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Praetorium Honoris

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

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

28 comments:

  1. I'm prepared to file that under "righteous clubbing."

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    Replies
    1. Give him a medal for "raising the bar" ?

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    2. And so the subsequent investigation revealed. Well, that and omerta from the only twp witnesses.

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    3. As to your second comment - the new SprayGuard on the monitor was sorely tested.

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  2. I'm pretty sure there are No readers of this blog that haven't used similar procedures for getting an inanimate object to work. And the efficacy of the procedure is such that, while not the primary procedure, it is usually the last procedure used.

    Good war story, Sarge!

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    Replies
    1. All maintainers would instinctively agree with Felice's approach.

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    2. It sure worked with electronics! Though in the operations room, it was the operators who needed to be abused. Seriously.

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    3. Monitoring a display for hours on end sometimes one needs a slap on the back of the head.

      Not saying I've done that, but there it is.

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  3. My brother told a story of a payroll being stolen from a Navy base in Sicily. Apparently it was not an "Approved" theft and a Sicilian organization that had a rather large paving contract with the Navy did not want to lose favor with the Navy. The payroll was returned, tossed over a Navy entrance fence along with the thief's hand. Serious people they were.

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  4. Outstanding and humorous story that started my Wednesday off nicely, thanks!

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  5. Hmmmm!
    I have heard stories of recalcitrant individuals being handled in much the same manner... after lights out

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  6. Thank you for a most entertaining post. I'm always happy to read such tales, they're such a pleasant way to start the day.

    Paul L. Quandt

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  7. Ha. Percussive Maintenance at its finest.

    And it is the Norman blood that makes them hot. The Normans, when taking over Sicily, taught the natives the meaning of the word 'vendetta.' Some of the conquest stories are, well, not suitable for small children to hear. And the real conquest? Also not suitable for young children or spinsters...

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  8. This post made me realize that while I know swear words in several languages, not a one is in Italian. I may need to read the directors cut of this post!

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    Replies
    1. You may already know one. (Google Translate is your friend.)

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    2. I know some Italian swear words courtesy of a shipmate, whose mother was Italian and father was French.
      I'd pass them along, but I only know them phonetically.

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    3. But I'm hooked on phonics!

      (Did I spell that right?)

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  9. I'm sure you didn't really need to know any Italian, Sarge. In my (USN) experience, & by some observation of foreign navies at work & play, Chiefs, (more so) Senior Chiefs, and (oh-my-God-especially) Master Chiefs can communicate quite well through pure volume; the words are just embellishment.
    That's when one is fortunate, and the ire of the Chief in question has not reached the too-angry-for-words stage. That old saying, "if looks could kill"? I am of the opinion that it was the creation of someone who'd gotten on the wrong side of a senior NCO.
    --Tennessee Budd

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    Replies
    1. Hahaha! I think you're on to something there.

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    2. It's when the volume goes so low that when you have to strain to hear the NCO even when you're less than a foot from his lips (and glaring eyeballs) that you really need to start worrying. Or so I'm told.

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    3. Indeed. (A quiet NCO is a dangerous NCO.)

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  10. Gives a whole new meaning to "safe space".

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Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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