By lex, on May 11th, 2006
I could get used to it…
Walked not once but twice – TWICE! – into the belly of the naval beast, yesterday. First trip had summat to do with my new-fangled, up scale, high tech, non-functioning ID card. Went over to the “Personnel Support Detachment,” which, depending on where you put your breath stop in that three word name, is either a very descriptive statement, or an ironic oxymoron. PSDs ordinarily being the military equivalent of a no-appointment drop in at the local DMV.
I’d had high hopes, too! The officer-in-charge is an old shipmate – called ahead, because a shipmate cannot turn you down, but no: The OIC is in a meeting all afternoon. How can I be… heh-heh: of assistance? Muah-ha-ha!
Still, such are the burdens of the service that the thing had to be done. Nothing for it but to square our shoulders, and march bravely in, hoping for the best, expecting the worst.
In and out in five minutes. Best. PSD stop. Ever.
Then on to medical, to get permission to run the physical readiness test. A mission not unlike begging for a root canal, even before you factor in the joys of socialized medicine, military style. I realized a long time ago that they get paid by the day, over at the medical clinic. Not by the patient. And by the time you’ve earned the right to be a curmudgeon, you get issued a hospital corpsman that wasn’t even a gleam in his father’s eye the first time you flew in combat, gazing up at you from behind the security of his desk with reptillian indifference, to provide you curmudgeonly ammunition.
Except that yesterday, there wasn’t. In and out in eight minutes, three of which I yield back to kismet, charging them to my own predilection when the opportunity arises to converse with fetching female flight surgeons.
So, yeah. I could get used to it.