It was basic training, and I was seated in the barber chair bemoaning the impending loss of my hair when the barber asked, “Where are you from?”
“St. Louis,” I grumbled.
“Hey, I’m from St. Louis too!” he said. He then asked conspiratorially, “Do you want to keep your sideburns?”
I perked up. “Sure!”
With that, he revved up the razor, clipped off my sideburns, and gave them to me. As I left the barbershop with sideburns in hand, I heard him ask his next victim, “Where are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“Hey, I’m from Chicago too!”
—STEVE FINKELSTEIN Plano, Texas
During KP duty, my sergeant ordered me to prepare 100 gallons of soup for that night’s dinner. When I told him I had no clue how to make soup, he…
