Patrick M Brennan

This is rather bizarre. I got a letter from the Army today:

Now don’t imagine I’m not flattered. I think it’s about time the Army decided they needed a guy of my caliber. But, you know, I have read that they’re having a tough time finding new people to ship off to Iraq, and it seems to me that they’re kind of deluding themselves if they’re sending this to me. Right? Clearly they think I’m about, oh, half my age or something. They got my address right. I am the only Patrick Brennan living at this address. And I’m sure my records are good, judging from the other junk mail I receive. Commercial marketers know very well, for example, that I have a mortgage, a wife, a baby girl, and a degree. They know I’ve paid my student loans off. They don’t send me solicitations geared toward recent high school graduates. So how come the United States Armed Forces can’t figure that out?

There are all kinds of ways this letter diminishes my already infinitesimal respect for our current government’s ability to manage information properly. I mean, I’m not even trying to hide. What chance have they got against the terrorists? Speaking of which: talk about the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing! While the Army is trying to recruit me, the Department of Homeland Security thinks I’m someone who needs special scrutiny before I’m allowed to board an airplane. I suppose I’d rather the government thinks I’m a potential soldier instead of a potential terrorist, but they’re so laughably wrong on both counts that it just makes my head spin.

I’m not down on service. I even gave it some serious thought myself, for about ten minutes back in the eighties. The early eighties. (When, you know, I really was a recent high school graduate.) But ultimately I decided it wasn’t for me. (Believe me, I made the right decision for me and for my country.) Twenty-odd years later, I’m more sure than ever that being an infantryman is not really what I want.

Maybe I’m wrong about the Army. Maybe – just humor me now – they’re just being clever. Too clever by half, perhaps, but still. Maybe they think that if they flatter me, I’ll be more disposed to sign up. (Sure, I’m too old to join the Army now, but they’ve recently raised the maximum age for enlistment. Maybe by the time I’m 50, the maximum age will be 51 or something.) The letter was accompanied by a postcard which promises a cool knit cap with an Army logo. All I need to do is fill it out with all my personal information (or fill it out online). They’re gonna need that data in 2009, when they’ll need lots of new guys to occupy Tehran. And I’m torn about filling out that card, because on the one hand, I want to help the government keep its records straight. They only have all my tax returns, after all. On the other hand, if I fill out the card, I’m taking the risk that the Army won’t stop pestering me. When I retire, they’ll be asking me what I’m planning to do with my college degree. When I’m 90, I’ll be getting letters asking me about serving in the National Guard (”one weekend a month“). And they’ll still be promising the same lousy pay, bad benefits, and the constant possibility of being shipped off to a hostile country to be maimed or killed.

But maybe – just maybe – if I sign up, they’ll take me off their no-fly list.

No promises.