the beginning of the end: last ict day 01
It was jejune, to say the least.
No fanfare, no fireworks, no trepidation, no champagne, no go-go girls, neither eagerness nor excitement waiting to pop out around the corner on my 10th year ICT.
The first day of my purportedly last cycle (I hope so, cos I deferred once but did a make-up for it so those idiots had jolly well tally my hi-keys diligently or else...) should have been a much anticpated affair among most reservisters.
Zilch. Nada. Rien.
Ok so maybe except the Runway Cycling Open-house Day on Sunday, 12 June. ('Cycle on our last cycle' - how corny. Lots of crowd. Lots of rules. Lots of duty. Damn.)
And to top it off, me and Niel arrived FASHIONABLY late - 1 and half hours after the official clock-in. All eyes on us, even the veteran latecomer exclaimed our tardy entry.
Just to spite them, I took a huge bite off my apple to thumb in their faces as we waltzed in.
No familiar officers, just a paltry fingerful of chummy sergeants. Even less of those faces I really want to see and meet and catch up.
Siiigh... things ain't what they were before or used to be. Before, each ICT was a companyful of noise and nonsense and nattering. Now for the past 3-4 years it's just 2/3 of a platoon worth of lethargy and listlessness.
We still had our 3-hour lunches. We still snuck out. We still had to content with stupidly scheduled training programmes. We still drank a lot at the Mess. We still have to 'stand gate' (in Paya Lebar patois).
Some are dating - finally. Some got married - about time. Some divorced - already. A handful have children - and still having them so they're obviously hard at bedwork.
We talk about anything, everything, nothing. Wherever and whenever we are, sitting or standing or dying. That's something I gathered: we hone the art of talk in our lines of duty (all puns intended).
Nothing much has changed; much have been changing.
No fanfare, no fireworks, no trepidation, no champagne, no go-go girls, neither eagerness nor excitement waiting to pop out around the corner on my 10th year ICT.
The first day of my purportedly last cycle (I hope so, cos I deferred once but did a make-up for it so those idiots had jolly well tally my hi-keys diligently or else...) should have been a much anticpated affair among most reservisters.
Zilch. Nada. Rien.
Ok so maybe except the Runway Cycling Open-house Day on Sunday, 12 June. ('Cycle on our last cycle' - how corny. Lots of crowd. Lots of rules. Lots of duty. Damn.)
And to top it off, me and Niel arrived FASHIONABLY late - 1 and half hours after the official clock-in. All eyes on us, even the veteran latecomer exclaimed our tardy entry.
Just to spite them, I took a huge bite off my apple to thumb in their faces as we waltzed in.
No familiar officers, just a paltry fingerful of chummy sergeants. Even less of those faces I really want to see and meet and catch up.
Siiigh... things ain't what they were before or used to be. Before, each ICT was a companyful of noise and nonsense and nattering. Now for the past 3-4 years it's just 2/3 of a platoon worth of lethargy and listlessness.
We still had our 3-hour lunches. We still snuck out. We still had to content with stupidly scheduled training programmes. We still drank a lot at the Mess. We still have to 'stand gate' (in Paya Lebar patois).
Some are dating - finally. Some got married - about time. Some divorced - already. A handful have children - and still having them so they're obviously hard at bedwork.
We talk about anything, everything, nothing. Wherever and whenever we are, sitting or standing or dying. That's something I gathered: we hone the art of talk in our lines of duty (all puns intended).
Nothing much has changed; much have been changing.
posted by logomancer | 6:04:00 PM
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