In the dawn of time, order back when T-Rex ruled the Earth and Custer was a private, medic the young cadet was on field maneuvers. Not being blessed with the keen vision expected of an aspiring Air Force officer, arthritis the young man wore glasses of approximately the thickness and refraction index of Coke bottles. Not the ridiculous new little plastic bottles, light of weight and clear of surface, no, these were of the one liter glass-bottles-as-God-intended-Coke-to-be-shipped, indestructible in and of themselves but…alas, the frames, not so much.
The young cadet was marching his little flight back to the barracks when through the haze of myopia a car, a car painted an odd shade normally referred to as “Air Force” blue, approached the formation at a high rate of speed. The cadet asked, sotto voce, of his stalwart element leads if this was, perchance, a staff car but received no answer from the traitorous band. The car screeched to a halt in a shower of gravel, accompanied by the smell of hot asbestos (this was a long time ago).
From behind the wheel lurched a giant of a man, dour of demeanor, frothing of mouth, shiny insignia gleaming from his collar, to corner the young cadet in a shower of spit and ear-splitting decibel of comment. Parentage was discussed, probable relation (however anatomically impossible) to various farm animals postulated, and finally, a demand for accounting for the terrible (perhaps mortal) sin of failing to salute the staff car. A large staff car, painted Air Force blue, no less, that only a blind man could miss!
To which the young cadet, still without a word, pulled the broken halves of his glasses from his pocket and silently presented them to the officer.
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