Private Shan

One of my co-workers, Wet Dog, is wearing a pair of MISS SIXTY jeans. And they’re disgusting. Mostly b/c Wet Dog is 60 years old. She also weighs 60 lbs., smokes 60 packs of Marlboro Reds a day and could use 60k worth of dental work. Earlier this morning, an unintentional, peripheral glance at her saddle-bagged ass triggered some pre-vomit. She almost made me hork my Cliff Bar.

After working with Wet Dog for 2 years, she’s managed to dig a bone in my subconscious. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I see her. It’s like a ‘Nam flashback. Only it isn’t. Besides, how would I know? I wasn’t in ‘Nam. I’ve seen “Platoon” and “Full Metal Jacket” and “Apocalypse Now,” though. And according to movie critics, who totally know everything, those are supposed to be the most accurate portrayals of how fucked up Vietnam was. Really smart guys like Roger Ebert and Dead Gene Siskel said they capture the horror, chaos, dehumanization, brutality, disorientation and madness of war. Well, then Wet Dog is my Vietnam, my office a battlefield. So, everyday I clutch my father's dog tags (Illinois Army Reserves--oorah!) for strength. That bitch ain't gonna get the best of me.