That would be me. It took a day. I was aware the evening of the day before, but my immediate superiors were not.

Let me start by giving context; a good friend of mine was caught snorting cocaine in a nightclub in Plymouth on the night we returned from Afghanistan. His dishonourable discharge took almost four months…

I put my chit in to leave the Marines on the first day that I was able, in January 2007, while serving as a signaller in Helmand, Afghanistan. The same day I spoke to my boss, the signalling troop captain, about my desire for early release so that I could start university in the autumn. The notice period is nominally a year but it is common to be let off after 10 months or so, and I was asking to be let off with a few months more. He said these things were rarely granted but to file an official request and he’d support me in my efforts.

Well OK, I thought, it’s worth a try…

I made my case in writing, in a letter addressed to the same officer. I explained that I had a place at Edinburgh University to study geophysics and meteorology, and that I would prefer not to defer. I noted that I would be recently returned from Afghanistan and therefore unlikely to be required for another operation anytime soon. There may have been a small-scale deployment somewhere but those sort of things are highly sought after, they would have sent another more dedicated signaller, not somebody eager to return to civi-street. It would have been at least a year, more likely 18 months, before my unit was returned to any major operation requiring all hands on deck, and by that time I’d have been long gone — early release or not. I tried to make the case that keeping me in for my full notice period would serve no useful purpose for our unit, but would be very inconvenient to my future plans for education and fulfillment.

A few days later my boss showed me his letter passing my request up to the unit CO. There was a line about how I’d been told that my request was unusual and unlikely to be granted. A line about how I wished to attend university but that my plans beyond then were “unclear” — that’s a career military man for you; planning on attending a four-year honours degree program is happy-go-lucky nonchalance… He included no judgment of whether or not he thought my case was reasonable. To paraphrase, his letter was “One of my uppity men wants to leave our glorious Royal Marines for some ridiculous idea of further education. I’ve told him to not get above his station. What say you, sir?”

Some months later, while staying at my dad’s house on post operation leave, I thought I may as well try a second time. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I wrote another reasoned letter but this time ignored the chain of command and sent it direct to my unit CO.

I never heard anything back, but my dad asked me if I thought a letter from him would do any good. I laughed and thanked him for his concern, but this wasn’t gym class at high school; a note from a parent wasn’t going to cut it.

My mum didn’t bother to ask me. My parents are divorced so they hadn’t discussed this, but she’d served in the Navy when she was younger and knew that me asking Mum to write me a note would not go down well… So she wrote the note anyway but was careful to emphasize that I had neither asked for the note nor had she even told me she was planning on sending it. She laid out roughly the same case as I had, and she addressed it to the Commandant-General of the Royal Marines, Cc’d to my unit CO, and to Tony Blair, and to Defence Secretary Des Browne, and to First Minister of Scotland Jack McConnell…

She told me after she’d sent it, and apologized if it caused me any grief. I thanked her and told her I expected not to hear anything at all.

But I was wrong. A couple of days later I was called into my boss’s office (same boss). I got the stand-don’t-sit treatment. I was told to have words with my mum and that all she’d done was piss a lot of people off. He said the honourable thing would be to withdraw my notice and serve the 22 years I’d signed up for*. But, smiles now, good news he said, he had found me a new job opportunity! I would be serving drinks in the senior NCOs’ bar every evening. This is the sort of job they give to the lazy wasters who serve their 22 years with as little effort as possible. The guys who always have an excuse when any soldiering is actually required, or physical exercise, God forbid.

With the deepest respect to those people who have ever worked behind bars, it’s not what I wanted to spend a year of my early 20s doing. I said as much and the smiles dropped. This wasn’t an opportunity after all, this was him telling me he didn’t want me in his troop anymore. Just not so much that he’d consider supporting my desire to leave completely.

A day or two later we were on the ranges training when towards the end of the day I had a phone call from my mum. She was in tears. She’d just got off the phone with the Commandant-General’s second in command; the big man was on holiday. But he thought that my case was reasonable and sensible and didn’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to leave. He said he’d pass the order down to let me leave.

The next day I turned up at our troop offices at 9 a.m. as normal. Nothing seemed untoward. We went off to do some exercise together and came back at 10 to sign out our weapons which needed cleaning. Ten minutes later one of the lads ran into my room where I was cleaning my rifle with a huge grin on his face. “Eddy mate they’re letting you leave! They’re pissed! They’re going to make you leave today! I’ll sort your weapon for you. Get back to the boss’s office and don’t let on that I told you anything!”

And so began my last day as a Marine.

In my boss’s office I had the stand-don’t-sit treatment again. He told me I was making the Marines look childish, that I was getting my way with a note from my mum. I reminded him that I had nothing to do with the letter; he didn’t believe me and I didn’t care. I didn’t point out that it wasn’t my fault that a note from a parent held more power than a reasoned request transmitted through the chain of command.

I don’t know what the order passed down said; something about granting me early release, I doubt a time span was specified. They could have held on to me for another few months if they wanted to, until the university term began. They could have taken their time with an orderly discharge over the course of the week. But they decided instead to throw a collective tantrum; I was told I had to be off the base that evening by 8 p.m. That the duty senior NCO would march me off camp at that time (I’d never heard of that sort of thing, even for dishonourable discharges).

My discharge had to be completed within business hours, and it took a lot of running around base handing things in and getting things signed. I had to have medical and dental examinations before I’d be turned over from the military health care system to the NHS. Forms stamped here and there. It was a lot of work and inconvenience for a lot of people across the camp, and completely unnecessary. There was no reason I couldn’t have spent the rest of the week sorting these things out, which would have provided the opportunity for a farewell night out with my mates. Instead I had to leave in the evening after a busy day and drive overnight home to Scotland.

The duty senior NCO was apologetic when he marched me off camp (by which I mean he watched me drive through the gates); he thought the order was small minded and petty, but it had come direct from the unit CO, so that was that.

My boss’s testimony that he wrote in my discharge papers was telling — damnation by faint praise; every positive attribute he could pin on me was ascribed to benefits provided by the Marines.

But best of all was the dressing down I received from the company sergeant-major. “You got what you wanted didn’t you! You made my Corps look like a fucking nursery school! You could have been honourable and served your time but you stamped your feet… What the Fuck! That had better not be a fucking smirk I see on your fucking face! Get out, fuck off, get out of my sight!”

Oh, gladly, sir! Gladly!

* A few people have commented on the 22 years. That is nominally what you sign up for when you join, but it’s more of a maximum term than a minimum expectation. Probably 95% leave before their 22 years is up. But it’s what my boss said that day, so an example of his viewpoint on the issue!

My client was a very, very wealthy woman whose husband had hit big in the oil patch when it was going strong. Her husband had sold several wells to a friend and the price was to be paid out over several years until the price as agreed (adjusted for inflation) was paid in full. In the meantime, both parties to the original deal had passed away. So on the buyer’s side, there was only a trust, and on the seller’s side, the widow who knew nothing about business or the original deal. But she had been getting an annual check for quite some time. The problem arose because the trust kept on writing those annual checks for several years after the purchase price was paid in full. The law is quite clear that if someone is accidently paid money or other value, and the error is found, they have to give the overpayment back. This is why people who get money from a bank accidently credited to their account don’t get to keep it.

Anyway, the lady got a letter from the trust (which had been audited and had found the error) demanding she pay back several million in 10 days. So she hired the most prominent, well-connected firm in town and ignored the suit. They answered, and likewise ignored the thing. Time passed, and finally, someone on behalf of the trust filed a motion seeking summary judgment. The big law firm panicked since they thought she would be angry with them if she lost. And she was, but since there was yet no judgment, they asked if I would take over the case. Now, to them, this meant that I couldn’t complain when she lost, and they could blame me. I wasn’t going to do it, but her son, who was the lover of a good friend of mine, asked me to see what I could do. So I researched it and said I would try.

It turns out that there is one small defense. To the extent my new client had to pay taxes on the money she shouldn’t have gotten, she was entitled to a dollar-for-dollar credit against the money she owed. So I prepared and filed a fairly thick answer citing revenue rulings and tax law to that effect. We went to the hearing. The judge picked up my 2″ thick pleadings (mostly attachments) and said “there must be a fact issue in there somewhere” and denied the summary judgment motion. All that actually meant was that we would be set for trial sometime when no one had anything else to do. But the other lawyer was just gobsmacked! He couldn’t understand why they lost. He sent me a nice, but rather anguished, letter saying that. I acknowledged his research into the issue, and added only that he hadn’t researched enough. Of course, I was only referring to my credit I’d found, but it turned out that no one at his firm understood my answer either.

The upshot was that her accountants and the trust’s accountants got together, figured the thing out, reached a compromise figure, and settled. She paid the trust; they dismissed the suit, and I looked like a hero! Only the accountants knew the truth, and happily for me, they didn’t tell. But it was enough to put her off the whole state. She moved, and I never heard from her again.

But she got enough of a tax credit that she was only out about $500k on the several million in profit, so she was in the black, the trust moved on to other things, and the big firm never, ever sent me another case again. Apparently they were disappointed that I hadn’t just lost like a lady.

I walked out. The car I was looking at was more than I wanted to pay for it. I test drove it, my wife drove it, we did a mechanical check on it, and we sat down with the sales guy. He didn’t even want to talk price, he just gave me a form that showed what I was going to give him for the car. With taxes and fees it came out to $5000 more than on the sticker. I threw a number back at him, he scoffed and said we don’t negotiate. I told him, I don’t pay what’s on the paper. I then asked him about his “fees” and what they were for. He told me, he didn’t know, just that everyone had to pay them. I said I wasn’t going to pay them, he then told me that “You’re the most important person in here right now, but even the president would have to pay these fees” he then accused me of yelling at him, which I didn’t so I got up and walked out. My wife was embarrassed. We knew that cars are hard to come by and we needed a new van, but you never show weakness to sales people. She asked what was going to happen next. I told her, they will call me back and ask me to come back to talk, probably tomorrow. I was 1 mile down the road, and they called. I wouldn’t turn around until they gave me a price. I told them I am about to get on the freeway, and when I do, I won’t come back. To get me back in, they gave it to me for the price I wanted. Drove back, wrote them a check, signed the paperwork and drove it home.

Had a former boss tell me I couldn’t take PTO for a family emergency.

I assured him that all of my near-term deliverables were on track; my customers were okay with me being out for a few days; I had no major meetings scheduled during the time I’d be away; and I had people lined up to cover any issues that arose in my absence. I also pointed out that I’d cashed in PTO three years in a row, because I rarely took any significant fraction of the vacation time I was entitled to.

My boss didn’t care. He told me I couldn’t leave.

I went back to my desk and typed out my resignation, offering the customary two-week notice, to be scheduled around the time I was taking off for my family emergency. I sent it to my boss, with a Cc to my personal email account, so I’d have a paper trail when my company access was shut off.

My boss responded immediately with an email, telling me to come to his office. I responded (by email) telling him to come to my office, because I was busy clearing personal effects out of my desk and organizing things for my replacement.

I was the lead on four major projects, and I’d just brought in a major contract for which I’d written the technical proposal and the execution plan. I was also responsible for training new team members because I’d created most of our standard operating procedures. That didn’t make me irreplaceable, but the company was going to have a rough time for at least a few months after my departure.

I was stacking my things in a cardboard box when he walked in. I was getting two or three job offers a week back then, so he knew I wasn’t bluffing.

He explained that he couldn’t afford to lose me for most of a week. (Which was BS, but whatever.) I told him he had a simple choice: lose me for a week, or lose me permanently.

He approved my PTO request and told me to unpack my stuff.

I did.

We never spoke of it again. My resignation letter wasn’t a tactic to change his mind. I fully intended to walk out.

He knew it.

Toasted Sesame Steak

The marinade, which includes Gourmet Collection Toasted Sesame Seed, soy sauce, brown sugar and ground ginger, gives steak great Asian flavor.

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon McCormick® Gourmet Collection Sesame Seed, toasted*
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon McCormick® Gourmet Collection Onion Powder
• 1/4 teaspoon McCormick® Gourmet Collection Black Pepper, Coarse Grind
• 1/4 teaspoon McCormick® Gourmet Collection Garlic Salt
• 1/4 teaspoon McCormick® Gourmet Collection Ginger, Ground
• 1 1/2 pounds boneless New York strip steak

Instructions

1. Mix all ingredients, except steak, in small bowl.
2. Place steak in large resealable plastic bag or glass dish. Add marinade; turn to coat well.
3. Refrigerate at least 2 hours or overnight for best flavor.
4. Remove steak from marinade. Discard any remaining marinade.
5. Broil or grill over medium-high heat 6 to 8 minutes per side or until desired doneness.

Prep: 10 min | Refrigerate: 2 hr | Cook: 16 min | Yield: 6 servings

Notes

* If using McCormick® Gourmet Collection Sesame Seed, first toast in a small skillet over medium heat 2 minutes or until fragrant and golden brown. Immediately pour out of hot pan to avoid over-toasting.

For best flavor, marinate steak overnight.

Yes.

I had a recurring nightmare from the age of 16 until age 37.

I kept dreaming that I would be involved in a car accident when I was 37. It would be a Thursday morning, with recent snowfall and I would be driving too fast in slippery conditions.

Sometimes I was the driver of a car, sometimes an observer walking across the bridge. Sometimes the driver was injured, sometimes the observer was injured.

In my dream, there was a crash, the car hit the abutment of the bridge, my body was crushed, and the pain and shock was so extreme that I shot out of my body and hovered above it.

I was amazed to be suddenly much higher, and was attracted to look at something below, which turned out to be a badly mangled body in a crushed car.

I felt compassion for the body, and then suddenly realized that it was my body. When asked if I wished to return to the body and reanimate it.

I asked if I could experience it for a moment and then decide, if it had suffered irreversible and catastrophic brain damage, and if the damage would make me dependent on others; the answers were yes to all questions.

The pain was too intense upon re-entry, and I chose to die. This dream happened at least once a month between ages 16 and 37, and sometimes weekly, and because of it I avoided getting a driver’s license for years.

The year I was 37 I had no option but to drive across a bridge every day on my way to work, and told my boss (who did not laugh) about my dream.

For her part, she told me every day if it was going to snow overnight, but it only snowed overnight on a Wednesday once that winter.

That is when it happened. I was 37, it was a Thursday morning, and as my boss had warned me the night before, it had snowed overnight and there was fresh snow on the ground.

I had to drive over a bridge to get to work. However, I was not driving too fast for the winter conditions, because of my dream.

There were 2 things that were different than in my dreams: a car almost cut me off at the point where my dreams had me lose control (unlike in my dream, in which I was driving too quickly), and the observer on the bridge was farther back from the crash scene than in my dreams.

When I noticed those two differences, I felt a flash of hope, since I recognized the rest of the conditions as being the same as in my dream.

I had the sense that the observer was aware of me just as I was aware of her. Because of my dream, I was aware of a car driving in my blind spot, next to the trunk of my car and in the next lane.

I only had 1–2 seconds to react, but in emergency situations time seems to expand to allow life-saving actions.

I managed to move to the right partly into the other car`s lane, and the driver in that car saw what was happening and managed to swerve to make room for me. The car that was about to cut me off reversed direction.

I could clearly see the sick apprehensive look on that driver’s face as he realized that his careless crossing of the road could cause an accident.

I heard a “thonk!” and my car rocked, and then I was past the rapidly reversing car.

I stopped at the nearest coffee shop because the adrenaline rush made my hands too shaky to steer.

I picked up some coffees and doughnuts to give to the staff at work in apology because I was the receptionist and I was going to be late.

I arrived 15 minutes late to work, explained what happened and distributed the coffee and doughnuts, and then my boss and I went out to look at my car.

There was a scrape and dent in the fender that hadn’t been there before. Without the recurring dream, I would not have been alerted to the danger.

I never had that nightmare again.

I wasn’t quite written up but it was close. I’m not sure why the supervisor didn’t and those in the chain of command didn’t write me up. The charge would have been insubordination.

Several years ago, my wife and I became pregnant with our first child. As time went on and we started telling people, I also notified my supervisor and that when the baby comes, I plan on taking 2 months FMLA. The baby was due Sept 24th and the supervisor was aware of this.

So the due date is drawing closer and my plan was to basically work until the baby came and start my leave then. The supervisor was on board with this initially…then the questions started. This isn’t the exact conversation but it’s close:

Supervisor: “What day are you leaving?”

Me: “I don’t know what day…it’s when the baby comes”

Supervisor:”Well…what day will that be?”

Me:” I don’t know what day the baby will come. He’s due on the 24th but he may come before or after that day”

Supervisor:” I seriously need to know what day the baby will arrive! (Supervisor getting visibly agitated with my responses).

Me: “It’s a baby….I don’t know..babies come when they are ready. I can’t make him come any faster’ (supervisor getting more agitated.

Supervisor:” Quit playing games with me…you want to continue this game, I’ll have your ass in IA and you won’t know what hit you!!

Me:”What??? For what?”

Supervisor:”Insubordination!! I’m asking you a simple question and you are refusing to answer it…I’ll write it up right now!”

Me:”Babies don’t work like that. When the baby comes, you’ll be the first to know!”

This conversation continued and I was getting nowhere. The supervisor kept saying they would write me up…this was threatened several times. Finally I said? You want a day? Tomorrow! Baby comes tomorrow. Tonight will be my last shift!”

Supervisor: “You sure tomorrow?”

Me: “I guess so. I’m going to go with tomorrow.”

This conversation just continued…. Finally, I said I was done…got in my police car and went back on the street for a bit.

My son came on the 22nd.

The Sgt in IA was a good friend of mine and I sometimes vented to him. When I was off, the IA Sgt came to visit us and the baby. I told him about the strange exchange and that before I returned from FMLA, I was going to put in my papers for a transfer request out of that supervisors unit. He understood and agreed that it might be the right thing to do.

So, several weeks go by and I haven’t sent in the transfer request yet. The IA Sgt calls me and asked me if I submitted it and I told him I had not but would in the next few days. He just responded that he couldn’t go into detail but to not submit that paperwork. He wouldn’t tell me why but just kept telling me to not do it yet. He said I’d find out in a couple of days.

A few days later, the news broke within the department. There were widespread transfers through the entire department. A department reorganization due to such low manpower (nobody wanted to be a cop then). That supervisor got sent down to our property room which was in the basement. The property room was packed to the hilt and one could barely walk in there. It was always hot and humid down there. So off he went and I remained in my position. That supervisor remained in that basement until retirement.

My husband died suddenly at 50 in 2018. I lost everything very quickly. I was staying in a friends camper van and working in his companies to try and save for a car. I wasn’t making much progress. My friends from high school started a fund raiser on Face Book for me and collected almost a thousand dollars. I was thrilled!

I opened a bank account & was waiting for the money to transfer to it, when I met a guy next door who handled all the yards in the area. We became friends. He was very helpful & always there for me. I contacted Face Book when a lot of time had gone by and the money was still not in my account. I was surprised to hear that it had been transferred a long time ago and did not go to my account. Instead it went into a Netspend account that was owned by the guy next door. He stole money from a widow and befriended me the whole time he was waiting to receive the money.

It was so strange. He didn’t feel bad about what he did at all. He freely admitted it. He even told me that I did not deserve that money because he doubted I ever loved by husband being he did not see me cry etc.

So flash forward about three months and his picture comes up on the news. He was being called the Xmas bandit. He ended up robbing a whole community that was mostly retired law enforcement and took their Christmas presents.

While a reporter was interviewing one of his victims and asking what he looked like, he drove by in the car he used which had a big dent on one side. The victim pointed out the car and he was mobbed and arrested for his crime.

They made fun of what an idiot he was and how stupid to rob a community of retired law enforcement. He went to prison for that. So dumb.

Two reasons compared to almost anywhere else in the world.

Size counts and it means you actually pay more but hey world class?

Market size. I know, I manufactured products in Australia and you simply do not have a large enough market to keep your prices down.

1. Australia insists on paying a liveable wage to everyone regardless of the job that they do.
2. There is a 3rd reason rarely mentioned, OLIGOPOLIES (meaning a few companies dominate an industry) are not only tolerated but encouraged in every single segment of the economy. That means very little competition and it is always getting worse.

EXAMPLE : HARDWARE STORE –

BUNNINGS – As of 2022, the chain has 381 stores and over 53,000 employees. Bunnings has a market share of around 50 percent in the Australian do it yourself hardware market, with competing chains including Mitre 10, Home Hardware and various independent retailers around Australia. WIKIPEDIA

BANKS: TOP 5 HAVE 80% + MARKET SHARE – There are supposedly 96 different banks in Australia, however Com Bank, Westpac, ANZ, and Macquarie totally dominate. By comparison, the USA has over 5,000 banks.

UNIVERSITIES:

• University of Melbourne.
• Australian National University.
• University of Sydney.
• The University of Queensland.
• Monash University.
• The University of New South Wales.
• The University of Western Australia.
• The University of Adelaide.

They dominate the entire country.

Get the picture. Everyone discounts the effect this has on prices in Australia. If you are one of the top 5 banks, the top 8 universities or Bunnings which literally dwarfs everyone else, then you control the market. You control pricing, you control money, you control students, you control the economy as this continues in every industry.

Australia loves ‘scale’ so it can compete globally. Nice but the reality is the people of Australia pay for this scale and innovation is blocked and new entrants have a very difficult time to get in. Once you are in, you are pretty much set unless you really screw up. It used to be partnering between manufacturers and say Bunnings. No longer. It is Bunnings now as Australia makes just about nothing.

That is the final reason that prices are so high, virtually all industrial goods meaning cars, petroleum products, white goods even door locks (I know I closed the last Black & Decker door lock factory in Newcastle over 25 years ago) are imported.

Why does this make imported goods expensive? Because the game with China is all about volume and Australia does not have enough volume to really interest the biggest Chinese exporters. Bunnings has some limited clout but nothing compared to US giants like Home Depot.

Bunnings USD12 billion revenue – Home Depot USD132 billion or more than 10X Bunnings which is 50% of the Australian market.

So please don’t complain about prices when you are in Australia. Instead do this like we all do:

Grab a sausage on Saturdays at Bunnings. Best AU$2.50 you can spend in the country. In fact take 2 with lots of onions and all of the sauces.

Then go on inside and spend and spend and spend, after all Bunnings is an institution in Australia at this point.

I was at work. This guy had been driving down the highway at, probably, 65 mph when he dropped his cigarette lighter into the passenger floorboard of his car. He leaned way over to dig around for the lighter.

His car ran right into the back of a slow-moving farm implement. A giant tractor was pulling this big, folded up field cultivator which lined up just above the hood. The entire top of the car was sheared right off, and then the bumper of the car finally hit the undercarriage of that farm implement, bringing it to a stop with the roof still attached by a few threads of metal but peeled back like a sardine can and hanging over the trunk.

The driver of the car was a little banged up, but fine.

Everybody at the crash scene was standing around, agreeing that leaning way down to pick up that cigarette lighter had saved the driver’s life, as it had allowed him to duck the steel cultivator blades passing at high speed through the space his head had occupied a few moments before.

Nobody seemed to consider the fact that, had his head been in line with the windshield instead of down in the passenger-side footwell, he probably wouldn’t have hit that gigantic farm implement in the first place.

This is Earl Silverman – A men’s rights activist.

A few years ago, he founded the only men’s shelter in Canada and paid for it out of his own pocket.

He called it the “Men’s Alternative Safe House”.

The motivation came from the fact that, he too, used to be in a domestically abusive relationship with his wife.

Even the government agreed that men were almost as likely to be victims as women: Family violence in Canada: A statistical profile.

Realizing that there were 593 for women and ZERO for men (at the time), he made his altruistic vocation a reality.

It didn’t last.

Eventually, his personal finances ran dry. Despite frequently reaching out to the Canadian government and various other privately funded domestic abuse agencies, he received NOTHING.

And remember, this was the only men’s shelter in Canada.

Soon, he was forced to sell his house AND shut down the shelter.

Shortly afterwards, he committed suicide.

This incident is a cluster of humanitarian issues.

The most worrying of which is the Canadian government’s overall view on Gendered violence: it’s uni-directional.

And honestly, it’s not hard to see why he received ZERO funding from the government.

Canada’s federal association for domestic abuse unashamedly ONLY caters to women.

Men don’t receive a lot of sympathy.

No one cares for the thousands of male victims of domestic violence in Canada, or the thousands that commit suicide.

Society isn’t exactly kind to women either, at least those that don’t fit into certain expectations, but they’re still harsher on men.

Or rather, they’re more apathetic.

The harshest truth about being a man is that society doesn’t care if you’re abused, or mistreated.