Tchiakofsky and Unfolding Absurdities

You might not know this, so to be on the cautious side, hold onto something sturdy. Today I was reminded that I’m in the United States military (I swear sometimes I forget, or just can’t fathom the notion). The day was spent at the Reserve Unit here in San Marcos, a rather quaint building that would be downright cozy if not for the ghastly fluorescent lighting.

The officer in charge asked me if I could type. Those of you whom are aware of my preternaturally nimble fingers know this is like asking a fish if he can swim. If you watch closely, intermittent puffs of smoke creep from the keyboard when I really get going. Think Tchiakofsky’s Concerto Number One meets home row.

So here’s the story of my life--me placed in absurd situations that I obviously don’t belong in.

Case in point: I was given my own small office and told to finish/edit/correct some reports. Bare in mind I have no idea what I’m doing, what a quartermaster is, much less what a battalion is, yet there I am, putting a few minor Riceisms into some poor souls report. Nothing bad of course; just trying to spice it up a bit. No harm no foul.

Being the hyper-stimulated twenty something I am, I naturally felt it necessary to move a radio into my office, which I of course “borrowed” from the adjacent office. Again, no harm no foul. Trouble arose when the Lieutenant Colonel came in search of what I was later informed was his “precious radio.”

It wasn’t so much that his radio had gone errant; it was more so the fact that he heard loud music from the hall, followed it, only to find a strange young man pounding on the keyboard like Tchiakofsky, bobbing his head to broadways tunes from Carousel (thanks NPR-what a treat!) making himself right at home. These are the scenes of my life, unfolding into daily absurdities.