From: nusbache@epas.utoronto.ca (Aryk Nusbacher)
Subject: Re: empty
Organization: University of Toronto - Office of the Provost
Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1992 01:12:53 GMT

Letter to Judy
29 November, 1992

Dear Jude,

I just completed my first assignment as an army officer.  I went to the St.
Andrew's Ball.  This was no simple mission, mind you.  First of all, in order
to go to the ball, I needed a date.  And Cindy's cousin was married this
weekend past, so she couldn't make it.  Next, I needed a uniform.  Then I
needed to get there on time and dance at least once.

First, a date.  Asked Leigh.  No good -- Leigh is taking two courses, and she
has a paper due on Monday.  She regretfully declines.  Andrea? Nope -- it's
her mother's 65th birthday.  Right, we ask Jennifer.  She has the advantage
if being two yards tall in her socks, with a figure like a runway model's, and
enough oof to hold up her financial end (i.e. enough spondulicks to acquire
the appropriate clothing).  So Jennifer is eager to come.  I leave her to
make a hair appointment, and set about getting a uniform together.

The uniform for a dress ball is either mess kit or No. 2 Blue Patrols.  Since
mess kit has to be bought from a firm of military tailors in Vancouver, most
of the young subalterns (which includes me) stick to No. 2 Blue Patrols. 
First I check my room-mate Jeremy's closet.  Yes, he has his mess kit back
from the cleaner's (for him to wear) and Matt Anderson's blue tunic (for me
to wear).  Next I go to regimental stores to sign for the rest of the
uniform.  No officers' kilts in the stores.  No cap badges.  No Glengarry
caps.  No shoulder titles.  But there is an Other Ranks' kilt that's only two
sizes too big, and Capt Bradfield might have a cap and badge, and Maj Turner
might have shoulder titles, and the proper red socks can be bought at
MacNeil's on Avenue Road.  It's rather like a scavenger hunt.  And it meant
that I didn't have time to take Jennifer to any of the dance classes
sponsored by the St Andrew's Society (who sponsor the ball).

Next part is getting Jennifer down to the Ball.  She's changing at her
friend's house downtown (she lives out in the sticks), after her appointment
with the hairdresser recommended by her sister (who is a model).  And pick
up Frank Hung and his date, Rebecca (who is in Middle Eastern and Islamic
Studies).  Then we all boot down to the Royal York, I drop them off at the
entrance and park 'round the back. So I'm late, and hurrying to the ballroom,
and the organiser sees me rushing in, tucking my white gloves into my hat. 
"You're Hung!" he cries, bringing me up short.  "I beg your pardon," I say. 
"You're at Lt Hung's table," he says.  So I agree, and the evening continues,
with Jennifer and myself shuttling between the Highland Dancing room, the
Scottish Country Dancing room, and (most importantly) the suite which our
regimental mess rented and supplied with our own bartender.  At one point
in the evening I ran into an acquaintance of mine who is an Anglican priest. 
He was wearing his formal priest's clothes, and having a devil of a time
getting anyone to dance with him.  So I brought him up to the mess and within
half an hour, our regiment's chaplain had talked him into volunteering to be
chaplain of the Toronto Scottish Regt (another local unit).
But that's off-topic.  I managed to get Jennifer to dance twice (she was
wearing a strapless dress which is not easily compatible with Highland
dancing).  And when the dust had cleared (and the big bagpipe concert which
finished the evening had wailed away to nothing), I drove Jennifer back home
to Richmond Hill (it was 3am by this time, but her family had waited up to
take pictures), then went home and we all sat around finishing off the wine
until dawn, when we went to sleep.

In the morning ... or, rather, the afternoon ... we breakfasted on lox and
bagels.  Jeremy and Shona and I, and our guests (Lt Walker and 2Lt McPhie,
who found it necessary to spend the night on various surfaces around the
apartment) sat around and discussed the others.  Marcus's date Lisa, who'd
worn a dress short and tight enough that she couldn't reach a glass out of
the cupboard at the pre-ball party ... Mike's date Stacy (or was it Tracy?)
and whether she'd go out with Scotty if he asked her ... just how old was the
girl Jeremy's father had fixed him up with, and had she graduated from high
school ... whether the gormless Justin's sharp-looking girlfriend was really
interested in Justin, or whether she could ... and where was Mike's bow-tie
anyway?

So there it is -- my first military mission.  The infantry officer determines
the objective, identifies threats, identifies opportinities, plans his
strategy ... no, wait, that's the business executive ... oh, well.  I've only
been an infantry officer for a week, and I've been too busy polishing my
shoes and borrowing a whistle-cord to learn anything about commanding a
section of dismounted Highland infantry.

Actually, I'll have a chance to get out into the field in January -- when it's
nice and chilly at the training base up in Meaford.  And, of course, there's
the Garrison Ball in February.

...

Cheers,
Aryk
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