afghangirlscifi

Science fiction stories chronicling Afghan women and girls.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Rivka 1

Saturday morning everyone in line looks scared, some afraid of failing, others of passing.
A fat hungover Sgt opens the door, "exams will remain face down until I give the order to turn them over."
We enter, find seats.
"You have one hour on the actual questions. When I order you to stop, turn to the back page, which asks what you find remarkable about this exam. You have as much time as you wish for this. No one leaves without first getting a card, when your appointment with the Colonel will be."
Theatrically raises a sport style stop watch, "begin."
I turn it over, write my name, read the questions.
1. Which brand name of guitar was used by Three Dog Night and at what approximate cost?
2. Who sang "Great Canadian Tour"?
3. In which year did the government order the abandonment of Hebron (northern Labrador) and who was then Mayor of Hebron?
4. How much did Gordie Howe donate to the United Way in 1983?
5. Give the name and drug arrest history of the lead singer of Canadian Zephyr.
6. Which Alberta town built a landing pad for UFO's and what is its length?
7. Give the location and town where Trudeau gave the one finger salute.
8. What was the rate of income tax in 1917?
9. Which author invented the word "McJobs"?
10. Wolfe and Montcalm faced off at the Battle of the Plains of Abraham. One was a closet fairy. Name which and give six clues to justify your choice. (note: foppish uniforms of the era are NOT a clue, as both sides had foppish.)
I don't even know enough to intelligently guess. And surely this exam is beyond psychotic. So, I'll write zip. What's the worst they can do? Hardly like getting failed is a problem.
Sgt calls time. Everyone else writes diligently on the comment page, some with a driven look.
Surely it is beyond a waste of my time. I pass in my paper, receive a card asserting I must meet the Col Wednesday at 2 pm. Rats! Half a day's pay shot, by the time I bus it here and wait.
Col has an amused look as I'm ushered in, "please, help yourself to coffee."
I do.
"I congratulate you on achieving the all time record high score."
I gasp, my coffee swirls, dangerously close to spilling.
"105%, qualifies you as a Lieutenant in the Reserves."
"Sir, could you explain how that mark was arrived at?"
"Certainly, anyone smart enough to write absolutely zero gets 100%, shows a person of good judgment. The 5% is your bonus for being a minority."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Just one thing, could I ask why you wrote no comment on the back page?"
"Sir, that would be because I found nothing remarkable."
"You didn't?"
"No sir, it was pretty much as stupid as anything else the feds write, ergo unremarkable."
He laughs heartily, then, "ok smart ass, it's off to a four month residential course for you. Unfortunately that won't be anytime soon. No budget this fiscal year. Little chance of any next fiscal. But we have a plan, oh yes we do. We send you ten correspondence lessons in the meantime."
It's all I can do not to laugh. Still, what the hay, I'm off the hook, so who cares how?

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