By lex, on November 3rd, 2008
They use a different tack:
Then came the marine. He was fit and spit-shined. “My name is Sangster, ma’am. Rhymes with gangster.” As I remember it, that was pretty much all he said to me; his pitch was aimed at Zach. “The Marine Corps will make you puke, make you cry, and when that’s over, you’ll be sent to the most miserable, dangerous, godforsaken place on the planet. So let me ask you: Why should I let you join my corps?”
I opened my mouth to answer (“Goodbye!”) but was quelled by a sharp look from Zach. “Well … um, sir,” he said. “I think I’m reasonably smart. But I don’t work very hard. I want you to teach me to work.”
Sangster looked at him for a long moment. “We can do that,” he said.