This one'll take us back to Borden. I forget which ex., they tend to all run together after a while.
Anyhow, smack between two phases, we were put up in transient barracks near the Lancaster Club in Borden in order to clean up ourselves and our kit before heading to Meaford. The mess we were to eat at was the CFSAOE mess where all the noobs were assigned. After we had gotten all cleaned up and been made presentable again, some of us decided to introduce the RCR to all the â Å“aerospaceâ ? types over lunch. Not the RCR with whom they were already familiar from their training at recruit school... you know, spit-and-polish, always proper, impeccable manners, etc. Boring, right?
It was decided through general consensus that we'd go all ranger on 'em and we would find our own food on our way to the mess thereby saving the CF the cost of feeding us. Once a plan had been decided upon, we enthusiastically began our â Å“huntâ ? under the guise of policing the grass around the barracks. Our catch wasn't all that impressive, so it was agreed that everyone would pool their er... resources, and three of our delinquents were selected to represent the pride of the Army. Once inside the mess, we split up into three teams, each with one â Å“ambassadorâ ? and group of observers.
Team one's point man was JB, whom I believe was of Metis descent. JB had the knack of being able to look extremely insane while calmly performing the most mundane task. The thick glasses helped. He had decided on a sandwich approach and so loaded his tray with some buns, butter, mayo, other condiments, but no meat. He approached a table half occupied with some students and asked if the seat he was indicating were taken. With the rest of his team looking on from nearby tables, JB proceeded to meticulously slice open several buns, rejecting a couple of them with a violent oath once they had been cut open and he had looked inside. Then, wrapping them up in napkins and putting them on a plate, he would march them over to the trash where he would, with proper drill pauses between movements, dump them, then stare hard at the trash container for a second or two. There was intense interest from JB's tablemates as he finally accepted a newly sliced bun as â Å“the good bunâ ?. He then proceeded to place the various condiments on the bun in very specific ways until he was satisfied with the results.
You can guess the next part. After preparing the bun, JB then opens a pocket and starts removing earthworms and placing them with exacting care on the bun. Here's where some of the students begin changing tables. In fact, at this point JB is starting to freak some of US out. He ends up alone at a table, eating his earthworm sandwich, empty tables surround him, and whenever any student happens to walk past, JB reaches out, grasps their arm, looks deep into their eyes and says: â Å“It isn't you, either.â ?
Team two, not the winners in my opinon, went for volume over style and simply all sat together at the same table, but in a pretty crowded part of the mess. They corralled all their um... rations in a glass of water and would just pass it around like they would a tray of pickles or something.
Team three went the â Å“we don't get this kind of chow at homeâ ? route. These guys picked their dumbest looking member to take point. That would have been RF. The thing about RF was that if he wanted to be, he could be quite photogenic. Tall, fit, blond, rugged, think of a rough edged Errol Flynn, basically.
But when he was doing his dumb face, he would acquire, well, kind of an â Å“auraâ ? about him as his features went just short of completely slack. His jaw dropped a bit, so when he spoke, he wouldn't complete his soft consonants and the missing teeth only added to the â Å“Gueth how bady tibes I got KO'd ath a bossa!â ? effect.
So he has the spaghetti.
Brings it back to a table way in the rear of the mess, whereupon he produces several members of the aforementioned species lumbricus terrestris (I looked it up
) and mixes them in with the bounty generously provided by Her Majesty. He sprinkles a little cheese on top. He then picks up his plate and fork, walks back forward to the steam table, assumes his avatar and waits patiently to stand in front of one of the student cooks. Having engaged the young lad's attention by standing stock still in front of him and holding out his plate at waist level, he then asks:
â Å“C'n I have sub bore beat doodles?
â Å“What?â ? asks private Noob.
â Å“Beat doodles!â ? replies RF.
â Å“Sorry?â ? queries young Noob.
With deliberate care, RF then sticks his fork into the mound on his plate. He twirls the fork a time or two and comes up with a combination of spaghetti and wildlife, holds it out in front of him and carefully pronounces:
â Å“MEAT NOODLES!â ?
... and puts the fork in his mouth.
By this time, Noob's stomach has caught up with what his eyes are looking at and just barely informs his brain in time to wrench his body around quickly enough to avoid losing HIS lunch all over the steam table and only sprayed his colleague standing beside him.
Beating a hasty er... tactical advance to the rear, RF leaves, dumps the contents of the plate, and meets us all exiting the mess, our mission complete.
