In the midst of my normally chaotic duties as the Commander, I was approached this morning by a young tenacious Staff Sergeant that I did not recognize. This is not completely out of the ordinary as, even though I’ve been here a year now, I don’t know all my soldiers on a personal level, yet.

We run continuous operations here – operations that I can’t halt simply to declare that I want to see all my soldiers in one place at one time. So, as things continue on normally, I meet and get to know them one at a time, starting with the ones most geographically close to me, first and working out… then working on meeting those with those same duties but operating on other daily shifts. Finally I’ve been trying to identify, by roster, those people, through sheer chance (or otherwise), have not drilled on the same weekend as our main body since the time I assumed command.

In any event, I made what fate would eventually prove to be a mistake and made eye contact with the Staff Sergeant. Accepting the slight rise in my eyebrows as an invitation to a monologue, she began to speak. To some, speaking is a chore… to some a task… yet others it is an activity. But to her it was a state of being.

“I’m really sorry about this, but Headquarters requires this class and they are inspecting you tomorrow and I’m just trying to help you pass the inspection,” she began, without the slightest hint at an introduction or explanation of what “help” she was providing. I was irritated – of course… she had hit a number of my pet peeves all at once… and yet she didn’t stop talking long enough for me to find that interjection point where it is customary to interrupt for a question. She did have one redeeming quality, though: she was entertaining! For several minutes, without the need to take a breath, apparently, she continued to drone – well, somewhere between drone and whine. She even managed to address my observation by apologizing for not giving me a chance to speak – all without giving me a chance to speak!

During this entire performance I managed to pick out several themes: I should take her seriously because she had some association with the State Headquarters; that she was very, very sorry to inconvenience me; that she wished to give a two hour “mandatory” training class; that she wouldn’t need more than a half hour to conduct the training; and that she knew that my direct commander – “what was his name again?” – would want me to cooperate with her.

It was maybe the third or fourth slog through this disorganized jumble of disjointed thoughts when I finally realized she would likely continue this forever if I didn’t intercede. I realized that I had unconsciously changed my physical posture from defense to amusement. She was hopeless and she knew it. She was begging for help while simultaneously disguising her request as an offer of help. Either strategy may have worked alone, but she lacked the self confidence to select a course of action. The poor thing… my posture and facial expression was telling her the gig was up… but she was in too deep to stop. And so she just kept rephrasing things.

“Stop!” I said, finally, first with my hand up in the manner of a traffic cop. Then offering it, I said, “My name is Major Worrell, and you are?”

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