I remember back when I was in Army Basic (1985), on the first day:

Drill Sergeant: “I want to offer a smoke break right now, for anyone who wants it.”

One of my friends smiles at this.

Friend: *To me, whispering.* “Free break? I’m taking it!”

He didn’t smoke, but was always looking for ways to slack off, so he raised his hands along with many others who wanted smoke breaks.

The Drill Sergeants took names down the first time. After the break:

Drill Sergeant: “All the smokers whose names I have on this list, you all just volunteered for “butt patrol”! Time for you to walk around the base, picking up cigarette butts!”

After that, with the list of names, anytime a butt patrol or trash detail was needed, the list was pulled out, and “volunteers” were selected. The non-smokers made out pretty well. My friend looked miserable every time he had to do it, and his protestations of “I don’t even smoke!” got him absolutely nowhere.

I used to work with a registered nurse who was an Army reservist. She was telling me one day about her most recent attempt to qualify on a military pistol range. It evidently was not a success. The range Non-Commissioned Officer came up to her after she’d finished firing the 9MM.

NCO: “Ma’am, what do you do in the Army?”

Nurse: “I’m a nurse.”

There was a silence while the sergeant turned over in his mind what he might and might not get away with saying to a lieutenant.

NCO: *Finally.* “I guess it’s a good thing you’re fixin’ ’em and not shootin’ ’em.”

A man with a veteran hat full of ribbons and a p***y attitude comes into the hotel and hands me an expired military ID.

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I need a valid ID.”

He starts fuming and steaming.

Veteran: “It was good enough for the TSA; you’re p***ing me off, kid.”

Me: *Calmly.* “Sir, I’m just doing what they trained me to do.”

I didn’t choose my words for effectiveness, but at the word “trained,” I saw the wheels start turning in his head, remembering all the crap that dudes yelled in his face in basic training or wherever, and this guy straight up melted.

Veteran: “I’m sorry, son. You didn’t deserve that for doing your job.”

It was a big first for me to get an old veteran to admit he was wrong in the moment. Don’t know if it would work again, but it was worth a shot!

This was YEARS ago. I had just completed tech school and was awaiting being shipped to my first base. I was on the detail to clean the lobby of the dormitory (other branches call these barracks, the Air Force calls them dorms).

To start, the Sergeant in charge demanded that the floors be swept and mopped, because in his words, the lobby was “a mud-pit.” Mississippi at that time of year is rather wet, and the grounds were kind of unkempt, so his assessment wasn’t unfair.

To start, I opened the janitor’s closet to find that all of the supplies reeked of mold and mildew. I assumed that what appeared was that a careless airman put everything away wet in a dark, enclosed room.

Possessing an adequately functioning brain, I knew not to mop with a tainted mop and proceeded directly to the Sergeant to get a fresh mop and restock the paper towels, which also appeared slightly damp.

Me: “Hey Sarge—”

Sarge: “I thought I told you to sweep and mop!”

Me: “Yes, sir, but—”

Sarge: “Then get out there and do it!”

Me: “Will do, sir, but I was hoping I could get-”

Sarge: “How hard is it to follow orders, Airman?!”

Me: “Understood, sir.”

So, I swept, and then proceeded to mop the lobby with a mop that REEKED of mold and mildew using the Pine-Sol available to me. After I passed his office, he said something along these lines:

Sarge: “What on earth are you doing, Airman?”

Me: “Mopping as instructed, sir.”

Sarge: “I didn’t tell you to spread mildew everywhere! Don’t you know how to use a fresh mop?”

Me: “We don’t have any in the janitor’s closet, and the fresh ones are locked up with the office supplies in your office.”

The guy happened to have an allergy and had to go home early. For the short remainder of my time there, I was not interrupted when I asked clarifying questions.

I work at a Military Surplus store. A customer comes in with a box containing a bunch of military paraphernalia.

Customer: “I’m helping my dad declutter, and I found all this old military stuff in a box in his garage. I was wondering if you could help me identify some of this stuff so I could sell it?”

Me: “I could tell you what that is right now.”

Customer: “Really? Wow, if you could, then you really know your stuff!”

Me: “That is an E-11 medium blaster rifle, and that is the military armor of an Imperial Stormtrooper. Have you seriously never seen Star Wars?”

Customer: “Those space movies? No, I watch mostly comedies. Why?”

Me: “This ‘military stuff’ you have here is replicas from Star Wars. They’re very cool, but I’d double-check with your dad before you try to sell any of this stuff.”

Customer: “Oh… okay.”

Me: “Wait a minute… did you think this gun was real?! And you just… walked into a store with it?”

Customer: *Walking out.* “I told you! I just watch comedies!”

How was that an explanation?