NATO - Part IV

(Source)

I was sitting quietly at my desk, perusing the latest data from our monthly report on aircraft computer performance. Not really looking at the data, just making sure that it was formatted correctly. Which it was.

Our Italian Sergente Maggiore Capo, a pleasant chap named Felice (well that was his given name, I do remember his last name, Felice was a hard fellow to forget, but in the interests of anonymity I won't tell), was behind schedule on a task our Major had given him. He needed to get some classified data to finish this task. The data was locked in our office safe, looked like a file cabinet, but in reality it was a safe.

Now Felice was from Sicily, I had been told that the Sicilians were an excitable lot, but in my experience, many Italians were of a passionate nature. Those from the south a bit more than there somewhat phlegmatic cousins to the north. (Many of whom could pass for German until they spoke, lots of blond hair and blue eyes up that way.)

So, ahem, There I Was...*

Sitting at my desk, while Felice came in and went over to our classified safe (much like that in the opening photo but quite a bit more substantial, with a spin dial lock on the front of the bar) and began entering the combination to the safe.

It wouldn't open.

Felice sighed and tried again.

Again, no luck.

Turning to me, he asked if I knew the combination. I assured him that I did and would he like me to open it for him? He thanked me but said he was keen to try it himself, one more time.

I told him the combination and he made an "Ah HA!" sound, indicating that he was off in one number, now he should be fine. He began spinning the dial once again.

Click, yank, rattle, rattle.

No dice. The bar remained locked. As I stood up to assist him, he waved me back to my seat...

"No, no, no, grazie, I can do this. Proverò ancora una volta. One more time..."

So he again spun the lock, this time there was a click and the bar lifted easily from its locked position.

Felice turned and smiled, then proceeded to drop the bar on his foot.

Did I mention that the bar was a rather heavy affair and probably weighed close to twenty pounds.

I didn't?

Well, it was heavy.

When the bar glanced off of Felice's boot, he seemed to take that as a personal insult. In fact, he was now convinced that the safe had intentionally refused to open for him, and then, at his moment of success, the safe intentionally attacked him.

Felice looked at the bar, then looked at the safe.

At which point he lifted the bar and began to beat the safe with it.

Yes, it made a lot of noise.

Eventually he got it out of his system, he got the material he needed. Returned the bar to its place, somewhat chipped and battered in its paint job but still intact, and locked the safe.

Moments later one of the German sergeants came in and looked at the safe. Now bear in mind that these are very rugged affairs, meant to take a lot of abuse and still function. But our safe was no longer pristine. The bar had missing flakes of paint and the top edge was, shall we say, rather dented.

Benny, the German sergeant, looked at me with raised eyebrow and said, "What happened?"

"Felice tried to murder the safe."

Benny laughed, leaned into Felice's half of the office and said, "Hey Felice, the safe isn't dead yet, I think it's still breathing!"

Now, I don't know a lot of Italian, a few words here and there, but I do believe that the language used towards Benny and his jest about the battered safe was not of a polite variety. Even the other Italians were blushing.

Well, Felice was a Chief, he was also Sicilian. Let's just say, he had an excitable nature.

That safe opened for him with no difficulty after that day, every single time. I do believe it was scared of him.

Can't say I blamed it.




*SJC