money for gas to come down to the recruiting station, I have to wonder how

he's going to afford to drive backwards and forwards to the NAS."

Petty Officer First Class Steve was on the phone when I arrived. The recruiting station was hidden in a parade of shops as expected, and the front was occupied by just three POs where there were spaces for 8. Clearly recruiting is down at present. Steve made a motion with his free hand which was the universal sign for 'Show me you drivers license then sit down'.

I sat. The Steve listened to the father of the would be recruit that, it appeared, really had about as much interest in joining the naval reserves as he did in having his kneecaps blown off with a 12-gauge.

At length, after about 20 minutes, and after using my presence several times as an excuse ('I have an applicant here right now'), Steve was finally able to extricate himself from the phone call.

We did the post mortem thing on the phonecall, and then shook hands and did the introduction thing. 'Steve Recruiter' 'Catpewk, pleased to me you.'

I explained how I'd found the brochure by an ATM and that's why I was here. Steve didn't find that at all extraordinary, since he'd put them there in the first place.

'I want to be an officer. I believe I'm a good leader, I need to know for sure if I have what it takes.' Steve explained that although on the one hand I had a good chance, my lack of formal education (I have bits and pieces of wierdass diplomas from places in England no-one has heard of) would make the challenge tougher.

'That's fine, if I need to spend 4 years getting a BS that's while I'll do' (I'm still hoping though that I can bypass some of that via the aptitude test).

'What about my weight?'

'How much do you weigh and how tall our you?'

'6 foot 4, 245 lbs' The chart showed 221. 'I can hit that, no problem'. Its true I can. In 2001 I got my weight down to 208 in three months and held it there until a bunch of assholes thought it would be fun to fly into the WTC. 'Well that may not be a problem anyway, the Navy tends to go by fat content. We take your waist size minus your neck size (37-17) and then look at that number against the height chart. My number was 20. He couldn't find 76" but at 74.5", it was 21, so I was in good shape. But I'm still going to drag that lard off my until I'm back down to 220 (strictly speaking, the lard is on my belly. I've been told I have a cute ass.)

'Ever had any major illnesses?'

'The wierdest thing I had was PLEVA, just last year. A drive by skin virus that cleared up after six months. Affects only 1 in 2500' I don't know why I told him that last bit. To be honest, gentle readers, this whole process was - well - intimidating. I felt like I was offering myself up to the jaws of hell. Perhaps I am?'

'..and I broke my little finger doing Tai Kwon Do, then my left leg when I was 5. That's about it.'

'So no attachments I should know about then' (Just the one I use for stirring Mr. Rimmer's Tea, and cleaning Mr. Listers's underwear') 'No, no attachments. Couple of fillings.'

It turned out I wasn't taking a test today. Apart from the one I'd apparently just taken, which was a combination psych test (He was crazy enough to come in here, but is he too crazy?) and summary physical. There would be an aptitude test next week. There would also be a medical. THAT will be the real kicker. Or kicker-outer.

So that's it for now. Monday I drop off my documents and pick up my certificate for testing, Tuesday afternoon I get tested. Then we see...

Today's Website