“The Contract”

“Ok Charles if you’d sign right here and put your Social Security Number printed underneath we will be all done,” said Sergeant Pete, US Marine Corps recruiter as he handed me a pen.

I looked at the document – I had never seen a contract before – so this was quite daunting to a kid who was barely 21 years old. 

Geez, the paper was so long and written in a language I could barely understand. Lots of confusing legal stuff, if ya know what I mean.

Sergeant Pete waited patiently for me to sign.

I looked at him for a minute or two. Checking to see if this was some kind of trick. Or if he was going to prick my finger and demand I sign the damn thing in blood.

But no. He just stared at me with a benign expression plastered all over his face.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked.

“Um yeah. I guess I do?” I replied.

“Okay, shoot,” he said with a laugh.

“Uhhh…”

I blanked and my t-shirt became damp with preparation. Cold sweat began to trickle off my forehead.

I scratched an armpit hoping to peel away the sticky feeling of my shirt glued to my body.

Damn it. I was blowing it. This was a really important moment in my life. I was about to sign my life away for several years and all I could do was sweat and stutter.

A spark in my medulla oblongata fired without warning, sending a question to my frontal cortex. Ah yes, there it was a question. I did have a question!

“Sergeant Pete if I sign this paper, how long will I be in for?”

“Well, that depends on you, Charles.”

“Depends on what?” I asked.

“It depends on how many years you want to serve your country.”

“Well Ok. What are my options?” I said

Sergeant Pete leaned back in his office chair and gave me an appraising look. 

He could tell I was Nobody’s Fool. Hell, I went to College. No one was gonna put one over me.

“There are two options. You can sign up for 36 months or 48 months” said Sergeant Pete slowly as if explaining himself to an idiot.

“36 months…how long is that? Uh, wait. That’s 4 years right?”

“No, that’s 3 years Charles” he replied.

I felt like an Ass. Me with 3 years of college under my belt couldn’t figure out basic math. 36 months = 3 years. God, what a dope.

“48 months is…”

“I got it, I got it. 48 months is 4 years. I’m not stupid ya know.”

Well, maybe I was…

Maybe I had dummkopf written in big felt tip letters on my forehead.

Maybe I was going to make the worst decision of my life by signing that piece of paper that seemed to creep closer and closer across that desk towards me.

I scooted the paper across the desk back at Sergeant Pete like it was something dirty, unclean. Something I didn’t even want to touch.

Sergeant Pete frowned. His close-clipped mustache began to twitch with annoyance, his face color flushed.

“No, that’s not going to work for me.” I tossed the pen nonchalantly on to the battered desk, crossing my arms defensively and leaning back in my chair

“What isn’t?” Sergeant Pete said.

“Those numbers,” I said 3 or 4 years is just too dang long of a commitment. What if I don’t like being a Marine? It would totally Suck if I signed up and hated it.”

Sergeant Pete turned the contract around so it faced him. He studied it for a moment like there was a mistake he had missed.

He then turned the paper back towards me on the desk and said: “Those are the standard enlistment commitments we offer to all potential candidates for recruitment.”

“How about I sign up for 2 years?” I offered.

“No.

“Why not?” I pressed him.

“Because we only offer either 3 or 4-year enlistments” he replied.

“Couldn’t you make an exception. Make it 2 years?”

“No.”

“How about 2 and a half and I’ll sign right now.”

Sergeant Pete gave a big guffaw. He slapped the desk a couple of times.

Damn, he laughed so hard I thought he might topple out of his chair.

After a minute or so he stopped laughing and wiped the tears out of the corner of his eyes.

“No can do Chuck. But Damn you’re a funny guy.”

“That’s Me. Mister Funny, Sergeant Pete.”

“Look I like you Chuck but, I can’t make any exceptions. The military doesn’t work that way.”

“But?!”

“And the Marines don’t have a need for Comedians. It’s either you sign up for 3 years or 4 years” he said.

I stared at the paper.

“Ummm. I want to think about it.”

“No problem Chuck…Charles. I’m sorry if I wasted your time” said Sergeant Pete… “Shame though, I think you’d make an excellent Marine.”He took the contract and made like he was going to toss it in the trashcan.

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute…I said…I just want to think about it” I stammered.

“Ok.”

“Ok, I  have thought about it.”

“And?” he asked.

“I think we can work somethin’ out ” I conceded.

The contract and pen were placed back on the desk facing me.

Damn it. He had me by the short and curlies. Finding a job had become a priority recently as I had a big stack of unpaid, overdue bills sitting on my desk at home and money was tight.

“How many years do you want to sign up for Chuck?”

“Three” I sighed.

“And do you still want your Military Occupational Speciality to be Administration?”

“That’s office work. Right?”

I had picked “Administration” since it sounded like the safest job in the service. Unless the military designed typewriters that could shoot bullets – my ass was safe.

“Sign and print your social security number underneath,” said Sergeant Pete with a devilish grin.

I signed the fucking paper.