magazine when a shopping cart slammed into me and almost knocked me down.
I fell against an end cap, fortunately though I didn't knock anything over. When I looked up to see who did it, I was face to face with a big girl, red headed, about 220 lbs, just slightly shorter than me. She had a really pretty face that was twisted into a snarl.
"Why can't you stay out of people's way?" she hissed at me.
"Pardon me?" I asked.
"Stay out of people's way! Or didn't you hear me the first time. Do you speak English?" she continued.
I was slightly taken aback, not expecting to be run over while waiting to check out. I also didn't tolerate anyone talking to me like that. Her running into me had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her own carelessness.
"I speak English quite well," I replied. "Are you blind?"
She didn't like that at all and quickly responded, "No I'm not blind and I will not tolerate being spoken to like that."
"I really don't care what you will or will not tolerate. You should pay attention where you point your cart in this cramped building," I snapped.
Wow! She turned red in the face, and loudly spouted, "I will see the manager about tossing you out of her. I will not tolerate being talked to like that."
I had to laugh, which made her even madder.
"Go get the manager, please. And while you return with him, please also explain why you can't seem to drive a shopping cart without injuring people," I slammed back.
She went charging off in a huff (okay, time for a Groucho Marx joke) and returned in about a minute and a huff with the manager in tow. Actually he was the assistant manager; the manager had not come to work yet. He appeared thoroughly scared and overwhelmed.
"That's him. That's the one I told you about," she bellowed, pointing at me.
A small group of nosy onlookers found some amusement at the situation. The manager carefully stepped up to me where I was now standing next to the cash register waiting to check out.
"Pardon me sir, but did you insult this lady?" he said, pointing toward the big red head.
I figured that snide was out and nasty was called for, so I retorted, "I find it difficult to insult someone who is, in fact, their own insult to me, your other customers, and Western civilization!"
He looked slightly confused. Apparently what I said flew past him and hit the red head in the ears.
She sputtered and choked for a second, and proceeded to yell, "Do you see what I mean. He should be tossed out of here immediately."
The poor guy was trapped, and had no idea what to do until someone stepped up beside the end cap where I had been previously and said, "The lady ran into him with her shopping cart. If anyone should be thrown out, it's her. She appears to be trying to start trouble."
I looked to see who was defending me, and saw a slightly built black gentleman in civilian clothes but obviously military. I knew the face but couldn't picture where I had seen him. He smiled at the assistant manager and offered him an identification card. The fellow took a look at the ID card and turned slightly pale. He apparently knew who he was speaking to.
Red decided she wasn't getting enough attention and bellowed at the black gentleman, "Why don't you just keep your nose out of people's business. And don't get in my way either or you'll regret it!" she warned, shaking her finger at him.
The gentleman just smiled politely at her, leaned over to the assistant manager for a second and stepped toward the exit. I put my CDs and magazine on the counter and the clerk rang them up while Red continued to harangue the assistant manager about what he was going to do about me. I noticed that the black gentleman was standing by the front door now and had a small, hand held radio up to his mouth. It was a radio that the Military Police used!
I wasn't the least bit worried but this was too good to pass up. After I paid for my purchase I started toward the door but the black gentleman asked me to wait for him in the foyer. About that time an MP vehicle stopped out front in the loading zone and two MPs entered the store.
The black gentleman motioned them to follow him, and he proceeded over to Red, who was still chewing on the poor assistant manager. He walked up and showed his identification to Red, who ignored him for a second and then noticed the MPs. I could hear her roar from the front door.
"Well, it's about time you people decided to throw the trouble maker out!"
The black gentleman told her something quietly, and she turned almost purple. She let loose with volley of yelling and screaming at anyone within earshot about who she was and what she was going to do. This tirade lasted long enough for one of the MPs to move beside her and take her arm to guide her out. She jerked away violently and pushed him away. In a flash, the MP had her arm behind her back and the other one had his cuffs out handcuffing her. She was screaming bloody murder, swearing now, and I just ducked out of the way as they hauled her to the waiting car.
As soon as they cleared the door the black gentleman identified himself as the Provost Marshal for the military community in Heilbronn. For you civilians, that meant he was the Police Chief. He took my name, unit, and work phone, and I left. Later I was called to the Community Commander's office to provide sworn testimony in a hearing to determine if Red was going to be sent back to the states.
The next time I saw her was at the hearing. She was a totally different person. Smiling, subdued, quiet. She appeared to have met God, or the fear thereof. She was with her husband, a captain in a field artillery battalion. He was not a happy camper either.
When I was called to speak, I gave my version in simple, brief terms. But when I was asked if I thought she should be evacuated to the states, I said no.
For some reason, I felt she had learned something important, mainly about not getting her way and running over people, and if she stayed she would have a figurative Damocles sword hanging over her head.
She was allowed to stay in country, and I didn't see her again for about 3 months. I accidently ran into her in the slot machine room at the club. I had eaten lunch and wandered in to play some quarter slots and sat down next to her without realizing who it was. She touched my sleeve and I looked around.
"Aren't you the guy I got into trouble at the PX?" she asked quietly but casually.
I looked again, and sure enough, it was Red.
"I believe I am," I replied, not knowing if she was going to repeat her shenanigans.
She looked away and down for a moment, and then smiled sweetly and said, "I just wanted to thank you for what you said at the hearing. When the Community Commander gave us his decision, he said that he weighed what you had said seriously, and felt you were correct. He decided to let me stay here."
