Hush Money

As you probably know, my current deployment is an irritant born of shortsighted government policy and some rather unfortunate timing.  I had been scheduled to be done with all this foolishness last August, but was instead shanghai’d into this operation by the infamous policy of “Stop-Loss” (euphemistically named “Involuntary Extension” by the military; derided as a “Back Door Draft” by its Congressional detractors).  This policy, along with other similar ones, such as reserve recall, not only helped bolster unit rolls, but also aided greatly in the reduction of morale.  Naturally, now that the damage is done, both policies are being quietly discarded.

Certain lawmakers, realizing the injustices wrought forth in this situation, reacted in typical D.C. fashion: throwing money at it.  They introduced legislation to provide reparations for soldiers so thanklessly pressed again into service.  Their original aims were quite sweeping, proposing a $1500 per month stipend, backdated to the beginning.

Of course, such excesses were obviously unthinkable in such dire economic times.  Money for displaced soldiers was obviously less important than lining the pockets of irresponsible speculators (note the irony in the picture-I light a donated cigar with a George Washington to celebrate a meager token of gratitude, whilst Wall Street tycoons use fistfuls of hundreds to light their Cubans).  In the end, the stipend was whittled down to a third of its original number, and backdated only to October.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I was skeptical that I would ever see even that sum, given all the congressional hold-ups and feet-dragging by the Department of Defense.  However, the check finally made it, much to my delight (and that of my chief, who has been following the situation with probably more interest than I have).  My friends were certainly amused at my small victory in the face of discouragement.

To put it like Red Skelton’s used cigar enthusiast Freddie the Freeloader, “Smells good like money should.”   Of course, smell is an issue, given the amount of toxic fumes given off by all the junk that gets burned around here.  And it’s also true that money can’t buy happiness (or a lot of other things for that matter), so I haven’t had any trouble saying no every time someone mentions “extension.”  I’d much rather return to peace of friends and family than continue this marginally-profitable and joyless indentured servitude.