5

AS I SIT PATIENTLY READING a year-old copy of The American Legion, I wonder if any of the men around me this afternoon has ever been featured in the magazine, or for that matter any of the men I talked with in my own special way. I ran into a Lt. Colonel at the VA Center in Hot Springs last summer right after he returned from Iraq, complaining to me how he had developed medical issues from being close to burn pits. It almost made me laugh—an officer working around burn pits? I doubted it! It’s the enlisted men—regardless of what war—who always bear the brunt of the nastiness of combat. It’s always the enlisted men tasked with working around the pits who came away with medical complications. An officer working a pit—fat chance!

A man older than me by some years walks by, and I pick up on the “scrambled eggs” embroidered on the bill of his cap. Unlike many of the veterans walking these hallways at Ft. Meade wearing caps designating their rank—an Army sergeant here, a Navy Master Chief there—his demeanor stands out from the crowd. I can always spot an officer even without them wearing something designating their rank. They swagger like they have more of a right to be in this facility than just enlisted men and women. Officers will elbow their way into an elevator past others, or they’ll cut to the front of the line in the cafeteria like they are the protected class of military society. Once—years ago when they were active duty and had control over the lower ranks—they may have gotten by with treating others like dirt. But not now. Not when I’m around to do my small part to rectify their arrogance.

A retired major by his lapel insignia—no doubt living off the government teat—catches my eye as he saunters into the restroom. No one goes in after him. No one has gone into the restroom in the past fifteen minutes, and I set the magazine down. Just as I walk nonchalantly toward the room, another vet—his staff sergeant rank proudly displayed on his Marine cap—follows the officer into the restroom ahead of me.

I pause, the anticipation of educating the major washes over me, and I catch my breath, finally turning and walking away from the restroom. If I went in now, with the intention of… talking with him, old habits might surface. I might not be able to control my passions. And there I would be, trying to fend off the Marine in my zeal to educate the officer. I have spent too much time honing my hunting techniques to get caught now.

As I was nearly caught three years ago.

I will not be sloppy again.

There will be other opportunities to deliver retribution to arrogant men!