I'm sure you all have heard the saying, "Choose your battles wisely". Well, ain't that the truth! There are always going to be fights that you just cannot win. For example, as a kid, you would always lose an argument with your parents, no matter how right you might be. They would end the argument by saying, "Because I said so!" And usually, that was that, or else you'd get a beating like a stepchild. I realized at an early age why dogs would cringe when a rolled up newspaper came anywhere near them.

This time, as an adult, I was suckered into a conflict that I had no idea I was getting into. Like a dumb 20 something guy who buys drinks for random girls at a bar, I thought I knew what I was doing until I got broadsided and the world suddenly became brighter. In this event, it involved a one armed man. Yeah, that's right, a dude with a quarter less than the appendages most of us have. It's not a figurative allusion, I mean, this man had one full arm complete with a hand, but his left arm was missing from the elbow down. I know, you're probably thinking, "Vince, you're such a kidder... how can you play volleyball against a man with only one arm?"

Funny, that's what I was thinking too when I went up against him... I used to go to the local YMCA to play volleyball for relaxation and fun. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed when I ended up opposing the man with one arm. Like a character from a sports drama, this guy was trying to enjoy life and overcome his handicap. I do applaud his courage to come out and play a sport, such as volleyball where it's very difficult to play with just one arm. I play the game a lot, and I don't mean jungle-ball-everything-goes-look-out-the-ball-is-coming kind of game. Even with all the training, practice, and experience, passing or setting the ball consistently with one hand is extremely difficult. So I had respect for this guy's attempt. But, in my world, even with my compassion and understanding, somehow I ended up becoming the bad guy in this story.

Now, if you were intent on winning a game, the strategy would be to target the weakest link whenever you can. Obviously, this would mean in this case, it would be, you guessed it... THE ONE ARMED MAN! Now, that was not my intent. I happened to be the opening server and hadn't realized yet that this gentleman had only one fully functional arm. Of course, he also happened to be standing in my favorite serving area. So as you can surmise, with my eagerness to play, I let this serve rocket off my hand and it whaled the dude and ricocheted into the Stone Age. An audible gasp went through the air and people glared at me. I had no clue why until a teammate asked me if I was a sadist or something. Only the worst egotist would want to pick on a one armed man. I only then noticed that he had only one arm! Boy, it wasn't pretty...

Honest mistake, and the game went on, fairly well until I reached the front row. If anyone has played with me back then, they know that I can have pretty bad aim when I hit. Of course, as you can guess, I ended up whaling the one armed man... again... I mean it wasn't my fault. I wasn't specifically targeting him, I just went up for the hit and didn't check to see where I was hitting. With my luck, I hit the one armed man and bowled him over. For heaven's sakes! Couldn't this guy duck or maybe dodge out of the way? Or maybe just put his one hand and stop this ball from packing him in the face!? No, instead, it earned me some congratulations for nailing someone less fortunate than me. I really felt bad by then and tried to apologize, but the guy just mumbled something and the game went on. Now you do know that volleyball also involves blocking and it is rather embarrassing to get roofed by anyone at all, unless it's some seven-foot tall monster with hands the size of a frying pan. Instead, I get embarrassed for blocking someone. Yeah, you guessed it, I blocked the one armed man, accidentally... *sigh* It just happened to be one of those balls that was coming down in the neutral zone right above the net. I had no clue that he was going to try and hit it. I only did what I thought was right and put up both hands just as he hit into them. Of course, that earned me another round of glares...

I knew I should've just quit and left, but that dumb compassion in me along with the feeling of guilt wheedled me into staying and trying to show that I wasn't some evil, sadistic, SOB with no heart and a desire to mercilessly pound someone down as they were trying to overcome a physical handicap. So I stayed and at first opportunity, I decided to let him get the better of me. By this time, I ended up in the backrow and he was still in the front row. He was given a great set to work with and was able to hit that ball well. Now I'm not talking about a hard-driven, locomotor-rumbling-sound-as-it buzzes-your-head kind of hit. This ball was slow, but respectable and it was coming at me. It really took all my willpower to tighten up and take this thing without flinching. I had already decided that I was going to let it hit me and even up the score. Hopefully, it would give this dude some confidence to do great things in his life and I was willing to do it at my expense. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my sphincter muscles and took it like a man. It stung a little, but it wasn't the worst I've ever gotten.

Everyone applauded the one armed man and congratulated him on his good hit. My teammates just sympathized and check to make sure I was alright as I went to praise the dude. Now this is where the shocker comes. He flexed! I mean, he flexed like a show-off and started talking smack! I wasn't sure if I heard him at first since I was a little dazed, but the words just kept coming and there didn't seem to be an end to it. I just turned around and got ready to continue play knowing what I had to do.

For the rest of the game, this one armed man was like the bad guy in the movie The Fugitive. I had to seek him out somehow and at all cost to destroy him. He Had to Be Stopped. I targeted him, I aimed at him, I whaled him, and struck him like the plague. I was all over him like a fat girl at the ice cream store. There would be no stopping me. If I was going to be the Fat Girl, I was going to make sure there was nothing left in that Ice Cream Store, except that he got mad and wanted to come over and kick my ass... one armed and all. *sigh* I guess I had it coming, but what was I supposed to do now? I had a dilemma of playing volleyball with a one armed man, but now, what do I do if a one armed man wants to fight me?! If I fight him and win, then where does that get me? I just beat up a one armed man... If I fight him and let him win, that's even worse. "Son, you just lost to a man with only half the fists you have, maybe you can beat up his drunk one legged brother, Hop Scotch". It's like fighting a woman, you just cannot win! So I took the solution from Woman 101, I walked away and hoped that it would never happen again. That worked, until I ended up playing volleyball one day against the One Armed Woman... *sigh*

Where the heck do I find these people? Or rather, why me!?!

PT Barnum once said, "There's a sucker born every minute..." I guess I have to agree with him, suckers and the gullible will always exist as long as humans have emotions such as greed and compassion within them. I admit, I'm a sucker for quite a few things, like cute girls who bat their eyelashes at me or a juicy tender steak with a side of mashed potatoes and grilled onions sitting there at dinner time. I would be smitten without thinking of what the catch might be. If I were a fish, I would have been grilling on someone frying pan a long time ago, unless they threw me back in because they don't like eating fish.

Now I'm sure you all have seen the homeless and less fortunates who survive on the hard streets of New York City. They often scavenge for resources to survive, especially in tough weather. Some of them, just try to get by with what they have, but quite a few will attempt to panhandle, even if it's against the law. Like any compassionate working stiff, I see quite a few of them where I work, probably because the environment is perfect for a panhandler. There's a lot of traffic that builds up at the traffic lights and plenty of pedestrians walking past to and from the nearby subway stations. And of course, there are plenty of banks with the convenient ATMs where panhandlers love, I mean absolutely love to sit next to when you use the machine. Like pigeons flocking to breadcrumbs, these guys just show up when they hear the ATM counting those Andrew Jacksons.

A popular place for the panhandlers to hang around in that neighborhood, is the local McDonalds. I love going their for apple pies. I mean, for a buck, you can get two! Count them, ONE... TWO! There's not too many places where you can make yourself happy for a dollar other than those 25 cent peep shows. Now that's where a lot of people get happy. Anyway, I always see these two panhandlers outside the front door to the place. One of them looks like some kind of burn victim. He has the scar tissue and nubs for fingers on one hand. He holds a dirty sign that "encourages" people to fork over some change for him to get food. The other panhandler, looks normal except that he's a scrawny character.

Like I said, I'm a sucker with a tiny bit of compassion, so I would often offer one of my apple pies to the burned guy and just walk past the scrawny guy since he looks healthy enough. I never thought that the two might be connected somehow. It hadn't ever occurred to me that I never saw the two panhandlers together. Until one day, I went to Mickey D's about an hour earlier than usual and saw something quite unusual. Burned dude was sitting at the usual spot looking as forlorn as usual with his sign. As I walked closer, I saw scrawny dude come up to him and take his sign! They weren't fighting for turf here, they were changing shifts! As burned dude was walking away, scrawny guy just sat in the spot he vacated and went to work!

Man, was I ever suckered into sharing my beloved apple pies with this guy. I did a little research and discovered that this guy has a job. It's a part time one, and his panhandling is his tax-free second job. Apparently, it's pretty common that some of these people will try to look their worst and hope to bring out the best in you at your expense of course. Moral of the story? I'm definitely a sucker....

Everyone has a skeleton in the closet. No matter how sweet looking, kind, or innocent they may seem, there is always a secret that each person has that they wish to keep in the dark. The importance of the secret of course is relative based upon the individual's opinions, but nonetheless, it is important to them. For example, Grandma might've been a cabaret dancer back in her younger and much better years. To us, it might not be a big deal, but to her and the conservative society she lived in, that might be a shameful deed.

Now how awkward would it be if you discovered that a hot friend of yours had a double identity as a hooker? In this case, we're not talking about the run-of-the-mill diseased cow of a street hooking variety. No, we're talking about the high-class kind of prostitute. You know, dresses to the nine's in a tasteful, sexy, and very elegant way that you dream your girlfriend could one day maybe in a fit of creative sanity, fulfill. Of course, for something like ten thousand dollars a night, not including tip and tax, you would expect that she dresses infinitely better than her gum-popping, fishnet stocking-wearing, haggles with over the price, street-walking counterpart. Isn't the idea of your friend being a courtesan a pretty twisted idea to think about? Well, let's make this fruit of sin even juicier of the awkward kind. Suppose, you had a secret crush on your hot friend and had the funds to blow for one night of unimaginable ecstasy that you only envision on DVDs clearly marked with three X's, what would you do!?

Wow, now this thought is mouth-watering delicious. How awkward would it be if you followed your more basic instincts and daringly booked her through her, uhm "agent", for one night of "whatever". Of course, it would be utterly awkward when she travels to your apartment and gets a sense of deja vu if she had only been there once or twice. Or perhaps, a sense of dread if she's visited the place more than occasionally. I guess the sense of awkwardness may be too much for her and she may flee the scene before the situation becomes irretrievable. At worst, you get your ten grand refunded and a weight of questions that outweigh the answers like a fat woman on one end of the seesaw and a midget on the other end.

But for the sake of mischief and to make this story even longer and more interesting, suppose you arrange to meet with your escort at a neutral site, say, a reputable hotel. Now, now, you don't go to McDonalds and expect to find caviar on the menu in these United States, much like you wouldn't have a ten grand lady meet you at the nearest Motel 6 for a night of "whatever". So of course, you would leave your room number and other pertinent information at the front desk of a good center of hospitality for her when she arrives for her assignment. Now for fun, would you wait in the lobby for her and play "stupid" in your "accidental" encounter with her as she enters the place?

You would wait in the lobby for her arrival and plot an intercept course to tactically engage her as if it were a "coincidence" that you and her should meet at this particular place at this particular time.

You: Why hello! Fancy meeting you here! How are you?!
Her: Oh hi! I'm great! Thank you for asking...
You: Are you staying in this hotel too? By the way, is it really that bright in here? Why are you wearing those sunglasses indoors?
Her: Er.... Uhmm.... No, I'm actually meeting a... a.... FRIEND! She's visiting and staying here. Uhmm... oh, the sunglasses, I'll take them off later... Will you look at the time!? It's nice seeing you, but I've got to run!
You: Oh... well glad to see you, I hope your friend enjoys her visit. See you again!

She's definitely got to be feeling a bit uncomfortable in this situation. I'm sure one of the intangibles of the job would be accidentally running into acquaintances while on "assignment", but like a good professional, she would handle it with outward grace and coolness, like a pussy cat calmly adjusting its fur in the midst of a windstorm. Since you've just dropped a wad of Benjamins on this friend, there is no way that you're not going to milk it for all its worth. To make it more fun, you'd go do an "errand" and casually arrive at the bank of elevators just as she steps in front of them as well.

You: Hello again! I didn't expect "again" to be quite this soon.
Her: Oh yeah, me too... hee hee.

Elevator arrives and you notice how gorgeously she's dressed in her black trenchcoat, stiletto heels, and a hint of a red clingy number of a dress that she has peeking out from under her coat.

You: After you of course!
Her: Thank you...
You: My, you're dressed wonderfully tonight. How do you manage to go to school, work full time, and still be able to come out so gorgeous?
Her: Oh... I don't know, I just have to try really hard.. Hey, it's my floor! Gotta run!
You: That's funny, another coincidence! Your friend is on the same floor as me!
Her (nervous twitter): Really? Uhmm... yea what a coincidence!

Walking with her down the hall. It's hard not to crack a smile and reveal the awful truth, but what keeps you going is the fact that you've just dropped five digits for this one time momentous event. I mean, this is a happening that occurs once in several generations, like one of those volcanos blowing it's load for the first time in centuries. And if you pass this chance up, you'd still be kicking yourself in your wheelchair when you're 80 something years old.

You: Wouldn't it be odd if I were staying in the room next door? I wonder what kind of girlish giggles I'd hear through the walls from two friends who haven't seen each other for a while.
Her: Uhmm.. Er... Oh, here's the room I'm looking for!
You (with total innocence): What a coincidence! I didn't realize I'm shacking up with a girl tonight! That's my room!
Her (with a sense of dread): Are you serious!?

Now, how awkward would that be!? Of course it could be worse. I mean, we can always have her gift-wrapped for you and waiting inside the room for your arrival in order to shout, "Happy Birthday.... Vince!??!" I think the surprise would be seeing the look on her face when it dawns on her that her client is... Surprise! You! After that initial shock, the conversation would be extremely awkward with plenty of, no pun intended, slip of the tongue.

You: So, uhmm... how's school?
Her:: Mmph... Mmph... It's... Mmph.... good.
You (hands behind your head): That's nice... I mean the schooling thing. Finals coming up?
Her: Mmph... Gasp... Mmph... Not yet... Gasp... Soon, but I have other things coming up first.
You: That sucks... I mean it sucks that it's coming... I mean it sucks that your finals are coming. By the way, how's your roommate Jenny?
Her: Mmph... Slurp... She's ok, I don't get to see her often... Mmph... I get home really late and she's already sleeping...
You: Oh, that sucks... I mean you don't see her often. Oh, wow, where'd you learn to do that!??!

Indeed, this is all theorized non-fiction, but as you can see, it would be very awkward to discover some of those skeletons in people's closets. Some secrets are just best left buried like the acorns embedded into the ground by those friendly nut-cracking squirrels.

Clubs, parties, and bars are most definitely meat markets. I don’t have to tell you that guys will go to these events looking for a hot hookup to bring home that night or several nights later. If a guy says otherwise, he better be a good dancer, enjoying the music, or he’s a really bad liar. Or, the person could be a wingman.

The wingman is a peculiar position that is extremely underrated and almost always badly played. See, the wingman, is the most important person after the person trying to make a play, or we’ll call that person here, the “hitter”. Besides serving as moral support or as a catalyst to mediate and drive the conversation, the wingman serves a bigger role.

In the hunt, there are a lot of dangers that lurk at bars and clubs. I am sure that most people are familiar with the friendly but misguided female friends of the target who are orbiting like lesser moons around a planet and present a physical barrier between the hitter and the woman of his desires. Here, the wingman’s job is to engage the friend or friends and keep them occupied in a friendly conversation to allow his friend total and unfettered access to the target. With no distractions, it becomes a one on one conversation that the guy can direct all is energies and attentions to without having to worry about keeping her friends from feeling left out. After all, if her friends are happy, then the target is usually happy.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, I’d like to introduce the “guard bitch”, or as Weezguy calls her, “Mamasita”. The guard bitch is usually easy to pick out. They’re usually the least attractive and of greater mass. They serve not only as a physical barrier that eclipses the view of the target from all eyes, but also serve as a hostile and hulking presence that can wilt all but the stoutest of hearts. They’re mean, they’re not lean, and they’re man chewing machines. They can toss you in and spit you right out like a lemon peel ripped from the pulp after a tequila shot. A meeting with a Mamasita can be a significant emotional event.

A good wingman is worth his weight in gold in such a case. He becomes a counterbalance to the mamasita, but he’s got to jump really hard to keep the scales from tipping in her favor. In a usual scenario, the hitter or the wingman spots a potential group of girls that fit their likings. They would move in for a reconnaissance at different angles like the way fishermen would do when spotting a school of tuna. If the pre-requisites of height, weight, age approximation, and the host of other factors are fulfilled, the team moves in for the kill. The wingman goes in to cut the herd and expose the target to the hitter. Creating an opening line that causes surprise and interest amongst the group, the wingman makes an opportunity for the hitter to come in and engage the target.

Now, I really don’t have a great explanation as to why a guard bitch has to play such a role. Perhaps she’s angry or she’s a mother hen, but it’s a frustrating event when she comes in and disrupts the entire game. So, this is where a wingman earns his pay and dances the dangerous “dance of the guard bitch”. After cutting the group, he quickly turns to engage the guard bitch before she can fully recover from the shock of being separated from the group. The wingman steps in and blocks her physically. Of course she’ll side step to avoid him, which the wingman side steps as well. She’ll side step him again, and he moves in unison to block her path. She moves forward and he moves back keeping himself between her and his friend. Finally, having enough of it, the guard bitch charges in to run the wingman over to destroy whatever tenuous hold the hitter might have at the time with the target. That’s when the wingman must hang on to her for dear life while chatting amiably with her throughout. It’s naïve to believe that he can deter her forever. Like football, once the rusher is past you, you will be penalized if you try to hold them down. You can only seek to slow and delay the guard bitch, but you cannot hurt her, after all, she is the target’s friend.

So as you can see, a wingman’s role is most pivotal. If he is able to create an opening and delay the inevitable, his friends will be able to have that much better of a chance of succeeding. Without a wingman, the odds are greatly increased and desperation usually sets in. How many times have you seen a guy go hit on an inferior target because of that?