My father told me a perplexing story about his time in the Marines, and two rival staff sergeants in a bizarre debate.
One of the sergeants was sure the best way to numb a man’s index finger was to pinch it in an ammo clip. The other was sure that he could do a better by biting down on the finger. I’m not sure about the pratical value of this information, but they decided it was necessary to do a field test, and volunteered my father.
Holding out his hand, they tested the ammo clip. After that, the other sergeant bit down on the same finger.
“Which one worked better puke bag?” the staff sergeant asked.
My father replied, “Sir, I don’t know. My finger was numb after the ammo clip, sir.”
Beyond the brutality, the story stuck with me because I couldn’t help thinking they should’ve tested different fingers. I felt a little guilty about applying cold logic to the administration of pain.
I often pondered the answer to my follow up question too.
“Why did they pick you?”, I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said casually. “I think because they liked me.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”