A funny during during the Vietnam era when the draft was in full swing

Jerry Bransford

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Maybe only Vietnam vets or maybe just vets in general will get this but I just found this on a Vietnam veteran forum and I thought it was frigging hilarious. 1966 is when I was drafted, which is coincidental to this funny story...

1966 saw the draft in full swing with me toasting buns at the "Twin Arches." Marty, a high school friend has a couple dozen meats on the griddle. With over a million sold, our mutually bleak futures have a dark cloud hanging over us two cooks. I wonder out loud, "Ya think we'll flip a million fuckin' burgers before the draft takes us?" "Fuck the draft!" Marty snaps. "Let's take that dude's offer and sign up for 4 years. We'll get that guaranteed station in Europe."
The noon rush is on, heat from the kitchen oppressive. The manager and his family are in line, getting waited on at the counter. Marty's flipping burgers while doubled over, trying to hide the fact, he's busting a gut. I have no clue what's so funny, until I see the softball size meat in his hand.

"Oh Shit! What's he doin'?" Marty straightens up, goes deadpan while he presents the disgusting jumbo ball of cow meat in deference to the manager, as though a gift to his king. With great pride he then displays the meat to the lunchtime throng crowding into the restaurant.

He has captured the attention of the entire establishment, all eyeballs are locked on the meatball. Marty, always the clown, has the girl at the french fries crossing her legs, desperately trying not to pee. The manager's face is fat, beet red and appears about to explode.

Marty, with an air of authority, raises his elbow high, a tuft of hair peeks out from the sweat stained armpit of his short sleeve white shirt. He carefully places the ball of meat into his armpit, clamps down firmly, then gives an extra press for good measure, and effect.

All have hushed as eyeballs follow the jumbo meat patty when it comes out of the armpit with a flair that can only be described as "very French", then slammed down to take its place alongside and over top of the little patties sizzling merrily along on the grill.

Pandemonium breaks out as the manager breaks his silence with a cracking high pitched scream. Customers are pushing and shoving for the doors. The two cooks bolt out the back door, jump into their cars and begin a road race up highway 99 to the Everett Army Recruiter's office. We take the deal.
 
post surge Iraq, i had a roommate who got out of the army, got a job at the golden arches, his first day of work he makes himself some fries sits down in the lobby and eats them on shift. he repeats this for about as long as the manager would let him.

his whole intent was to get fired. just to have someone say it to him.
 
Not quite Vietnam era, but almost...

Spring of 1975, I'm in my second year working at a local ice cream parlor/restaurant (Farrell's knockoff). Started as a dishwasher, now the day shift cook. New manager walks in and announces to all hands that there has been a change in the uniform policy and that all male workers must now wear a white button-down shirt with black bow tie, black slacks and black oxford shoes. Oh, and the employee has to pay for the new outfit. I'm standing there in my bell bottom Levi's, Adidas tennis shoes and a company-supplied generic work shirt, covered by a homemade railroad stripe apron, staring at this fresh-out-of-business-school yahoo in disbelief. I say, "I'm going on a summer trip in two weeks. If you think I'm gonna pony up the cash to get a whole new outfit for two week's work, you're outta your mind! I don't even make enough in two weeks to pay for your bartender costume." He says, "You'll get the clothes or you're fired." I pull off my apron and say, "Find yourself another cook in the next half hour, because I'm gone. I'll be back tomorrow for my check", and walk out to a chorus of cheers from the rest of the staff.

What he didn't know was that I had already signed up for the Navy, taken the oath of enlistment and was just waiting for the date to report to basic training in the late fall. Most of my friends thought I was nuts: "The draft's over, man! You don't have to go anymore!" They couldn't understand that I wanted to go, that I felt an obligation to serve even if the government no longer required it. Never regretted the choice, but at least I had a choice. A lot of my friends who were only a year or two older didn't.

That's me lounging on the deck in the center, last week of boot camp in San Diego. Pay no attention to the other guys and their "editorial comments". And yeah, I'm wearing some other yahoo's idea of a proper outfit, but at least I didn't have to pay for it...
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Not quite Vietnam era, but almost...

Spring of 1975, I'm in my second year working at a local ice cream parlor/restaurant (Farrell's knockoff). Started as a dishwasher, now the day shift cook. New manager walks in and announces to all hands that there has been a change in the uniform policy and that all male workers must now wear a white button-down shirt with black bow tie, black slacks and black oxford shoes. Oh, and the employee has to pay for the new outfit. I'm standing there in my bell bottom Levi's, Adidas tennis shoes and a company-supplied generic work shirt, covered by a homemade railroad stripe apron, staring at this fresh-out-of-business-school yahoo in disbelief. I say, "I'm going on a summer trip in two weeks. If you think I'm gonna pony up the cash to get a whole new outfit for two week's work, you're outta your mind! I don't even make enough in two weeks to pay for your bartender costume." He says, "You'll get the clothes or you're fired." I pull off my apron and say, "Find yourself another cook in the next half hour, because I'm gone. I'll be back tomorrow for my check", and walk out to a chorus of cheers from the rest of the staff.

What he didn't know was that I had already signed up for the Navy, taken the oath of enlistment and was just waiting for the date to report to basic training in the late fall. Most of my friends thought I was nuts: "The draft's over, man! You don't have to go anymore!" They couldn't understand that I wanted to go, that I felt an obligation to serve even if the government no longer required it. Never regretted the choice, but at least I had a choice. A lot of my friends who were only a year or two older didn't.

That's me lounging on the deck in the center, last week of boot camp in San Diego. Pay no attention to the other guys and their "editorial comments". And yeah, I'm wearing some other yahoo's idea of a proper outfit, but at least I didn't have to pay for it...
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Thanks for your service!