I was 21 and in OCS at Newport, RI. As officer candidates we were eligible to use the Officers' Club. Not just any Officers' Club, this was the one across the street from the Naval War College. Thick with Captains and Admirals. The saying in the Navy is the only thing lower than an Ensign is whale poop, and that is at the bottom of the ocean. Well, OCs are apparently somewhere between ensigns and whale poop, but there I was at one of the Navy's poshest clubs, perhaps with admirals. (We had to be in uniform, but real officers could wear civvies there, so I rarely knew the rank of the guy at the next table.) Almost literally straight off the farm in Minnesota, I was unfamiliar with seafood aside from Mrs. Paul's and the freshwater fish from our local lakes. But in Newport I had my first shrimp cocktail and my first steamed clams. (I fell in love.) The waitstaff treated us larval-stage officers with all the courtesy they showed senior officers. I'm sure I made lots of naive choices and asked stupid questions ("And for wine, could I have a nice little bordello, please?"). It's a lovely memory.