“All right, LISTEN UP!” the sergeant bellows, havin’ finished with his roll call. “In about half an hour. Corporal Whittle will take you across camp and get your hair cut to conform with army standards.”
The little shrimp who has been lurkin’ in the background draws himself up to his full insignificant height and smiles at this. Now Sergeant Smiley is a rather imposin’ dude, though a touch out of shape around the middle, but the corporal looks like he would fail the entrance requirements to be a meter-type maid. That is, he looks to be the unpleasant kind of wimp who only pulls wings off flies when he has enough rank to back him up.
Lookin’ at his smile, I begin to have serious misgivin’s about these haircuts.
“In the meantime,” the sergeant continues, “you have a period of unstructured time, during which you may talk, sleep, or get to know each other. I suggest you take maximum advantage of this, as it will in all probability be the last time you will have to yourself until your training is completed. Now, before I dismiss you, are there any questions?”
To my surprise, two individuals raise their hands. This is a surprise first of all because I thought that most individuals would be cowed into silence by the sergeant’s performance thus far, and secondly because one of the hands belongs to none other than my cousin Nunzio!
“You!” Smiley says, pointin’ at the closest questioner. “State your name and question.”
“Bee, Sergeant. I … I think there’s been a mistake on my enlistment.” The sergeant shows all his teeth. “The army doesn’t make mistakes, son … except, maybe one.” He shoots a glance at Spyder, who ignores him this time. “What’s your problem?”