Reassessing the Situation

WANTING ONLY A COLD ONE OR TWO, I slouched into the nondescript bar and sat down, near where a small group of fine young ladies were seated. I was alone, at a table which seated four. They were in a booth. I smiled, they smiled, and that's all. Nobody ever accused me of being smooth. Soon four big tattooed gents in black leather and metal sauntered in, looking like a small biker gang, or part of one, which their bearing seemed to indicate. It occurred to me, by and by, that they wanted my table. They kept glancing over at the ladies, who, quite frankly, didn't seem to me to be their type. That fact usually doesn't slow down biker dudes, who can always give it a whirl, and move on if its a no go. But I appeared to be the only barrier to their giving it a whirl. But I wasn't about to move. Even though I felt not the slightest bit lucky myself, I was damned if I was going to get up and walk out, or move to another spot, and make myself look obsequious. No matter that they looked rough and tough, ready to rumble, and had me greatly outnumbered. They shot a disdainful glance at me every few minutes, and a warmer one at the girls more often. after a long enough period of time to ensure me of my masculinity, a decided to finish off my last beer, and offer to let them have my table, thus sparing my honor, at least in my eyes. I walked up to the closest dude, and said: "if y'all want this table, its yours". Even as I finished the sentence something felt vaguely familiar. The man looked straight at me, grinned broadly, and said "hey buddy, how's it going?" Eureka! Recognition! This man was none other than a former student of mine, way back in my graduate school days, when I was teaching freshman history at the university. I recalled Dusty was different from the other kids; sort of a biker type even back then, who I thought might or might not ever graduate. turns out he didn't, but he filled out some, got married, got into a good line of work, had a coupla kids, and yes, he and his friends liked to go riding together, but no gangs, or anything like that. Just the clothes to keep the wind off. Good solid citizen, looking a bit rough around the edges. We laughed, cut up old touches, and had a beer together. We shook hands, and as I walked out the door, sure enough, he and his three friends were already settling in at my table. I smiled at my own silliness, and felt confident that dusty would make it home to his wife and kids soon enough.