The Sure Cure for Insomnia

Every month, twice a month, on the first and second Tuesday, for an anguish 50 minutes, at that place is a common thought betwixt Noncommissioned Officers (NICOs) to poke out an eye and run scream from a room to avoid being forced to listen to a lecture being delivered by speakers who could easily be sick the Serta sheep out of business.

The purpose of the lectures is to provide professional development, but what it becomes is an opportunity to write grocery lists, come ceiling tiles, or discern what one would rather be or could be doing. inaccurately titled as Noncommissioned Officer Professional ontogenesis or NCODP it would be more accurate to title it as Noncommissioned Officer Daydreaming Party.

The physical location of the lectures whitethorn provide a conducive learning environment, but the case of speaking and presentation skills on the part of speaker everlastingly seems to leave a look on the faces of the audience interchangeable to that of hearing another Hilary Clinton joke or how one cogency look after sending a raunchy e-mail to the wrong person. Yet, with each lecture, there is anticipation that this one pull up stakes be the experience that will impart onto each NCO the possibilities of winning the mundane to new exciting levels not usually finish in military training.

However, Tuesday, December 9, 2003, proved to be no exception. The unit First Sergeant introduced the speaker, and it quickly went downhill from there; she lost us at hello. The topic forced institutionalise from everyones lungs in the form if an elongated sigh which echoed through the auditorium wish well the last breath of a dying man. We knew we were down for the count; some began writing their last will and testament charm others succumbed to the inevitable and leaned forward in their seats to lessen the fall...

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