Field Day

We're in the open squad bay in a long narrow building. Cale and I are getting out of our camouflage utilities and preparing to put on shorts and ratty t-shirts so we can begin our field day. At the far end of the squad in an area occupied by our to corporals one of them, which we will call the freckled dork, is spouting silly marine non-commisioned officer nonsense. He saying pointless things like "let's go marines," " the sooner we get started the sooner we can finish," "let's get motivated and get this done right the first time" and "the company gunnery sergeant is coming through tomorrow and I don't want to be embarrassed."

As often happens, Cale and I had a new saying that just permeated our conversations. One of those childish and often crude phrases that get funnier for no other reason but repetition. We often bought lottery tickets and I claimed that if I won I would by a Corvette and my vanity license plate would have this phrase.

After the corporal finished spewing his nonsense Cale uttered our saying just loud enough for the freckled dork to hear. He said, "Eat me."

The freckled dork corporal shrieked like a spoiled rich girl who'd just been told her homely date stood her up. "Who said that!? Johnson, was that you!?"

Cale smiled like a ten year old pulling a cat's tail, "Wadn't me corporal."

The freckled dork stepped out from behind the press-board wall lockers that seperated the non-commisioned officer sanctuary from the land of the non-rates. He has the blouse of his utilities off and is standing shirtless with his cloth belt undone. Even his white stomach has freckles. "I know that was you, Johnson."

"Wadn't me, corporal," Cale says and he continues to dress. I'm trying not to crack up.

"If it wasn't you then who was it?"

"I don't know but it wasn't me."

The freckled dork is stumped. He stands where he is for a moment the turns back into his private chamber and continues to change his clothes. His lame utterances have stopped, for a while.