When a psychologist at the Naval Hospital determined that a mentally unstable person should not be working on shipboard weapons systems, I was transferred to the company that housed people awaiting transfer. I worked housecrew, cleaning the barracks, stretching into a full day a job that the duty sections in the other companies would do between five thirty and six in the morning before going to school. It was spring, the days were gorgeous, and one Friday, everyone was looking forward to starting the weekend. Then the assistant company commander arrived with the most horrible he thing he could have said: "Who has clean whites?" Something had happened to the sailor serving as the division roving patrol. In typical Navy fashion, he could have fallen into a Buffy the Vampire Slayer-esque Hellmouth and his replacement wouldn't be told. The principle is called "need to know." The less we know, the less we can betray to the enemy if we are caught, so we were told nothing about what we were doing or why. As I was stationed on a training base in Illinois and Buffy the Vampire Slayer hadn't yet debuted on television, I felt safe volunteering. I was in the duty section, so my weekend wasn't going to start until six a.m. Saturday morning.
I spent the next four hours going from company to company, with no clear idea of what I was doing or why. I imagine that if paratroopers landed in the quad, Red Dawn style, as I crisscrossed it over the course of my watch, the Navy would have been quite proud. "Why do you walk back and forth like this?", the senior paratrooper would ask. "Damned if I know," I would reply, keeping America's secrets safe, as only a poorly informed red blooded American can.
When I was relieved of the watch, I headed into my barracks, to the utter disbelief of the assistant platoon leader. "What in the hell are you doing here?" he cried. "The Chief of the Watch called and says his messenger hasn't reported. That's you." It took me a moment to get over my disappointment that he had told me, not because it was too late to get me out of trouble, but that he had told me anything at all. I risked being too informed for my own good. I didn't know there was a Chief of the Watch, or that this exalted individual was entitled to a messenger. I wasn't upset that the assistant platoon leader had changed the watch bill and not told me, nor was I bothered that my duties as roving patrol kept me from checking the watch bill myself. An uninformed sailor is a good sailor. I reported immediately to my new assignment.
When I told the chief I was late because I had just gotten off a watch, he said I was lying and full of shit and dug out the papers to bring me to captain's mast for non-judicial punishment. He said that sailors couldn't stand back to back watches because it was against regulations. Regulations are always followed. Therefore, I was lying. "Didn't you know any of this?" he asked. Did I know any of that? Of course not. What did he take me for? A lily liver who would squeal to the enemy because he knew too much? I knew nothing, and swore it on a stack of Bibles. Still convinced that I was full of shit, the chief started filling out the paperwork. I asked him to call my assistant platoon leader, as he would verify what I told him. "All right," he said. "What is his name?"
I had been with the company for a week and the assistant platoon leader was even newer than I was. I didn't know his name. When I regained consciousness after another breakdown, I was told the medical review board had found me unfit for service. I was going home.
Your column is one of the highlights of my week, I always look forward to hearing from you. The signs at the desks and on the walls are pure chef's kiss 💋
Noting that “Every day is the weekend, baby!” is the second-most popular choice in the poll, I’m guessing many of your readers must be retired like me. Back in the day, if you were old, but still relatively competent, you would say you still had all your marbles. I think it makes more sense to say that I still have most of my molecules. I do my best to hang onto the ones that are left!
Thank you. My new wealth has been spent on unexciting things like the electricity bill, whose prices have gone up so much I think they’re profiting off of the shock value.
Don’t let it go to your head but I look forward to your comic every day. Definitely one of my favorites.
I promise that absolutely nothing will go to my head. (Thank you).
Safeway catch phrase! I love Rusty's character.
We have “buy one, get one free!” AND “2 for $xx.xx”. You can get one for half of $xx.xx. But they won’t give you the free one.
Why does it have to be so complicated?
That’s a much better setup. We need endless hearings, witness statements, and lengthy proposals of new regulation so that nothing can be done.
When a psychologist at the Naval Hospital determined that a mentally unstable person should not be working on shipboard weapons systems, I was transferred to the company that housed people awaiting transfer. I worked housecrew, cleaning the barracks, stretching into a full day a job that the duty sections in the other companies would do between five thirty and six in the morning before going to school. It was spring, the days were gorgeous, and one Friday, everyone was looking forward to starting the weekend. Then the assistant company commander arrived with the most horrible he thing he could have said: "Who has clean whites?" Something had happened to the sailor serving as the division roving patrol. In typical Navy fashion, he could have fallen into a Buffy the Vampire Slayer-esque Hellmouth and his replacement wouldn't be told. The principle is called "need to know." The less we know, the less we can betray to the enemy if we are caught, so we were told nothing about what we were doing or why. As I was stationed on a training base in Illinois and Buffy the Vampire Slayer hadn't yet debuted on television, I felt safe volunteering. I was in the duty section, so my weekend wasn't going to start until six a.m. Saturday morning.
I spent the next four hours going from company to company, with no clear idea of what I was doing or why. I imagine that if paratroopers landed in the quad, Red Dawn style, as I crisscrossed it over the course of my watch, the Navy would have been quite proud. "Why do you walk back and forth like this?", the senior paratrooper would ask. "Damned if I know," I would reply, keeping America's secrets safe, as only a poorly informed red blooded American can.
When I was relieved of the watch, I headed into my barracks, to the utter disbelief of the assistant platoon leader. "What in the hell are you doing here?" he cried. "The Chief of the Watch called and says his messenger hasn't reported. That's you." It took me a moment to get over my disappointment that he had told me, not because it was too late to get me out of trouble, but that he had told me anything at all. I risked being too informed for my own good. I didn't know there was a Chief of the Watch, or that this exalted individual was entitled to a messenger. I wasn't upset that the assistant platoon leader had changed the watch bill and not told me, nor was I bothered that my duties as roving patrol kept me from checking the watch bill myself. An uninformed sailor is a good sailor. I reported immediately to my new assignment.
When I told the chief I was late because I had just gotten off a watch, he said I was lying and full of shit and dug out the papers to bring me to captain's mast for non-judicial punishment. He said that sailors couldn't stand back to back watches because it was against regulations. Regulations are always followed. Therefore, I was lying. "Didn't you know any of this?" he asked. Did I know any of that? Of course not. What did he take me for? A lily liver who would squeal to the enemy because he knew too much? I knew nothing, and swore it on a stack of Bibles. Still convinced that I was full of shit, the chief started filling out the paperwork. I asked him to call my assistant platoon leader, as he would verify what I told him. "All right," he said. "What is his name?"
I had been with the company for a week and the assistant platoon leader was even newer than I was. I didn't know his name. When I regained consciousness after another breakdown, I was told the medical review board had found me unfit for service. I was going home.
When I read the daily comic, I usually end up thinking: "I wonder what he's going to say about this strip in the notes?"
It's a mystery why more people aren't forking over a mere $5 a month (half a double-latte!) for your insights!
Thank you for that! I often wonder what I’ll say, too. God only knows.
Your column is one of the highlights of my week, I always look forward to hearing from you. The signs at the desks and on the walls are pure chef's kiss 💋
Noting that “Every day is the weekend, baby!” is the second-most popular choice in the poll, I’m guessing many of your readers must be retired like me. Back in the day, if you were old, but still relatively competent, you would say you still had all your marbles. I think it makes more sense to say that I still have most of my molecules. I do my best to hang onto the ones that are left!
I’m surprised we don’t have a molecule workout routine at this point.
I returned to the store because I forgot to buy 4 for the price of 2. Free food
We also have buy two, get three free on soda. Coincidentally, soda prices are double the cost at that particular store.
Congratulations on your new wealth! 😉
You make my day with your comics and your commentary. I hope you publish a book and it becomes a bestseller.
Thank you. My new wealth has been spent on unexciting things like the electricity bill, whose prices have gone up so much I think they’re profiting off of the shock value.
You restore my faith in humanity :)
Nice!
These are all so great! "Buy 2 or get screwed" should be Saf
I only worked in retail once. Your comics are a lot more fun than the job was.