There was this guy, Ron, at my university who was one of those quiet older guys who worked campus patrol and spent a lot of time getting drunk in the campus bar. He was a pudgy, lackadaisical fellow with glasses, stubble, a beer belly, flip flops, and flappy loose pants–basically your run-of-the-mill schlub. So when everyone said he was an ex-Israeli paratrooper who kicked in doors and shot at people, I thought it was horseshit. Sure, he seemed a bit miffed whenever he caught me drinking or smoking in the hallway, but for the most part he was a pretty chill guy. In fact he had a weird, unsettling optimism about everything that, now that I think about it, was probably more of an "I survived a war, so the rest of life is a giant delicious piece of cake with whipped cream and Skittles on top" deal than your standard schlubby bliss. Anyway, I recently decided to ask him about it his time in the army.Read the rest at viceland.
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