Sunday, October 01, 2006
Sgt. Grunt
I peeked under my sister's bed in search of my missing pet monkey, but found nothing but dirty clothes and empty soda bottles.
I grabbed her tennis racket and poked around at the pile of crud under her bed and hit something that didn't like being hit.
“Are you ready for the marines, runt! Then drop and give me twenty, rookie!”
It was Sgt. Grunt! My talking US Marine action figure! I thought I lost him two years ago. It was a birthday present from my folks. It was designed to keep order in a youngsters room. You'd push a button behind Sgt. Grunt's neck and he'd tell you to "Pick up your socks, puss face! Now drop and give me twenty, sissy!"
What he was doing under my sister's bed, and what else I would find under there, I didn’t want to know. So I stuck Sgt. Grunt under my arm and headed for the closet.
“This ain’t no summer camp, boy! Now drop and give me twenty, mister!”
I must have broken Sgt. Grunt’s talk button with the tennis racket, because he wouldn’t stop talking.
“You call yourself a marine, maggot! Well, I call you Little Miss Nancy Britches! Drop and give me twenty, Mary!”
I tried to explain to him that there were women in the Marines who might not like what he was saying.
“I am not your Mama, sunshine! Now make your bed like it was nobody’s business! Then drop and give me twenty, mister!”
I’d forgotten how mean and insulting the sergeant could be. It’s probably why he ended up in my sister's room. They were made for each other.
I stopped for a moment to make sure he was through yelling at me. It seemed he was, so I continued on to the closet. Opening the closet door I was overcome by a strange sense that someone was watching me. When I stepped inside, the door suddenly closed behind me and I think my heart stopped beating. I stood still for a moment and waited for my heart to start beating again. Then I heard someone say, “No crying in the closet, worm! Now drop and give me twenty, mister!”
Only it wasn’t Sgt. Grunt. This time it was my little brother, Ben. When he opened the closet door, I tried to say something, but Sgt. Grunt started talking first.
“Ok, boys! Time to move! We got us a monkey to find! Now Go! Go! Go!”
I didn’t remember Sgt. Grunt ever saying anything like that before. I remember him telling me things like, “Pick up your underwear, princess! It’s the maids day off!” or “Wash behind those ears, missy! And brush those teeth, weasel face!”
But he never said anything about finding monkeys. That’s when I knew that things were going to get stranger before they got back to normal.
“Up to the attic, troops!” said Sgt. Grunt. “Double time! Move! Move! Move!”
I guess he meant us. We didn’t stop to argue with him. No use. He wouldn’t listen anyway. We just charged up the attic steps and into the attic. The attic still had that new paint smell. Mom and Dad had it converted into a bedroom. They thought it was time for me to move out of the room I shared with Ben and Luke. But Grandma Mollie and Grandpa Charlie were due to arrive from Kansas the next morning, and they’d be staying in the attic. So I wouldn’t be moving up until they left.
“I smell monkey!” said Sgt. Grunt. “Get out your flamethrowers!”
I explained to the Sgt. that we didn’t have any flamethrowers, and that we weren't trying to hurt the monkey. But that got him madder.
“Then get out your grenades and start launching!”
“We don’t have any of those, either”, I said.
“What about brains, boy? Did you bring any brains?”
I couldn’t seem to get my mouth to work. Ben either.
“Well, that answers that!” he said. “Dang you new recruits! Never send a boy to fight a man’s fight!”
Then he was quiet for a moment. It gave us a moment to look around. Dad had cleaned out the attic, so it was bare, except for the replica Egyptian-like coffin he bought at an auction. The one he was going to use for a future Egyptian exhibit at the amusement park. He had it standing up against the far wall near the attic fan. I didn’t like the idea of sleeping with a coffin in my room. I’d have to ask Dad if I could move it.
“No place to hide except for that coffin!” said the sergeant. “Let’s get ‘er open!”
The last thing I wanted to do was open a coffin, but when you have someone like the sergeant on your back (or under your arm), you do what you’re told.
Ben and I tried to pry open the coffin, but it was locked pretty solid. I didn’t see any keyhole, or any sort of latch to play with. It must have been glued shut.
“This thing is locked tight,” I said. “”If there’s a monkey in there, he can stay in there.”
“Monkey’s not here!” Sgt. Grunt said.
“I thought you said you smelt monkey?”
“I was mistaken, toad! It must have been your armpit! You need a bath, boy!”
I took Sgt. Grunt out from under my arm and handed him to Ben.
“Here, you keep him!” I said.
“I don’t want him, either,” said Ben.
“What sissy pants mamma’s boys!” said the sergeant. “Well, I don’t want you either! Put me back in my barracks, larva butts! The boys are probably wondering where I am!”
“What boys?” I said.
“Them fellas with the big heads what look like potatoes!”
This was all getting too strange for me. We decided to go back downstairs and put Sgt. Grunt back under the bed and pretend none of this ever happened. Though I’m sure it did.
“Goodbye, you sorry sacks of marshmallow!” said the Sergeant. “I’ve seen better soldiering in a pack of spineless wart hogs!”
We waited, but he didn’t say anything more. Though, I had a feeling it wasn’t the last time we’d hear from Sgt. Grunt.
I peeked under my sister's bed in search of my missing pet monkey, but found nothing but dirty clothes and empty soda bottles.
I grabbed her tennis racket and poked around at the pile of crud under her bed and hit something that didn't like being hit.
“Are you ready for the marines, runt! Then drop and give me twenty, rookie!”
It was Sgt. Grunt! My talking US Marine action figure! I thought I lost him two years ago. It was a birthday present from my folks. It was designed to keep order in a youngsters room. You'd push a button behind Sgt. Grunt's neck and he'd tell you to "Pick up your socks, puss face! Now drop and give me twenty, sissy!"
What he was doing under my sister's bed, and what else I would find under there, I didn’t want to know. So I stuck Sgt. Grunt under my arm and headed for the closet.
“This ain’t no summer camp, boy! Now drop and give me twenty, mister!”
I must have broken Sgt. Grunt’s talk button with the tennis racket, because he wouldn’t stop talking.
“You call yourself a marine, maggot! Well, I call you Little Miss Nancy Britches! Drop and give me twenty, Mary!”
I tried to explain to him that there were women in the Marines who might not like what he was saying.
“I am not your Mama, sunshine! Now make your bed like it was nobody’s business! Then drop and give me twenty, mister!”
I’d forgotten how mean and insulting the sergeant could be. It’s probably why he ended up in my sister's room. They were made for each other.
I stopped for a moment to make sure he was through yelling at me. It seemed he was, so I continued on to the closet. Opening the closet door I was overcome by a strange sense that someone was watching me. When I stepped inside, the door suddenly closed behind me and I think my heart stopped beating. I stood still for a moment and waited for my heart to start beating again. Then I heard someone say, “No crying in the closet, worm! Now drop and give me twenty, mister!”
Only it wasn’t Sgt. Grunt. This time it was my little brother, Ben. When he opened the closet door, I tried to say something, but Sgt. Grunt started talking first.
“Ok, boys! Time to move! We got us a monkey to find! Now Go! Go! Go!”
I didn’t remember Sgt. Grunt ever saying anything like that before. I remember him telling me things like, “Pick up your underwear, princess! It’s the maids day off!” or “Wash behind those ears, missy! And brush those teeth, weasel face!”
But he never said anything about finding monkeys. That’s when I knew that things were going to get stranger before they got back to normal.
“Up to the attic, troops!” said Sgt. Grunt. “Double time! Move! Move! Move!”
I guess he meant us. We didn’t stop to argue with him. No use. He wouldn’t listen anyway. We just charged up the attic steps and into the attic. The attic still had that new paint smell. Mom and Dad had it converted into a bedroom. They thought it was time for me to move out of the room I shared with Ben and Luke. But Grandma Mollie and Grandpa Charlie were due to arrive from Kansas the next morning, and they’d be staying in the attic. So I wouldn’t be moving up until they left.
“I smell monkey!” said Sgt. Grunt. “Get out your flamethrowers!”
I explained to the Sgt. that we didn’t have any flamethrowers, and that we weren't trying to hurt the monkey. But that got him madder.
“Then get out your grenades and start launching!”
“We don’t have any of those, either”, I said.
“What about brains, boy? Did you bring any brains?”
I couldn’t seem to get my mouth to work. Ben either.
“Well, that answers that!” he said. “Dang you new recruits! Never send a boy to fight a man’s fight!”
Then he was quiet for a moment. It gave us a moment to look around. Dad had cleaned out the attic, so it was bare, except for the replica Egyptian-like coffin he bought at an auction. The one he was going to use for a future Egyptian exhibit at the amusement park. He had it standing up against the far wall near the attic fan. I didn’t like the idea of sleeping with a coffin in my room. I’d have to ask Dad if I could move it.
“No place to hide except for that coffin!” said the sergeant. “Let’s get ‘er open!”
The last thing I wanted to do was open a coffin, but when you have someone like the sergeant on your back (or under your arm), you do what you’re told.
Ben and I tried to pry open the coffin, but it was locked pretty solid. I didn’t see any keyhole, or any sort of latch to play with. It must have been glued shut.
“This thing is locked tight,” I said. “”If there’s a monkey in there, he can stay in there.”
“Monkey’s not here!” Sgt. Grunt said.
“I thought you said you smelt monkey?”
“I was mistaken, toad! It must have been your armpit! You need a bath, boy!”
I took Sgt. Grunt out from under my arm and handed him to Ben.
“Here, you keep him!” I said.
“I don’t want him, either,” said Ben.
“What sissy pants mamma’s boys!” said the sergeant. “Well, I don’t want you either! Put me back in my barracks, larva butts! The boys are probably wondering where I am!”
“What boys?” I said.
“Them fellas with the big heads what look like potatoes!”
This was all getting too strange for me. We decided to go back downstairs and put Sgt. Grunt back under the bed and pretend none of this ever happened. Though I’m sure it did.
“Goodbye, you sorry sacks of marshmallow!” said the Sergeant. “I’ve seen better soldiering in a pack of spineless wart hogs!”
We waited, but he didn’t say anything more. Though, I had a feeling it wasn’t the last time we’d hear from Sgt. Grunt.
