Five Year Commitment

It is becoming obvious to me that they do not like Americans here very much. I can tell by the way they look at me, and also because I am not making many friends. The food is horrible, the heat is brutal, and all I ever wanted was to be respected.

I was accepted as a French Foreign Legion cadet exactly two weeks ago today, and it has become clear that I have made a tremendous mistake.

*

After high school, there was not much going on. I decided to skip college because it all sounded so boring. Reading, writing and math would never be my cup of tea. But what I failed to understand at the time was that forgoing college would encapsulate me in a suburban nightmare — living with my parents, no parties, no girls and no concerts. Nothing that remotely resembled fun. It was as if alien body snatchers stole all of the 18 and 19 year olds from my town during the three months following high school graduation.

I wasted my first year after high school delivering pizzas and working part-time as a telemarketer. I hung out with my few remaining slacker friends on Saturday nights at the local bowling alley. We would always manage to get our hands on some beer. Other than that, my hometown was completely dead.

A daytime TV commercial inspired me to make my way down to the Army recruiting station. I was greeted by a middle-aged soldier with a crisp, clean uniform and an incredibly unimaginative haircut. We chatted for a bit, and the soldier gave me some brochures. I then meandered a few blocks down the road, and had a similar conversation with a polite but intense gentleman at the Marines recruiting station. In the end, I never signed up for the U.S. Armed Forces. I don’t really know why.

A few months later, I was perusing through a used bookstore, and happened upon a book about the French Foreign Legion. What surprised me most was that the Legion accepted cadets from any country in the world. Even better, the Legion would teach me how to speak French and would provide me with a new name and a French passport. I decided right away that my new name would be Rambo Norris.

Action, adventure, challenge — all of this awesomeness in an exotic location (France would seem exotic to you too if you grew up in Wisconsin). As a bonus, I was certain that the French women would be unbelievably hot and that they would go wild for my cool uniform and American accent.

*

You can only apply for the French Foreign Legion in person, in France. I squirreled away $3,000 working mind numbing jobs while living at home with my parents, then I secretly bought a one-way ticket to Paris.

As soon as I exited the plane, a pack of 50 muscular men in military fatigues ran by us civilians. A young woman leaned into my ear and gently whispered “French Foreign Legion.” Yes, the young woman was hot. I thought at that moment that I had made the best decision of my life. Little did I know what was to come.

*

Within four hours of my arrival in France, I was standing at the front of an unassuming, rundown building that was a Legion recruiting center. I forcibly knocked three times. About 60 seconds passed before a tall, thin man with dark hair answered the door. The man motioned with his hand, and I followed him inside.

After about three days of testing and evaluation, I was informed that I had been accepted as a cadet. I signed a contract committing myself to five years of service. It was the first contract I had ever signed. I was eventually presented with my new name — Luc Bernard. So much for Rambo Norris.

The training is harsh and brutal and there is almost no rest. The marching and drills never end. I answer to a Corporal who is downright cruel, and the men do not respect him. When a cadet fails to perform drills correctly, the Corporal will hold out his arm straight and make a fist. The man is then ordered to run head on into it, smashing his own face. So completely dumb and pointless.

Some of the toughest and most determined people I have ever met are in the Legion. But I have also learned that the Legion is a good place for those who do not want to be burdened with the weight of thinking for themselves. If I succeed with my cadet training, my role as a Legionnaire will be to protect France’s interests in Africa and elsewhere around the globe. What a waste of my youth.

I recently befriended “Pierre” (his new name). Pierre has red hair, light-skin, and freckles. What’s funny is that Pierre is from Morocco and does not speak a lick of English. He reminds me of Ralph Malph from that old TV show, “Happy Days.” Despite our language barrier, I have managed to speak with Pierre a little. It seems that Morocco is quite a bad place, and Pierre is glad to be here.

As for me, I miss going to the movies, eating pizza and Doritos, and seeing my family. There is another cadet here, a British boy just out of high school, who shares my dissatisfaction with the Legion and is ready to return to a country with a Queen. We have decided to desert at the first opportunity.

I have no money and no provisions. I am not sure what the penalty is for deserting the French Foreign Legion, but it is a risk I am willing to take. After two weeks of this misery, Saturday nights at the bowling alley drinking stolen beer with my loser friends sounds like paradise.

Thank you for reading! Find more stories at jlenderfiction.wordpress.com

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