A memoir of a Vietnam veteran
There was nothing to tell you that this day was any different from any other except the continuous Christmas music from the jocks at AFVN. It was hard to tell which song agonihe troops the most; Elvis�s Blue Christmas or Johnny Mathis�s I�ll be Home for Christmas. Willy, Wayne and I plotted out our next Duty First show. Then I did my afternoon gig at K-L-I-K, adding still more Christmas music to the Vietnamese airwaves.
In between I found time to continue my feud with Sgt. Jay Smith over the swivel chair. It was childish, I knew, but I just couldn�t let go of it. On 20 November, the day I arrived, I located an empty desk. Behind it sat a metal folding chair. I looked around, the other writers, photographers and clerks all had folding chairs, the draftsman had a stool. Lieutenants Soderholm, Nicolla and McEwen had swivel chairs. And then there was the swivel chair sitting behind Smith�s empty desk. I made the swap. �Tough shit and RHIP (Rank Has Its Privileges).� I told myself that it wasn�t a reaction based on mere whim. I needed a swivel chair when I was back working at my desk so that I could scoot around all the script sheets we laid out.
The dual had been going on for a month now. In saner moments I realized that Smith and I should have been able to work something out. Our days in base camp overlapped once or twice a week at most. There was no reason that we couldn�t share the chair except that we hadn�t started out with compromise as a goal. Off to a bad start, the thing just kept escalating into a test of will and rank.
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