So there you are, fresh new recruit in the army. You’ve just completed basic training, so all your bones and tendons hurt, and sometimes you see your drill sergeant when you close your eyes. You’re afraid, you’re always on edge, and a shadow flitting at the corner of your vision makes you jump. At the same time, though, you’re happy, because you are strong, and now when you wrestle with your brother you’re sure to win. But it would be nice if the night terrors stopped.

You eventually confide to your CO about all your fears and trauma, because now that you are a true soldier you’ve noticed that he is much kinder than you would ever have thought. Your CO tells you that this happens all the time, so often in fact that an act was passed to provide recuperating young recruits like you with compensation of the monetary kind. Hush money, you’re thinking, but you know how this base tends to be somewhat liberal with its funds, which is why you came, and you could really use the money to pay off those student loans. You tell him you’re interested. He tells you that the name of the act was the November act, named not for the month but for a young woman who did not quite make it through basic training. He tells you that to qualify you must fill out a form, known as a B-A Eleven-hundred November form, where the B-A stands for Bonus-Acquisition, because there was a miracle in bureaucracy and the suits above will simply transfer the funds directly into your account as a bonus. Eleven-hundred, your CO did not get in to, but you guess that’s about how much money you will acquire. You could really use eleven-hundred dollars, so you thank your CO and head towards the MOB in your search for the clerk, who you are certain must have this form.

You find the clerk, who was always very kind to you, and you ask her for a B-A Eleven-hundred November form. She widens her eyes for a second, then gets to searching her cabinets and drawers for such a form. After a bit of hunting around, the clerk comes up empty. The form is very popular, which is something which makes sense, considering everyone wants free money. Maybe the doctor on the second floor has one, she tells you, recruits like you go to him whenever they want something, because the doctor is someone you can trust, she continues. So you say goodbye and later find yourself in the doctor’s office, and then you ask him for the form. He, too, looks around but finds nothing. Sorry, he says, maybe the clerk in the admissions building, way on the other side of the base has one, because no one ever goes to that clerk. You grumble something about thank you and get on that half-kilo trek across the base in the hot summer heat. The clerk there looks lonely, and when you ask about the form the clerk goes blank for a second before spinning around and looking through cabinets. Unsurprisingly, at this point, the clerk finds nothing even resembling a B-A Eleven-hundred November form. You begin to have doubts if there even is such a thing as a B-A Eleven-hundred November form.

Later, you realize you look like a complete idiot looking all around base for a BA1100N and your CO makes it exceedingly clear that your IQ is below average. You are named clown of the year, and you are handed a congressional medal of humor and your portrait is hung up in the front office, with the subtitle below saying ‘Clown of the Year’. All the recruits laugh at you, the barracks are perpetually filled with them chuckling about the newest clown, and the previous clown of the year is especially overjoyed at your misfortune. You handle it for a day, but after they wouldn’t shut up ever, you quit the army. The CO understands your plight, and you are humorably discharged with a fat pension. Still, even with all your money, you are unhappy, and whenever you see the number 1100 you black out for a minute or two and only awaken when all signs of the cursed thing is atomized. You hate clowns, and when you are invited to a birthday with one you beat the clown mercilessly with your enhanced basic training combat skills. After living your life the best you could, you notice that your bank account balance is slowly nearing the number 1100, which must not happen. You find a job as an LA teacher at the nearby high school and live the rest of your life constantly in fear that someone will discover your clownish origins The end.