"What's a hackamatack?" asked the next guy. Thinking he was either
kidding me or given to using baby talk, I replied:
"Why, it's a mixture between a thingamabob and a nibleck."
His treatment of me after this answer so unnerved me that I dropped my
gun at the next booth and became completely demoralized. The greatest
disappointment awaited me at "Monkey Drill," or setting up exercises,
however. I thought I was going to kill this. I felt sure I was going
to outstrip all competitors. But in the middle of it all the examiner
yelled out in one of those sarcastic voices that all rookies learn to
fear: "Are you trying to flirt with me or do you think you're a
bloomin' angel?"
This so sickened me at heart that I left the place without further
ado, whatever that might be. Pink teas in the Navy are not unmixed
virtues.
_March 27th._ My birthday, and, oh, how I do miss my cake. It's the
first birthday I ever had without a cake except two and then I had a
bottle. Oh, how well I remember my last party (birthday party)!
There was father and the cake all lit up in the center of the table; I
mean the cake, not father, of course. And there was Gladys (I always
called her "Glad").
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