There are moments in real life that a great opportunity presents itself for a witty retort or one liner.  And because its real life, most of us ruin the moment by missing the opportunity or babbling out some half-construed inarticulate nonsense.  In the movies or on TV, they’d have a team of writers prepare the line in advance and possibly even change the situation so that the funniest line has the most relevance.

Like the time I was on the same plane as a fat Vince Vaughn AND Kenyon Martin, but not together, in the Las Vegas airport.  This is back when I traveled back and forth to the USA and Australia as a consultant.  By the way, there is no magic formula to overcome the jet lag.  People say that there is, but there is not.  If you fly USA to Australia, its night time the whole way and its not bad.  If you fly AUS to USA its daylight the entire flight, you’re screwed.  I say fly Quantas, watch the free on-demand movies, and drink the free booze.

Anyways, I passed both of them in First Class and made eye contact with them both.  Vince did not look good.  It literally looked like he was recovering from a week long binge.  Vince even looked at me with a half-grin, expecting me to say something.  (Double down)  All I could do was grin like the village idiot and continue lugging my carry-on.  (Ok, I’ll ask, where do all the high school girls hang out?).  At least with Kenyon I helped him secure his overhead.  He was trying to do it while SITTING.  Yeah, he’s got long arms.  He mutely said, “Thanks” which I think means “Let’s be best friends.”

Even better, I was waiting in another airport terminal (LA) and there was Erik Estrada (Ponch from CHiPs).  Finally, some brave people went up and took pictures with him.  He seemed like a nice guy, not like Vince or K-Mart who clearly wanted to be left alone.  Some folks even stayed to chat with him.  But not me.  I was chicken.

I wish I had taken a picture of him with both of us pointing at the camera, just like that email joke with him titled, “Congratulations, You’re Gay!”  (See attached picture).  How funny would it be if I reproduced that pose with him with some photoshop touches and sent it out to all my friends?  Priceless.  It would have been the gift that kept on giving.  I’d even create a gallery section on the website and have it photo #1, before even my nude photos of Ernest Borgnine (George Carlin RIP).

Well, One of those instances just happened to me again.

My wife came home for lunch from work and asked me to take care of some errands – deposit a check, buy baby formula, and return a movie rental (the Cleaner with Samuel L. Jackson, thanks for asking).  I don’t mind doing it and I look forward to getting out of the house.  Plus, I get to swing by KFC and grab something exciting for lunch beyond cheesy eggs.  So I drive around downtown Bendigo looking for a parking spot centrally located to all of my chores and get out onto the street.

I can see some young people (1 guy, 2 girls) walking towards me on a pseudo-crowded main street.  In Oklahoma, they’d be what we call trailer trash. You know the kids whose parents were too busy avoiding creditors, getting drunk, and organizing impromptu tractor pulls in the weed field next to their home.  Those kids.

I’ve got my sunglasses on so I can observe them without drawing attention to myself and I can tell they are plotting something as their adolescent eyes glean with fiendish un-originality.  As we approach to pass, I get into my big city ignore everything purposeful gait and prepare to brush off whatever idiocy is planned.  Afterall, its not smiled upon for a 31-year old ninja master to beat up three teenagers.  Even in Australia.

As we pass, the short, ugly girl walks over to me and asks, “Fancy a poke?”

I can honestly say that is the first time I’ve been asked that in my entire life.  Fancy a poke?  It took me a few paces to realize what she was soliciting, a few paces of my ignore-you walk.  So I figured the moment was gone and continued to walk on, ruing the moment that had just passed.

To make matters worse, the grungy boy of the trio, or perhaps their pimp, yelled out, “Poofta!”  I’m guessing that he was implying I’m a homosexual because I didn’t jump at the chance to sleep with his troglodyte cohort.  I was more amused than offended, because actually calling someone a Poofta in the States is self insulting.

Had I been prepared, I would have selected one of the following options:

“Don’t worry, fatty, there will be some guy drunk enough to pop your cherry.  Stick in there!”

or … “My wife sent you to taunt me.  Didn’t she?”

or … “BACK TO HELL, FOUL TEMPTRESS!”

or … “I charge $500.  Or $2,000 for An Around the World.”

There was a time when I was quick to respond with a snappy comeback.  I trusted on two things – first, the law of averages.  Witty comebacks are on par with hitting in baseball.  If you can zing 1 out of 3, then you’re all-star.  Secondly, I didn’t mind being considered an asshole by practicing my wittiness on the defenseless or tongue-tied.  Now, I’m a kinder, gentler Lucky, so I’ve lost the edge.

Oh, the troublesome burden of wisdom.  Damn.