G.I stories: Home on leave.

Some years ago, while having coffee at one of my favorite coffee shops, I was passed by two Air Force recruiters. Unable to resist, I asked them if they were "Patrolling for victims." The Buck Sergeant seemed ready for trouble, but the older Staff Sergeant gave me a mischievous grin. Turning to the Buck, he said "I think he is one of us."

I stood up, and introduced myself by name and former unit (1923comm group, Kelly AFB), and shook hands. The Buck was less tense, now that he realized my "hostility" was actually humor.

I have actually suggested to many of my younger friends and acquaintances that they should at least talk to recruiters. Summarizing my arguments, if you don't know what you want to do  (yet) as an adult, 4 years in the military wont kill you...

Oh, wait, it might.

But 4 years, you get trained in something you might enjoy doing as a civilian, paid (this is good) and serve your country. And many of them took me up on the advice, and some even joined up. One is in for life!

One such person was John Mallory, a young man who worked with me for a while at the mall food court. When his wife became pregnant, he realized that they (he and the wife) would need MORE money. I suggested the military option, and he not only took me up on it, he joined the Air Force - my alma mater.



This is not John. I don't know
who it is. But he is wearing his
Air Force Dress Blues.

He returned on leave some months after he departed for basic training, and like all good GI home on leave for the first time he went around in his Dress Blues. He came by the mall, and I was informed when I came in for my shift that I had just missed John by 5 minutes.

But, I was told, he was probably still out in the food court, because he and the wife had bought fish and chips at our store, so they were probably still out there eating.

We went to the counter and scanned the dining area. It was unfortunately, the Christmas season and between the crowd of people and the plastic plants, my co-workers were unable to locate John.

After filling my coffee cup, and taking a mouthful, I walked up to the counter and hollered

"Airman Mallory! On your feet!"

 Automatically, Airman Mallory popped up (like a prairie dog), looked around to see who yelled, and spotted me. I motioned for him to come over, and (obediently) he came.

After I took another sip of my coffee, I turned to my co-workers and said "You two were obviously never in the military."