When I started doing the Civil Service, which was compulsory at the time, I started on exactly the wrong day.
Conscientious objector, it was said.
Then, according to the military and civilian standards of the time, military service was for real men, civil service for poor girls without balls, for half men.
And that's it.
In any case, I started the Civil Service in a small town in the lower Benevento area, on the border with the province of Caserta.
A terrible, nightmarish place.
Anyway, I started my civil service on June 4, 1998.
There was the Neapolis Festival, Deep Purple.
Technically, I made my first "failure to return" on the first day of Civil Service.
The next day, the officer of the municipality of XXX told me that he had seen me going to catch the train, and that he had notified the competent military district.
What an asshole.
That fucking repressed also told me that when I walked on the main street of that fucking town I had to be careful, I had to walk on the right side of the main square.
Because the good young people walked on the right side, the ugly and bad ones walked on the left.
A very ugly square, a real toilet.
Poorly made, built with funds from the 1980 earthquake.
A toilet with a fountain in the center.
I was entrusted with the task of receiver at the booth and/or telephone on behalf of the civil protection and/or red cross.
I had the task of contacting the ambulance if necessary.
Nothing was happening in that village or in the surrounding area.
Apart from a few old ladies, nothing much.
Until after a couple of days and on duty, I received a call from a mother who cried in tears something like this:
"Help, help, my little son got stuck with his head inside the steering wheel of the squat ones at the coconut festival in XXXX (another remote village)".
I, without getting upset, without laughing, took the call, notified the ambulance, went home, took my things and abandoned, after only 3 days, my wonderful civil service in a terrible town in the lower Benevento area, to start marking visit to the military hospital in Caserta, for approximately 180 days.
And it was right there, on the return train, a regional train that smelled like everything, that I decided that they would never, ever have me.
But really never.
Never.
_
Poster I'm fine.
Red CCCP.
Conscientious objector, it was said.
Then, according to the military and civilian standards of the time, military service was for real men, civil service for poor girls without balls, for half men.
And that's it.
In any case, I started the Civil Service in a small town in the lower Benevento area, on the border with the province of Caserta.
A terrible, nightmarish place.
Anyway, I started my civil service on June 4, 1998.
There was the Neapolis Festival, Deep Purple.
Technically, I made my first "failure to return" on the first day of Civil Service.
The next day, the officer of the municipality of XXX told me that he had seen me going to catch the train, and that he had notified the competent military district.
What an asshole.
That fucking repressed also told me that when I walked on the main street of that fucking town I had to be careful, I had to walk on the right side of the main square.
Because the good young people walked on the right side, the ugly and bad ones walked on the left.
A very ugly square, a real toilet.
Poorly made, built with funds from the 1980 earthquake.
A toilet with a fountain in the center.
I was entrusted with the task of receiver at the booth and/or telephone on behalf of the civil protection and/or red cross.
I had the task of contacting the ambulance if necessary.
Nothing was happening in that village or in the surrounding area.
Apart from a few old ladies, nothing much.
Until after a couple of days and on duty, I received a call from a mother who cried in tears something like this:
"Help, help, my little son got stuck with his head inside the steering wheel of the squat ones at the coconut festival in XXXX (another remote village)".
I, without getting upset, without laughing, took the call, notified the ambulance, went home, took my things and abandoned, after only 3 days, my wonderful civil service in a terrible town in the lower Benevento area, to start marking visit to the military hospital in Caserta, for approximately 180 days.
And it was right there, on the return train, a regional train that smelled like everything, that I decided that they would never, ever have me.
But really never.
Never.
_
Poster I'm fine.
Red CCCP.
