Years ago I worked at the Flaming Gorge Lodge as an assistant manager in the fly shop. Occasionally we would have a large number of vehicles that needed to be shuttled to the lower sections of the Green River. On one of these occasions we stopped at our smaller branch in Dutch John to pick up a couple more drivers. One of the drivers was Sam, an old, ornery SOB that had retired from the Navy. As he got in the shuttle vehicle, I turned and said, "Hey buddy, how have you been?"
To which he replied, "Buddy? Do I look like a buddy to you? I hate to break it to you, but I'm not your buddy!"
Flabbergasted, I turned away while saying, "My mistake, sorry man."
Sam laughed, and then he asked me, "Do you know what a buddy is?"
I responded by saying, "Well, I thought I did, but apparently I'm mistaken."
So, he told me, "A buddy is the guy that will go to Tijuana, get two blow jobs, and then come back and give you one because you couldn't go! That's why I'm not your buddy!"
Since that day, when somebody calls me buddy I simply reply, "I'm not your buddy."
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