Nuremberg Tour 26

Our family moved to Canada when I was fifteen. Father experimented with newspapers. He soon discontinued the Globe and Mail, as they were, quote, "a bunch of leftwing pinko pseudo-intellectual Commie fags."
He liked National Post for two reasons: pro-Israeli editorial stance and extensive stock market coverage, being a market player himself.
For the local daily he had nothing but contempt. Little news of any import, it served one purpose only in his view: a guide to modern consumerism. As in reviews of movies, cars, endless computer games and upgrades, travel, fashion, condos, houses, renovations.
He raked in the bucks, it was Mother's job to read all that nonsense in the local daily and spend them.
I choose not to condemn any paper. If they survive over time, it's proof positive they are connecting with their reader base. It's just, well, they sure don't connect with me. Catch the news for free by clicking on CBC website. I'm not a card-carrying suit, participating in rampant consumerism, so pretty much the whole paper is irrelevent to me.
What I do read is the free commuter daily, Monday to Friday, tabloid size, 24 pages, most of it ads. Least it isn't as tedious as the suit's paper. It's a way to pass some time on the bus to the Armory in the mornings.
My hand shakes as I see the headline, and large photo. It's the eyes-too-bright Lt who lectured us on geopolitics. She's a reservist, scheduled to be on the tour.
She won't be going, being held without bail. An accountant for a medium size firm, an audit turned up the fact she embezzled $800,000 over three years. It's all vanished, into the slots of VLT's (video lottery terminals) in bars.
I shrug. She was a nutcase anyhow. Whoever is replacement is bound to be better.
The Armory is pandemonium this morning. We're to depart at 1:00 pm, lotta last minute jobs to do. There is no mil airport in our city. The civvy one doesn't have a runway big enough to handle our cargo plane, which dwarves the Antonov of old.
Charter buses will haul us to a nearby base and we'll spend the night in the air over the pond.
Soon, there's nothing left to do in our group, Farzana and I having checked everything. So I end up in conversation with Sarah, Heidi's L/Cpl.
"Ah I'm a little curious. Wouldn't it have been better if you were in Naomi's group? After all, Heidi is a German."
Sarah snorts with derision, "how old-fashioned can you get? You were hanging out with that author a way too much."
I blush.
"Get with the modern age. Labels are largely a thing of the past. I'd never wanna be with a smart ass like Naomi. Give a Jew a position of power and they go berserk on you."
"They do?"
"Sure they do. Besides, Heidi and are into the same computer games, became good friends. I don't give a rat's ass she's German."
"Then you mean, Anne is gonna have problems, being Naomi's L/Cpl?"
For answer, Sarah pokes my arm, points. Anne and Naomi are standing nose to nose, in heated argument.
Sarah chuckles, "see, told you." We both laugh.
Heidi, walking near by, points and then sighs, "I better talk with her, again. Average tour she goes through three or four L/Cpls. Nobody wants to stay with her, move to different groups."
Heidi continues walking away.
"So Sarah," I ask, "that fiance of yours must be heart broken?"
"Unlikely, he's not a real fiance."
"No?"
"You really are outa things, so old-fashioned. You have seen him, didn't you catch wise he's gay?"
I gasp.
"Each help each other. By pretending to be fiances, gets his parents off his back and mine too."
"Sooner or later, you run outa time with lies like that."
"Not likely Sherlock. Reason we can't get married yet is - gasp - he hasn't finished his accounting designation courses yet."
"I see, and the pace he's going, he'll be forty when that happens?"
She laughs wickedly, "you're not so hopeless after all."
"Isn't it simpler if you're like me and my parents? Keep it hostile, don't hafta invent lies."
"Ever read any Elie Wiesel?"
"Nope, I avoid that stuff."
"According to him, lies are for the living, truth for the dead."
"Oh."
"Look Rachel, do I hafta spell it out in kindergarten terms for you? There's a reason you were stuck with that boyfriend among the living dead. You just plain don't know, and won't make the effort to learn, what sorts of lies Canadians tell each other."
"And you do?"
"For Chrissake you idiot, do you think I get boyfriends like yours? No, my real BF is Tony, one hot hot Italian, who just happens to be a trainer with the pro hockey team. I can't show him to the parents or they'd go postal."
"I see, so you and this phony Jewish fiance, it's a mutual exchange of coverage. Since you both benefit, it stays stable over time."
She smiles proudly, like a prof whose dull student aced the exam. "There, see, you do catch on after all. Besides, he doesn't hafta lie forever. I mean, once he inherits the family business ..."
I groan inwardly. Often I wonder about people. Why do they bother with the craziness they do? But then it starts to dawn, "ah you mean Tony knows about, accepts this phony Jewish fiance you have?"
Laughs, "and why would he not? He has one of those too. Nice Italian girl, Catholic, to parade in front of both sets of parents on religious holidays. She's in no hurry to get married, being a closet lesbian."
Despite myself, I laugh.
Sarah playfully punches my arm, "see, already the Army is broadening your horizons."
Our attention is diverted as Sarge moves in to break up the duel between Naomi and Anne. Something tells me this is gonna be one long tour, glacier pace of time passing. Oy!!