Rank has its privileges, I suppose, and one of them seems to be the ability to verbally abuse those of lesser station.
That never sat well with me, as perhaps this tale will illustrate.
Once, a young man in a land far away, I happened to be fortunate enough to get back into Da Nang, where to my great surprise they'd built a Base Exchange (BX) just outside the airbase. For an hour or two, strolling among the splendor of all the consumer goods on offer there I thought I'd been returned to the Land of the Big PX, the continental United States.
Walking back across the field that led to where my helicopter ride would land, I saw an Air Force officer, resplendent in starched khakis, his blue cap jaunty on his head, the single gold bar shining brightly in the sun. As we approached each other, walking in opposite directions, we took each other's measure; me in my dirty field fatigues, devoid of insignia, him in his parade field uniform, replete with his single ribbon, the National Defense Medal. I have no idea, of course, what he thought about me, but I very clearly remember thinking how he was fresh off the airplane, had just gotten to the war.
Out of kindness, I suppose, as we passed each other no more than six feet apart, I muttered "How's it goin', man." I hadn't gotten more than a pace past him when I heard "Marine!!!"
Coming to attention, I wheeled about to face him. "Don't you salute officers, Marine?" he asked.
"No Sir", I replied.
"What about your Lieutenant, Marine? Don't you salute him?" he nearly whined. "What would happen if you didn't salute your Lieutenant?" he demanded.
"I don't know, Sir, what would happen if I didn't salute my Lieutenant, but I'm certain of what would happen if I did" I said.
"And what's that?" the young fool leapt into the trap.
"He'd knock me flat on my ass, Sir, for setting him up for a sniper" I said, and as crisply as on any Marine parade ground snapped him off the finest salute I could muster.
"Have a very nice day, Sir", I said as I returned to my original line of march.