I have told the story before about how, in the days after 9/11, I called up an acquaintance who worked at the Pentagon to see how I could volunteer for the National Guard or similar, to patrol airports or do something equivalent that would involve protecting something or someone.
As it happened, he was busy brushing concrete dust from his hair, in a manner of speaking, and he told me a) that if the ragheads attacked the North Side of Chicago, I’d get a call from him, and b) to fuck off and stop bothering him because he had better things to do than deal with a cranky overweight old fart who couldn’t patrol a living room without frequent rest stops. (I was 47 years old at the time.)
I mention this tale of woe only because of this development:
DHS Secretary Kristi Noem announced that Immigration and Customs Enforcement is now waiving age limits for new applicants “so even more patriots will qualify to join ICE in its mission to arrest murderers, pedophiles, gang members, rapists, and other criminal illegal aliens from America’s streets.”
Well, even though I’m now a sprightly youngster of 70 — soon to be 71 — that magic phrase “waiving age limits” was like a spur to my civic consciousness, and I thought, “Why the hell not?”
Surely I could do something for the cause, even if it was just working a desk or driving a vehicle, thus freeing up some younger guy to perform, shall we say, more energetic activities?
Alas. The very next statement from the lovely Kristi ended that little dream:
“All ICE law enforcement recruits will be required to go through medical screening, drug screening, and complete a physical fitness test.”
Ah, shit. Medical screening: no problem. My doctor has assured me that I am, if anything, healthier than I’ve been in over a decade. Drug screening: forget that, unless a positive test for BP meds or statins is a disqualifier, I’m good to go.
But a physical fitness test? Aw, shit. No way will I get through that, because even though I’ve lost considerable weight (thankee Ozempic), I doubt whether I could do more than a few pushups, and as for running some distance longer than, say, running to catch a bus to the pub, I’m screwed.
As the saying goes: the spirit may be willing, but the flesh is weak — in my case, beyond redemption.
I think I’ll go to the range.
