Neanderpundit

Walking through the parking lot of a WalMart one day last year, a woman parked her car and left it running, an old gentleman sitting in the passenger seat.

He looked like he was having a bad day. His newer jacket was covered with old patches, lovingly resewn, and he had a hat with a military insignia I didn’t recognize.

If I had to guess it was a woman taking her father for his day out of the home- or maybe picking up his meds.

I got his attention, and though I am a career civillian, I gave him the snappiest salute I could muster.

He smiled. he straightened up in his seat a bit and adjusted hs jacket, and returned the salute.

I have mixed feelings, even now, about saluting, not having ever served I technically don’t qualify to do even that- but it clearly improved his day, and if I can do that for him, it was, to me, worth it.

For all of those who served, the very best thanks I can give you is to try to live my life well.

is pretty dull and drab. Compared to what I’m used to, this is all no-brain stuff.

However.

To the people I’m working with, it is almost indistinguishable from magic. I have a fucking entourage, futhuchrissakes. I feel like Siegfried. or maybe Roy. Minus the tigers and buttsecs.

Stuck in a hotel room working bizarro hours for a major manufacturer means a lot of sitting around while the cleaning staff scream “put some pants on, you freak” and then wandering out to the car to put on my ice-cold safety glasses and scream, repeat with hearing protection, and move on. Then spend 8 hours in the plant having the very marrow of my soul removed painfully.

The occasional tiny victory, when someone begins to understand something, helps, but I wouldn’t say it makes it all worthwhile.