Every few days we'd get a new resident. Usually a pissed off one brought in by an officer. Once in a while I'd be caught in the middle of a ping pong match of stupidity. Not knowin' which way to turn I'd keep my mouth shut. Sometimes you do what you do 'cause you don't know what to do.
The 'chest/chess' argument was my favorite. A fortyish Captain brought in a twenty year old prisoner. That the officer was gettin' wrinkles and only had double bars to show for it no doubt carried a story along with it. But there's no way in hell a PFC can ask a Captain what his story is. 'Course I was quick to think the man to be an idiot even though I had no reason to.
Anyhow the prisoner asked the Captain, "You ever place chess Captain?"
The Captain says, "Yup, I've played a lot of chest." And gives me a look that says he's just made a funny and it's my job to laugh. But I don't.
Me, I wondered what the prisoner was leading up to and continued to fill in the blank as to why the officer was only a captain at age forty. And hoped his ability in the field topped his strength as a stand up comedian. But envisioned a long string of Purple Hearts in the platoons and companies of his past.
The prisoner then repeated his question and the officer replied the same. And again and again. And all I'm now thinking is "C'mon Sarge. Get your ass out here and stop this clown show before I open my trap and say something that'll get my ass in a sling."
The five months of relative paradise at the stockade passed way too quickly. Another three or so and I'd have been on my way home. But early in the Summer I found myself back in the loving arms of my alcoholic Platoon Sergeant. And he greeted me like I'd been off hiding from my real duty.
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