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"Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre / mod sceal þe mare, þe ure mægen lytlað." "Thought must be the harder, heart be the keener / mind must be the greater, as our might lessens." |
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In the immediate post-Vietnam era, marijuana use was rampant in the military, and we officers had been trained to arrest anyone using weed and then call the Criminal Investigation Division to come and process the malefactor.
One Friday night I landed the task of duty officer, and as I was leaving the mess hall to go back to Battalion HQ, I passed the barracks of a platoon from which emanated entire clouds of marijuana smoke. I could have gotten a contact high had I lingered long enough. This platoon was populated by some of the worst badasses in the battalion, and I understood that sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.
I grabbed one of the troops walking by and said, “You’re lucky my allergies are acting up because right now I can’t smell a damn thing. But I’m going back to headquarters, I’m going to spray my nose, and when I come back here in five minutes I want to smell nothing but God’s fresh air! Do you understand me, private?!”
Five minutes later, it wasn’t exactly fresh air that I smelled. It was Right Guard.
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"Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre / mod sceal þe mare, þe ure mægen lytlað." "Thought must be the harder, heart be the keener / mind must be the greater, as our might lessens." |
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Great stories you have, Mr. P! :)
Too funny about the Right Guard treatment.
Discretion was good, and you made your point without bloodshed.