That night I got to thinking about the injustice served upon me. The situation was unacceptable, but instead of sending a letter to my recruiter, I decided to contact my Grandfather to find out what was going on. I wrote:
Dear Grampa,
Wutz up? Not going very well here. Right now I'm on guard. Lasts for two hours in the middle of the night. I'll probably catch some Z's cuz the drills already checked on us once tonight. Lulz. My palms hurt from doing push-ups on the rocks, so yer lucky I'm writing at all.
Drill sergeant said I'm gonna to be a truck driver not a Ranger. U know if that's true? Recruiter lied to me.
And you lied about the eggs. Were you even in the Army? The eggs are yum - no runny eggs. Favor - can you send some snacks? Be cool if u did. Maybe use a bubble-mailer and tuck some chocolate bars up under the shrink? A dude was supposed to leave me some Kit-Kats under the staircase out front, but I've checked it every afternoon and I haven't found jack. So I'm like wut? That was a gyp.
I could go on, but I think you get the point. It's hell. It's so hard. Can you send me some $$$? The more the better.
By.
General Sprungli
After borrowing an envelope and a stamp from Shipman's locker, I sent the letter. By the time I received a reply, I had almost forgot I had written it. But Grandpa's reply really irked me because it confirmed what my Drill Sergeant said. No matter how I tried, I could not swerve my future in trucking.
Grandpa can be a real jerk sometimes, too. He wrote: