Things a Young Man Had Best Not Say to a Pretty Saloon Girl

I am back in the Old West. But with a twist. I was suddenly catapulted back via some accidental "Time Travel Laser Beam System," the C.I.A. in 2016 invented and test-fired in my direction and made a direct-hit on me one summer evening while I was sitting in the shade of one of my trees in my front yard.

The trip was a blur. No sound. No time to experience fear. I awoke dressed in the wardrobe of a cattle drover working on a cattle drive in the early 1800's. I wore a ten-gallon hat, boots with spurs, chaps, vest, jeans and shirt. Oh yeah, I had a six-gun with nice holster sitting on my hip. I was sitting atop a nice horse named "Smokey," and I thought, okay, this can't be all bad.

I had carried what intelligence I possessed in 2016 with me along with what was in my DNA, chromosomes, and the traits, flaws and abilities that made me, well, me. Weird. But the next twist was so strange that I almost choked. I was not a married guy.

So to review. I was in the mid-1800's working on a cattle drive headed to Kansas City, Kansas, single, dressed as a cattle drover, tired, hungry and in need of a bath and shave in the worst way. I hate to confess this, but man, what a life! What guy back, errr, up there in 2016 wouldn't give their season tickets to see the New York Knicks to change places with me. I was at the back of the cattle herd. No one to talk with to pass the time. Just eat the cattle's dust, listen to the mooing and cursing of the other drovers and keep my wits about me.

Like a flash I was mysteriously-transported to the end of the cattle drive. (it is so neat when you are the author of a story and can control all of the actions). I was still dirty, tired, and in need of a bath and shave in the worst way.

"Here's ye' pay, 'Green Horn,'" "Mr. Patrick Loons," the salty trail boss said as he handed me over $200.00 in gold coins.

"Uhh, thanks, sir. Will you be, uhh, needing . . ." I tried to say, but he interrupted.

"Are you stupid? With all of the bone-headed blunders you made on this drive? Don't wire us. We'll wire you," "Loons," barked as he rode off. I swear that I could hear him laughing and then offering praises to God Almighty that I would not be with him and other drovers on the next cattle drive. This was strange because that was the first time I had ever heard "Loons," an evil-talking, cruel trailboss ever mention God at all.

Now I was suddenly lonely. And still without a bath, shave and change of clothes in the worst way. But I still had my $200.00 and I loved how it jingled in my jeans pocket. I slowly rode into the edge of Kansas City and did not bring attention to myself. I did not know anyone. And did not know what to do. I felt mighty stupid and out of place. Note: notice that even in this story my language changed a bit by using the word, 'mighty' to describe stupid.

I noticed "The Sin Hole Saloon," across the dusty street. Wonder what goes on in there, I thought. I gave a "Mr. Bunky," the livery stable owner fifty-cents to feed, water, and bed down "Smokey," for the night. "Mr. Bunky's," eyes bulged out for I must have over-paid him. But I didn't care. Soon, I would be transported back to 2016, so why not relax and live a little?

Upon pushing the two wooden, swinging saloon doors back, I cautiously went inside the "Sin Hole," to see what a real saloon in this era was really like. I heard the piano playing some tune set for dancing while the air was filled with profanities mixed with tobacco smoke. Two or more drovers were scuffling at the end of the bar, but were only "letting off steam," from the three-month cattle drive.

"Hi, fellas," I yelled. The drovers suddenly stopped their scuffling and gazed at me.

"Are ye' that feller who made so many bone-head blunders on the cattle drive?" one drover asked while squinting through one eye. I don't need ye' over hyar! Got it?"

"Wy,' yes I am," I said. Mind if I . . ." before I could speak, the biggest, meanest drover yelled at me, "Ye' stay thar!

I nodded that I understood. My feelings were hurt to the bone. After three long months of them not speaking to me at supper or any other time. Some friends they turned out to be.

As I started to mope back out of the two, wooden swinging saloon doors, my eyes were drawn like steel to a magnet, to the prettiest brunette I had ever seen. And friend, I am not bragging, but I had seen my share of pretty brunettes. Okay. Two, to be honest.

I smiled at her. She returned a sizzling smile through her red lipstick. I tingled all over. What man wouldn't? I summoned my courage and walked to where she was propped up on the bar. What a beautiful pose she struck. I was secretly praying that I would not be transported back to my own time zone before I could get to know her.

But before I could speak one word to her, a man ran up to me and handed me a small book. I looked puzzled. He whispered, "ye' best read this through afore ye' talk to that Barb there, son," he said and disappeared. And I suppose you have already guessed the name of the book.

Things a Young Man Had Best Not Say to a Pretty Saloon Girl

• "I'm new here. Do you have my room cleaned?"
• "Is that your 'real' hair, ma'am?"
• "Hey, you remind me of my mother!"
• "Hey, you remind me of my father!"
• "Care to go on a picnic? I know it's dark outside, but we could use candles to see to eat our food."
• "Seeing you reminded me to go and feed my horse."
• "Can you detect that I have never talked to a girl like you?"
• "May I let you buy me a steak with some fried potatoes?"
• "What do you charge?"
• "When I first came in, you were smiling at me. Why now are you frowning?"
• "Do all of the guys in here know you?"
• "I think that I saw your name carved inside the outhouse I used before I came in here."
• "Oh, I am to buy you a drink. Okay. All of the time?"
• "Is the barkeep your dad?"
• "You don't look like an old maid."
• "Do you mind if I leave to visit that outhouse again? Must be the gopher we had for lunch."
• "I saw your name again inside that outhouse. You must be a famous girl."
• "Oh, time to buy you another drink?"
• "Can you kinda slow down on the whiskey? I am not made of gold."
• "Ha, ha. When you yawned just then, you sounded like one of the cows mooing I helped to drive to the stock yards downtown."
• "Hey, why are you suddenly acting like I am an idiot?"
• "Sure, you can have another drink."
• "Want to sit down and chat about sewing, cooking, and turning a shanty into a showplace?"
• "Do I like men? Is that what you said?"
• "Oh, where have I been. That's what you said."
• "Ha, ha. Do you like girls?"
• "Okay. This is the last whiskey you can have."
• "It's getting late. I need to hit the hay about eight."
• "Can I see you tomorrow?"
• "How am I doing for my first time at talking to a pretty saloon girl?"
• "You sure don't say much, do you?"
• "Did you ask me to see the fights with you?"
• "Oh, you said for me to spend the night with you. Ha, ha. I have listened to the cows mooing too much."
• "What? Oh, a terrible headache. Oh. Hey, where are you going?"

Then as I had predicted, I was transported back to where I was sitting in the shade underneath one of the shade trees in my front yard.

I was not the least bit tired, confused, or in wonder of where I had been. Life for me in the mid-1800's working for a cruel trail boss and being dumped by a brunette named "Barb," was not that new to me.

Kinda reminded me of my life as a teenager.