Unbecoming... What else would you call a 2WO threatening to punch the fellows under him?


That's exactly what happened today.




I really considered calling the SAF 24 hour hotline. I mean, threat of violence is obviously illegal, even to subordinates. I may have to respect your rank, no matter how ludicrous you are, but even I don't have to listen to you blustering about causing me bodily harm.


Besides, what could the fat snake possibly do? Punch me? I'd break its arm into so many pieces it'd forget it had any arm at all. Admittedly, if it sat on me, I'll be a dead man. But that would be highly unlikely, considering the blob of fat it is.


So anyway this is how it all started.



Euphrates, me and the other mess boy were having a conversation, with Euphrates spouting gibberish at malay guy and irritating him. Some of his replies were totally lacking intelligence, I couldn't help but be amused, cruel as it was. The malay was getting irked and it showed. So anyway we were just getting into the flow of the conversation, when darkness descended.


He asked both of us to go out of the mess. I got up promptly, while the malay guy continued sitting down, not hearing him. As I was walking out, the fat snake reiterated himself - "both of you, out" There was a slight ominous tone to it.


So once we were outside, he started going into one of his rabies fit. He just had one earlier this morning, taking issue about me "bullying" the malay guy, but that story can wait.


He launched into "Both of you want me to punch you, is it?" As he said this, he made an elbowing gesture. It was comical and pitiful - even as he was trying to impose his will on us, he was still unable. This creature here obviously couldn't distinguish between a punch and a elbow strike. I was tempted to educate him on the finer points of martial arts.



As always, I was caught off guard. Thing about the fat snake is, no matter how many times I've been owned, the next time is always a new experience. Somehow his profound stupidity has a way of reaching new lows everytime, such that one cannot put up any mental defenses against it.


The things the fat snake finds fault over usually doesn't deserve a space in your mind, and I usually don't even know what he's talking about till he's halfway through his fit. Then realisation will sink in, and I'll start thinking what an anal prick he is, finding fault with the smallest and dumbest things ever.


I was like "Huh?", totally uncomprehending what had gotten his goat this time. Then he flipped up the table cloth on the GS table outside, and voila, a ration carrier appears! So, big deal, I thought. It's a bloody bag, not trash or anything. But not for the fat snake. Oh no, no no no. He acts as if we've just committed murder.



"What's this doing here?" Menacing and with eyes bulging, he demands. He claims that someone called and complained that we were leaving things around the place. Meaning the bag. The mess boys weren't doing their job. Story of my life.



There was a table cloth covering the GS table. From the front, the bag couldn't be seen. From the side, yes. But who, WHO in the right state of mind would call him to complain over such a trivial issue? Maybe if it was a bucket of trash or something. But a harmless bag? What, a bomb threat? An IED? Set to detonate when the commanders gathered around their their free lunch? It is puzzling indeed. A question that requires much thought. I was really tempted to ask who was the rat, but thought better of it seeing his cretinous face twisted in fury.



I didn't know of the existence of the bag there till he pointed it out. I was taken aback. So what is this about now? Another one of his tempurs? I didn't know how the bag got there, and neither did I give a crap. The fat malay guy starts going into an explanation of how someone had told him to put it there, that it had contained the lunch for the commanders, brought by someone else, and that the HR branch was going to collect it.

The fat snake starts going into some illogical rebuttal. Can't remember what dumb things he uttered, cause it was simply too many. He started dismissing whatever the malay guy says, saying that the mess area is under our charge and hence whatever things that were here was under our charge. At least I think that was what he said.


Most of the time he starts lambasting me I shut out most of the bullshit he's spouting, keeping only a vague part of my mind active to intone "Yes sir No sir" at what I think are appropriate moments. Though most of the time it falls flat and he starts questioning yes to what or no to what and I'll be struck dumb not knowing how even to begin saying.



He started asking rhetorical question that, looking back, have little or no link to the main issue. He asked whether the table, chair, fans belonged to us. Quite obviously not, and we replied as much. Though I didn't really get the point he was trying to make.



Nevermind that. The most important thing was his ending words. Another insinuation of a threat. He said that this was the last time he would talk nicely with us - the next time he would make us see stars.


Such audacity... But I decided not to make any trouble, for the good news finally arrived today. I went to the MO after lunch with Euphrates, asking about my PES status. The medic had told me the medical board review was on the 30th (yesterday), and by golly I couldn't wait for them to inform me of the results.


It was make-or-break. If I didn't downpes, I would be stuck here in the mess until I recoursed. Which was a long time away. It was a most dreadful thought, to say the least. I told Euphrates as much.


It would be ironic if I went to the medical centre and found out my downpes didn't go through, seeing as how I would be shattering that little hope.


I went to the medic at the counter and asked him to check my PES for me. He happily obliged.


The verdict: Permanent PES C2L2.


I was elated. Overwhelmed with relief. A feeling almost like rapture. I whooped in joy a few times.


This was vindication. Finally, all my efforts had paid off. This was major headway, considering all the setbacks I had encountered previously. I was finally getting somewhere.


With a PES C2L2, I would not be fit for a recourse. I would be posted out. Out of the mess. Out from the vise of the blacks, and all the tyrannous cretins in this place. Away from their fangs, their venom. No more being treated like a dog.


Or so I hoped. I asked the medic to print out the status slip, thanking him profusely, then made my way back to the mess.


I mused to Euphrates on the way back that it would be so ironic, me being so relieved and joyful, if I were to get posted somewhere worse. I would think back on that moment of exaltation and wonder what I was so happy about, not knowing whether the future heralded a better life or something worse.


The cynic in me was at work there, but I pushed those dark thoughts away, and revelled in the moment.


Finally, after all these weeks, here was something - a ticket out of the mess. All those times I had looked at the S1, Miss Tan, wishing and hoping I would be downpesed faster so I could give her the letter of downpes for her to send to CPC to be posted out. The moment was here finally.


I considered my next step. Would it be to pass the status slip to MPTS, or to Miss Tan straight. On one hand, if I passed it to MPTS, it would take some time to pass to the HR branch, where Miss Tan worked.


On the other, if I went to the old lady straight, the people at MPTS might be unhappy if I was suddenly posted out. I asked Euphrates for his opinion, and he was in favour of the former. As was I. Thus decided, I made my way to Miss Tan's office. I was nervous, for the thought of going into her office to find her to help me send a letter on the CPC seemed a little out of the line, jumping the gun. What if she refused? The doubts clawed my mind, but were unfounded.


Luckily, Euphrates was kind enough to accompany me there, and he even broke the ice for me, asking her about some admin procedures.


So I showed her the status slip with my PES status on it, exclaiming that I finally got it. She was very nice and helpful, and tried to find the previous email she sent to CPC regarding my OOC. She couldn't find it, but she said it didn't matter and it would be fine to send a new one.


I beseeched her to write a good email, asking her to list all my excuses in the hopes of getting a clerical vocation, for C2L2 was pretty weak and the chances of getting a crappy vocation was high. She asked whether C2L2 was combat fit, and neither Euphrates nor I knew.


She suggested I type the email myself, since I probably could pen a better letter as I knew my own condition the best. I was caught by pleasant surprise, and I readily agreed, though I didn't know what the email should contain. According to Euphrates, PES C status usually came with varying permanent excuses depending on the medical condition. After deliberating for a while, I realised that I hadn't found out what was it I was permanently excused from, plus I didn't have all the temporary excuse slips with me, and it would be better to gather them all then fax it along with the email to CPC. It be increase the odds of getting a clerical vocation, or so I hoped. That meant delaying the sending of the email till tomorrow, as I had to go to the medical centre to find out what it was I was excused from. I was so glad about the light at the end of the tunnel that I didn't mind.



1.8.2008

It was a smart move, delaying the sending of the email. I went with Euphrates in the afternoon, he wanted to see MO Poh regarding his downpes for his wrist's loose ligament, which surfaced after an x-ray of his wrist for a better picture of the cyst on his wrist.



I was expecting my permanent excuse to be either RMJ or lower limb, but I was in for most pleasant surprise. Over the previous day I had thought and fretted about my new PES. Some people had told me with a C2L2 I would be posted to signals. The last thing I wanted was another course.

I have had enough of being forced to do things which I absolutely don't believe in, and staying in. The signals course, held in Stagmont, though near to my house, was nowhere near its equal.

So imagine my happiness when I found out I was excused outfield! It was as if all my prayers had finally been answered. In one stroke, God had answered all my pleas.

No more hypocritical and useless courses.

I was so glad that I didn't press the medic to print out the slip for me when he told me he was not supposed to.

Now the old lady was a real nice person. She did something totally unexpected.

As I sat in the mess in the afternoon rejoicing over the news, she called. Now what could she possibly be calling for?

She had taken the medical certificate proclaiming my immunity to outfield, and asked me to type the email to CPC while she faxed the medical certificate over.

Such thoughtfulness! Such efficiency and initiative! Never have I seen the like in the SAF, and doubt I ever will again.

I was brimming with joy as I sent the email to CPC. She said CPC usually settled it in a week.

Best thing was, she called CPC. Private Chris picked up. She asked what I could possibly do with my medical status. He replied oh that's bad probably will become a clerk. Never had I heard sweeter words in my life.

Ah, clerkdom. A noble calling, as the scribe said in the Pale Horseman. Sure, annals of history do not record the deeds of clerks, but neither would they any other army personnel. At the end of the day, it was the WOFT club. Better to be done with it as painlessly as possible.

Meaning in a week I would be rid of the black devil. I thanked her profusely. She was really a Godsend. Would that all the regulars were replaced with the likes of her...