BritinBritain
Per Ardua Ad Astra
While on one of our two week training camps in the Territorial Army, I was tasked with my section to check out and rectify the tool inventory of each of the truck allocated to the troop.
I found trucks were missing tools, while others had more then they should have, it was a nightmare.
Totally fed up I went for an early lunch so I could get back to work to sort out the situation. I walked into the cook house, grabbed a plate a told a spotty sprog of a cook serving what I wanted. He slapped the food on my plate and told me to “Foxtrot Oscar”. I bellowed at him to get his bum around my side of the counter, I ripped into him and stated (loudly) that even though we were Territorial Army, military discipline applies, and that he will lucky if I don't throw him in the cells. I sat down, ate my lunch and went back to work.
I must mentioned myself and a buddy of mine, we looked very much alike, many people took us for bothers, the same height, build, eye colour, hair colour, London accent and even the same rank.
Next morning, same crap different day. I went for an early lunch again, got my meal and sat down to eat. My buddy walked in and said, “I'll be right with you, I'll just get my grub.” He went to the counter when the cook I threatened to throw in the cells came running around the counter and asked if he could talk to him. My buddy completely unaware and puzzled said “Sure”. At this point the cook began complaining about being threatened to be thrown in the cells. My buddy looked over at me and immediately grasped what was going on, he let the cook vent and then said finally. “First of all, get the right bloke, secondly anymore crap out of you and I'll chuck you in the cells”. The cook looked over at me and wailed “OH BUGGER, THERE'S TWO OF EM.” then vanished into the bowels of the cook house.
I found trucks were missing tools, while others had more then they should have, it was a nightmare.
Totally fed up I went for an early lunch so I could get back to work to sort out the situation. I walked into the cook house, grabbed a plate a told a spotty sprog of a cook serving what I wanted. He slapped the food on my plate and told me to “Foxtrot Oscar”. I bellowed at him to get his bum around my side of the counter, I ripped into him and stated (loudly) that even though we were Territorial Army, military discipline applies, and that he will lucky if I don't throw him in the cells. I sat down, ate my lunch and went back to work.
I must mentioned myself and a buddy of mine, we looked very much alike, many people took us for bothers, the same height, build, eye colour, hair colour, London accent and even the same rank.
Next morning, same crap different day. I went for an early lunch again, got my meal and sat down to eat. My buddy walked in and said, “I'll be right with you, I'll just get my grub.” He went to the counter when the cook I threatened to throw in the cells came running around the counter and asked if he could talk to him. My buddy completely unaware and puzzled said “Sure”. At this point the cook began complaining about being threatened to be thrown in the cells. My buddy looked over at me and immediately grasped what was going on, he let the cook vent and then said finally. “First of all, get the right bloke, secondly anymore crap out of you and I'll chuck you in the cells”. The cook looked over at me and wailed “OH BUGGER, THERE'S TWO OF EM.” then vanished into the bowels of the cook house.
