They don’t miss a thing

In 1966 I quit school and enlisted in the Army. I was 17 years old. I was sent to Ft. Jackson S.C. for basic training. Our Company area was nothing but sand. Every morning we had “police call.” We would line up a couple of feet apart, walk around the barracks, and pick up anything we could see in the sand. Most of the time there was nothing.
One morning our drill sergeant was walking behind us, bent over, and picked up a cigarette butt. For the next week we had to “low-crawl” our police call.

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