RESPECT

In my head there was only one line repeating itself over and over.

"I hate fucking waiting," said Britney Spears when the fireworks wouldn't come on while she was filming the video for Circus.

The queue was long. The woman was slow. She was fucking slow. And I wasn't too fast my self. I picked out my size 8.5 Brooks and looked at other stuff and before I knew it there was an entire platoon in queue. And at the end of line was my two friends and I.

We stood there in stoned silence, knowing it would probably be 1140 when it was our turn reach the cashier and we would not get to eat the lengendary Honeydew Sago at the canteen beside this godforsaken E-Mart.

When you're in camp you start thinking of the simplest pleasures in life.

So anyway, as I was saying before bordering on the philosphical, we were there, fucking waiting, in resentful silence. My friend suggested that we took turns going for the canteen break. I turned him down, thinking it would be kind of sad to eat alone, leave a friend behind the queue, or be the one waiting in the queue.

Then, our sergeant came over. He took out his notebook.

"Eh, give me your 11B and your birthdate, I'll help you guys queue. Then you can all go canteen."

His words were greeted with a moment of silence, but not of the stoned kind. More of the bewildered and well, small fireworks of happiness bursting at the thought of enjoying ice-cold Honeydew Sago, yet apprehensive of letting our sergeant queue for us.

We declined, of course.

"By the time you guys finish queueing you'll have to board the tonner and go back to camp. So are you sure you don't want to go? DI can see it in your eyes. You all want to go."

With that we were more determined than ever to queue by ourselves. He went off to the cashier's counter and grabbed a basket, and thrust it to my friend and asked him to put his stuff in it.

And with that he demanded that we return from the canteen in 20 minutes.

It's not that difficult for a commander to earn the trust and respect of his men.