What did the field of battle do to us?

My buddies and I once held jobs that paid two hundred dollars a month for working 24/7 — every minute of every day represented danger, injury, or death. But the remuneration package included food, clothing, shelter, and transportation. Hey! What more could a person ask? Right!

I was the leader of a Special Ops team between 1967–1968 on the battlefields of Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. Our pets were those that used our bodies as their home. The microorganisms and bugs loved us and happily gave up their unique talents to make life even peachier than it was.

We were 8,000 miles away from anything we remembered, but we never felt sorry for ourselves. No fresh water. No warm bed. And no family members around to give us crap, but lots of people telling us what to do.

When we entered civilian life, our attitude when things went wrong was,

F-them if they can’t take a joke!

Suck it up and get on with it!

So the boss is a jerk! And?

What does that have to do with me?

Leave me alone, let me do my job, and get my money.

Of course, civilians never understood that we could no longer follow orders, but we always got the job done. So just leave us the F alone!