One of those guys
There’s a specialist, soon to be sergeant at the turn of the month, who is the colonel’s secretary.
He sits at the desk in front of the command’s area of the building for 12 hours a day – the normal stint for our corner of the war.
To his left is the stack of toilet paper he’s in charge of keeping stocked. To his right is a pile of college books he brings in.
When at his desk, he says little, and either is busy in a flurry of mouse clicking as he completes college classes, or sits with headphones donned, watching a movie.
He bores easily and makes rounds through the offices, sitting down and talking to whomever is around.
To this point, his plight would seem pitiable, carted off to war to make coffee and stack butt paper. But then he starts to talk.
Incessant, demeaning critiques on life, music, movies. He’ll tear in to the news, the selection of “goodies” on display in the various offices, how he is so unappreciated, on and on. Everyone’s eyes roll whenever they hear him coming.
“You know what makes me mad?” “You know what’s so stupid?” “Tell me if this isn’t dumb.” “You guys need more cookies.”
He’ll sit and talk, even when everyone continues to work.
“God I hate this place. I need to get out and shoot some people – kill some Iraqis. Yeah. Back when I was in Desert Storm –”
The kid had been an E6 in Desert Storm, got out and rejoined a couple of years ago as an E3.
“…Yeah, back in the Gulf I shot an APC and got a medal. I killed six of them. But here they won’t let me go outside the wire. I’m getting restless.”
Firstly, bullsh*t all around. Secondly, never trust a man who looks for war.