I'm excavating the possibility of joining the military with the doting dedication my cat demonstrates to me when he awakens me at four-thirty in the morning by sitting on my head. I habitually slumber with my mouth open. Waking with cat hair in my mouth is not my idea of an enamored amiable arousal. I prefer massages.
My devotion to researching the military process parallels that of Lindsay Lohan towards her college education. However, I am looking in to it. I entered the San Francisco recruiting office to inquire for information: opportunities, benefits, and the like.
I peeked one foot inside the Navy recruiting office with the hesitation I feel towards any sort of mathematical equation.
"Hey, welcome! Let me know if you have any questions!" a wandering-eyed Asian projected in my direction as if through a megaphone.
"Oh, I was just wondering if I could talk to someone about potentially joining..." I hesitantly replied as I stepped my other foot inside and the door shut behind me like a judge slamming his gavel on the podium in verdict.
The four Navy recruiters present propped towards me, eyes duplicating my own when observing a plateful of food shortly to be devoured. They asked a series of questions concerning my drug habits, dependants, tattoos, and my height/weight stats. They presented no questions apropos of alcohol.
It was my turn to interrogate. "What kinds of opportunities do you have for a college grad who doesn't want to sit in a cubicle any more?" I asked.
Their eyes illuminated like they were viewing the pope.
"Oh, you're going to have to take an online practice test first," they told me.
The online practice test was on the lone computer in a closet. Twenty-five minutes later I yawned and exited the closet's isolation, waving towards the computer and trying to regain consciousness. Tests, car rides, meetings, classes, essays, conversations... all tenderly trip me in to a coma. Senior year in high school I won Most Likely to Fall Asleep in Class. The following year, my brother continued the family claim to the title with the dignity of a diplomat. The year my little sister graduated, they discontinued the category. We like to believe she would have won.
Regardless of my semi-conscious self and my math skills as proficient as a sheep's, I scored a ninety-four of one hundred.
"Have you considered becoming a nuclear physicist?" was the first question from those sunny recruiter's eyes.
"What? Me?" I asked, rotating in my seat, trying to locate the impending nuclear physicist with what I considered a job as desireable as eating baboon liver. Upon ascertaining he was speaking to me, I informed him of my inept abilities.
"I don't do math. I don't know how to do simple multiplication and division. I barely know how to add."
"But your score was so high! With a score like that, you could do anything you wanted in the Navy! Our nuclear physicist program is incredible..."
After my continued assurance that I don't do math or science, Recruiter addressed other options, like cryptology. I familiarized him with my foreign language incompetence.
"What do you want to do in the Navy?" he asked me.
"Something that doesn't deal with any sort of math, science, or foreign languages. I don't know how to do those," I replied and enlightened him that I didn't want to sit in a desk and wanted something physical.
"Well, if you were a male, I'd suggest Navy SEALS," Recruiter said. "But as you're not... I think my best suggestion would be nuclear physicist."