Rivka 2
A week later, Friday's mail brings two brown envelopes from the Crystal Palace, slang for National Defence HQ.
One is my first correspondence lesson. I cheerfully file it away. Everyone knows that except for Revenue forms, much of bureaucracy is negotiable or optional. It they really want it, they'll send a reminder when it becomes overdue. And if they really really want it, they'll send a second request, right?
The second envelope yields an ID card with my unsmiling face, proclaims Lt Rivka Nachtenstein is a member in good standing of the Loch Rannoch Highlanders, the local Reserve unit.
For a moment, my stomach girates. Then I recall a newspaper story on how Occupational Health and Safety padlocked their armory building, until such time as ordered repairs are done. Given the current budget situation, it ain't gonna be anytime soon.
Now one of my downfalls in life is insuffient ability to ignore peer pressure, a common condition in women. And so it is, I find myself dragooned into attending a meeting of the political action committee on Saturday.
I'll meet Naomi, Gretchen and Sue for breakfast first. I arrive a few minues late, just know they've been talking about me. Now I really was planning to tell them the truth about the exam, oh yes I was.
But Naomi, who has done a hitch in the IDF (Israeli Defence Force), greets me sarcastically, "so how did the mighty warrior do on the exam? Surely the random draft machine burped when it spit out your name. You wouldn't know a matchlock from an M-16."
My resolve to tell the truth vanishes. With an icy arrogant gesture, I toss the ID card on the table.
Their eyes go wide and Naomi even blushes. I reckon that's a first, her blushing.
One is my first correspondence lesson. I cheerfully file it away. Everyone knows that except for Revenue forms, much of bureaucracy is negotiable or optional. It they really want it, they'll send a reminder when it becomes overdue. And if they really really want it, they'll send a second request, right?
The second envelope yields an ID card with my unsmiling face, proclaims Lt Rivka Nachtenstein is a member in good standing of the Loch Rannoch Highlanders, the local Reserve unit.
For a moment, my stomach girates. Then I recall a newspaper story on how Occupational Health and Safety padlocked their armory building, until such time as ordered repairs are done. Given the current budget situation, it ain't gonna be anytime soon.
Now one of my downfalls in life is insuffient ability to ignore peer pressure, a common condition in women. And so it is, I find myself dragooned into attending a meeting of the political action committee on Saturday.
I'll meet Naomi, Gretchen and Sue for breakfast first. I arrive a few minues late, just know they've been talking about me. Now I really was planning to tell them the truth about the exam, oh yes I was.
But Naomi, who has done a hitch in the IDF (Israeli Defence Force), greets me sarcastically, "so how did the mighty warrior do on the exam? Surely the random draft machine burped when it spit out your name. You wouldn't know a matchlock from an M-16."
My resolve to tell the truth vanishes. With an icy arrogant gesture, I toss the ID card on the table.
Their eyes go wide and Naomi even blushes. I reckon that's a first, her blushing.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 10:28 AM
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