I remember my first service from picket officer. I was twenty. Sigh!
I remember that when I was in a fraction of a second, I had to know, besides ordinary quisquilles, a couple of manuals with deliveries and plans for any event: from the barracks to the invasion of a foreign army.
After trying to read the plans shown in the "tomes", I decided that it was better to trust that everything would be smooth for the next 23 hours and a half. If we were invaded they would probably have captured me on 20 page.
I remember my first night inspection at the guard who controlled the perimeter of the barracks.
I warned the corporal inspector on the need not to make noise and then I did a shameful part by pounding broken glass and various materials along the way. What the hell ... I had taken the course in Cesano, me!
At night in a barracks you can hear a grain of sand rolling. What a figure!
I remember the inspection of the ammunition reserve: the light outside did not work!
Returning to the guard site, write the annotation on the register for the next day following the necessary maintenance.
Then at midnight, back to the barracks an elderly colleague and explains that the switch is not the one in sight but is hidden.
In fact with that the light goes on.
But I have now written down a failure in pen. Correcting involves leaving a "pecionata" on the register.
I'm italian. At night I return to the reserve. And I turn off the light.
