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This Is The Army, Major D**k

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 2, 2021

I’m going to meet my sister at a restaurant, and I have a service dog. She’s responsible for keeping me company for panic attacks and PTSD, which was brought on by my time in the military. It’s a time in my life which I normally don’t like to talk about, but it’s important to know for this story.

I enter the restaurant, and the hostess tells me that it will be a few minutes before a table opens up and I am welcome to wait until then. I notice a few people looking at my dog. My dog is a golden retriever, not particularly aggressive or unpredictable; normally, she’s a ball of sunshine. But today, someone decides to be rude about it. 

Man: “Hey, there’s no dogs allowed, buddy.”

Man’s Wife: “Honey, it’s a service dog. They have to allow them.”

Man: “This guy isn’t blind or deaf! He doesn’t need a freaking dog!”

Man’s Wife: “[Man], service dogs do more than help the blind or deaf. They can help with seizures, blood sugar, and so many other things.”

Man: “Hey, buddy, what do you have? Why do you supposedly ‘need’ a service dog?”

Man’s Wife: “[Man]! Don’t be rude!”

Me: “I served time in the army. I fought in a war. I have panic attacks and PTSD because I saw so much death and destruction and was forced to kill two men to save my own life and that of my squad members.”

I could feel myself starting to get worked up. My service dog laid her head on my leg and whined, and I took the pills my doctor prescribed and petted her until I calmed down. By then, my sister had arrived at the restaurant, and the man looked properly abashed. His wife told me that her husband was a major d**k, and that I was a hero and I was the reason why he was allowed to be a major d**k.

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