A Life of Joy

“Simmy managed to stay out of trouble most of the time he was in the Marines, but it was probably inevitable that he would manage to do the wrong thing occasionally – and get caught at it.  For instance:

‘The exact manner in which I displeased Sergeant Bing escapes me, but I found myself driving a cab-over-engine garbage truck one Sunday.  Joining the party in the cab were two prisoners who loaded the garbage and one MP who guarded the prisoners.  My job was to keep the truck moving enough to stay ahead of the smell, an impossible task in the broiling sun, but made somewhat easier when I located the gear shift.  As we drove behind the mess halls, the prisoners would bully the boots into dumping the garbage into the truck, while they went inside to steal food.  Somehow, the heat and stench brought a comradeship of sorts to this unlikely foursome, so that between pickups, they shared the loot with the MP and me.  Picture the four of us eating a case of rapidly melting ice cream packs, passed to us by the prisoners.  They didn’t steal spoons.

‘Piled high, the truck simply could not hold any more.  The MP gave me directions to the dump, but concentrated more on licking a rivulet of chocolate (I think) running down his wrist.  As a result, I made a sudden right turn, flipping a bit of the load.  I had the right of way over the convertible waiting at the stop sign, but unfortunately the 2^nd lieutenant who drove it had the top down to give his girlfriend a thrill.  A pound or two of chicken guts was not part of this Sunday plans.

‘Backing up slowly, we could see him standing by his car as hound dogs appeared from nowhere, attracted by the feast.  As I pulled up to his red (as I recall) convertible, I was too scared to climb down from the cab and he was too enraged to order me to do so.  Instead, he glared up murderously, and with a strained neck, red as a beet, screamed for my name, rank and serial number.  The next part was tougher.  The presence of his girl friend forced him to communicate without the usual four-letter words. This only increased his skull pressure, already dangerously high from his posture.  Finally, he roared, ‘That was poor driving… from Ayy…to ZEEE!’

‘Behind me in the cab, one of the prisoners, slowly and with awe, delivered the last line of this story: ‘He…didn’t…leave…out…a…@#*letter!”