Have been absent lately, but PA's up-coming primary is bringing out all of the voter registration booths on campus. Was changing my party affiliation (closed primaries suck) when a kick came up to the table.
"Want to sign up?" the sweet young thing behind the table asked.
"Doesn't this sign me up for the war?"
Silence. The people working the registration stared. I dropped the pen. Crickets chirped.
Since no one else seemed like they wanted to say anything, squeaked, "What?"
"This signs me up for the war, right? Like, a draft?"
For some reason, I can't remember the end of the conversation, just that I wondered whether he remembered signing that piece of paper when he turned eighteen that actually did qualify him for the draft. And whether he thought the army was desperate enough to take me, the biggest wuss in America. One day in Iraq would have me the same hue as a boiled lobster, sand in my mouth, and sobbing because I've just seen a camel spider.