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Friday, September 10, 2021

draft nine

Right away we have to take off all our clothes except our underpants, and they put our clothes away somewhere and give us a card with a number which we put in a paper bag along with our change, wallet, keys, etc.  And this is the way the physical will be conducted, walking around in your underpants, holding a paper bag with your stuff, following this orange line on the floor and anybody who wants to yell at you will do so, and you won't say shit.  This is probably what the army will be like, actually probably a lot worse.

The first stop is the height and weight.  A few lucky fat and skinny guys got out of the whole thing right then and there.  They give them their clothes back, and they dress and walk out.  They are the true heroes.

My chain smoking is paying off.  I'm coughing up a phlegmy storm.  A few of the army guys at the stations take notice.  "That's not going to get you out Son," they say.  As do the guys at the hearing station where I fake not hearing noises, or at the vision center where I do badly, but not badly enough.

Finally I reach the psych guy and pull out the letter from my shrink.  I try to act nonchalant, like I don't care if I end up in the army or not.  I try to give him the look I remember seeing sometimes on Fred's face back in Berkeley.

"So, you're a sociopath huh?  What's a sociopath?"

"Means I don't get along with society, or, you know people."

"You know here in the army, we have a lot of people who don't get along with others, and you know, they get along fine here.  After all, you know, our job is to shoot people."

That was my last shot.  At the end of the line I get my clothes back and empty my paper bag into my pockets.  On the way out I walk into a glass door because I am not wearing my glasses. 

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