Chapter Four:
“Squeeze, don’t jerk, the trigger.”
-R. ROGERS
UNFORTUNATELY, THE “Fly Swatter” moniker Nunzio hung on me stuck … or at least the “Swatter” part did. What was even more discomfortin’ was the fact that I got tagged by the sergeant to be Actin’ Squad Leader for the little group of recruits I have already named, which is much of why I named them. This position consisted of nothin’ more than playin’ sheepdog for the ‘Bugs,’ as everyone seemed to take great delight in callin’ ’em, while they was bein’ herded from one trainin’ session to another. Still, it was a leadership position, which, as I have earlier noted, I tend to avoid like I would a subpoena.
The stuff we had to learn as part of our basictype trainin’ wasn’t really too bad, though. Most of the information they passed along was indeed necessary when considered as an overview, and it was presented simply, but with a real effort toward makin’ it interestin’ enough to hold the attention of us recruits. This was a pleasant change from my college profs, most of whom seemed to feel they was the greatest experts on the most interestin’ subjects and that the students should feel lucky to pay substantial hunks of money for the privilege of worshipin’ at their feet. What’s more, they tested the loyalty of said students on a regular basis by the simple process of makin’ the presentation dull enough to bore a stone and seein’ who managed to stay awake long enough to absorb sufficient data to pass their finals.
The army, in direct contrast, started with the basic assumption that recruits would be totally ignorant and couldn’t care less about the subject at hand, unless it was made interestin’ enough to hold their predictably short attention, often by graphically demonstratin’ at a personal level how vital said subject was to the continued functioning of their bodies.