Somewhere
in Paradise, The Caribbean – In the little chapel that doubles for
a base 'auditorium,' the new hires gathered for a long, droning day
of 'orientation' that mainly consisted of indoctrination in the
arcana of the 'health care' program provided by Travelers out of
Houston (we have a problem).
Now,
this is a 'downrange' tracking station, the kind where the lads with
pocket protectors and watches you need a university degree to tell
time by have at it with pushbutton megadeath from World Wars III, IV,
V and VI, you dig?
 |
| A whimsical sculpture of a wire-haired terrier in the scavvy bushes |
Finally,
as everyone watched that big hand close in on 17:00, the hour when
the ship comes in and the slop chute opens across the plank, the
moderator, a 50-something graybeard with an avuncular and corporate
attitude, said, “Any questions?”
From
the back of the room, a Chief Petty Officer, retired for about a week
and already struggling with debt, court orders and tax levies, spoke
up from the gravel pit somewhere deep in his abdomen, and said, “Do
you mind? Ooh! I just can't wait to get sick!”
We
just fell all about the place. Fell all about the place and left them
laughing in the dust.
Right,
then. Cheerio.
-
The Legendary (beep beep)
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