Fuck! You left your I.D. card in your computer
FORT RILEY, Kan. — Fuck! You left your stupid I.D. card in your stupid computer. Experts confirm this will now cost you the rest of your day. You’ll have to walk all the way back upstairs to get the damned thing out of your office.
Oh great, there’s the XO. Don’t make eye contact. You made eye contact with him. He asks you about the Command and Staff brief and whether you have time to “just refactor” a few of the slides. You are now walking in the opposite direction of your I.D. card.
He wants the metrics displayed in a slightly different way that no one will notice, but which will almost certainly take several hours to change.
According to Outlook — which the Army forced you to install on your phone — this was the only 20 minutes you had to get lunch today, and it’s rapidly evaporating.
Not that you were terribly excited about getting a small Subway sandwich with grilled chicken. Height and weight is in a few weeks and you’re trying to drop the last few pounds because the Secretary of War has decided your personal BMI is a matter of national security.
Good gravy, now S-1 is asking you about overdue OERs. Can’t you just get a sandwich? Can’t you just get one sandwich without the United States Army falling apart?
You lie and say the OERs are “up at HQDA,” buying yourself a little time. A problem for later. You tell yourself that a lot.
The food court line won’t be that bad. You can still make it back before the training meeting. You’ll just have to drive a little faster than usual, which is fine, because consequences are theoretical.
Wait. Why is the water buffalo in the company lot? That water buffalo is supposed to be at Range 7. Why is it here? You ask Staff Sgt. Dylan Jones what’s going on.
“Sir, we never got this water buffalo certified,” he reports.
You remember, dimly, that water buffalos require certification. You ask what they’re doing for water at Range 7.
“We filled up some water cans that said non-potable on them,” Staff Sgt. Jones says. “So the Joes are good.”
Your eye starts to twitch. Staff Sgt. Jones, now apparently an expert in water buffalo certification, does not appear to know what “non-potable” means. You wish you hadn’t promised your wife you’d stop dipping. Also, it’s her birthday next week. Another problem for later.
You drive like a madman to the PX and grab cases of bottled water for Range 7. No personally owned vehicles on the range, so you’ll have to coordinate a JLTV or something. Your arms ache as you stand in line, questioning every decision you’ve ever made.
The cashier asks for your I.D. card before you can pay.
Fuck.
You left your I.D. card in your computer.