Let's Get It On!_ The Making of MMA and Its Ultimate Referee - Big John Mccarthy [20]
On our way to the reception, the rain leaked into our limousine and Elaine had to navigate the raging river at her feet when she stepped out in her long, frilly dress.
The weather followed us to our honeymoon in Hawaii, which had its worst storm in ten years. No structure could seem to keep out the downpour. After mistakenly sticking us in a bungalow with two twin beds, the hotel manager upgraded us to their presidential suite. By the time the rain stopped, which was pretty much at the end of our trip, we had a couple inches of water on the floor.
When we finally did get outside, I wanted to visit Pearl Harbor. Since we were dirt poor on this trip, we decided to take a public bus. We found a seat behind a little old couple.
At one of the stops, five local teenage girls boarded, not one less than 250 pounds. They sat behind us and started talking loudly enough for the entire bus and probably the drivers outside to hear.
Now, I can handle a lot, but they started talking about their sexual exploits, and it got pretty graphic even for me. The old woman in front of us was even squirming in her seat. While I sat there swearing off public transportation forever, I told myself to mind my own business and keep my mouth shut. This is why I blame Elaine for what happened next.
“Say something on her behalf,” Elaine said. She pointed at that poor old woman, who was all but sliding out of her seat and onto the floor.
I turned around to the group and said, “Listen, if you want to talk your dirty little talk, just please do us a favor. Not everyone on the bus wants to hear what you’re saying. Can you please quiet down?”
“Fuck you, asshole,” one said. “This is our fucking island.”
When the bus made its next stop, Elaine and I stood to exit, but the group followed us and one girl went to hit me. I sort of deflected her right out the door, where she rolled onto the sidewalk on her back like a beached whale. Her friends followed to attack me, and I pushed them out the door in quick succession. They rolled out onto one another in a heap.
Unfortunately, the bus driver called the police on me, but the little old lady spoke up and saved me. We were free to go.
However, my run-ins with the police were far from over.
When I say I got into the LAPD by the skin of my teeth, I couldn’t be more serious. While I waited for my hiring call, I managed a miniature Indy car track in Fountain Valley called the Malibu Grand Prix. Elaine would even come in and volunteer for small tasks because she wanted something to do. It was a great place to ride out the months.
Finally, I got a call from Lt. Mike Hillman. “They’re picking your academy class tomorrow,” he said, “so don’t screw this up. Don’t make an officer even look at you funny. Don’t do anything, and you’ll be in.”
One more night to close the Grand Prix and Elaine was there with me. What could go wrong?
You can probably guess who came prancing in the front door. Yes, my good old friend trouble. Of all nights, two guys in the arcade decided this was the one when they’d ignore closing time. I got a call from the girl working in the store. These two men had racked up another game of pool.
“I’ll go talk to them,” I said. Mistake number one. I should’ve stayed in the office counting the money.
At first I tried the diplomatic approach. “We’re closed, but go ahead and finish your game. Have a good time, but please don’t put any more money in the slot.” Then I went back to the office but was soon interrupted by another call.
“They’re racking up another game,” the girl said.
I walked back into the arcade. Mistake number two.
The two guys eyed me, pool cues in their hands. I’d bounced enough to recognize that there were different species of idiot and that this particular species didn’t understand verbal commands.
They hadn’t been drinking, but I figured they’d been smoking something. I removed the cues from their hands, placed