[A man enters the Mess, which is an entirely appropriate place, since he is one, as well. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and he has a bad case of keyboard face (aka qwertyitis). His normally clean and sharply pressed flightsuit is a rumpled mess, covered with stains of fast-food, coffee and beer. And the jacket he wears isn't even his own...it's a summer issue jacket, at least two sizes too small (the cuffs don't even cover his watch) with the name of "Captain Robert Morgan, USAAF" on the front and the artwork of the 'Memphis Belle' on the back. Stuck to the bottom of one boot is a floppy disk label...neither boot is tied. He carries in one hand a book the says 'Trauma Service Annual Report, 1996' and in the other, a sheaf of paper that reads 'Ohio Chapter 8th Air Force Historical Society Newsletter.' As he approaches the kitchen, a laryngoscope and a syringe of lidocaine falls out of one of his pockets...]
So that's where those went. Hey Murphy! I could really use some tea, extra strong. Pretty please with sugar on top.
[He staggers out to find a chair...any chair...and slumps down into it, mumbling]
Gotta drop a job or two.
[Before Murphy can even fill the tea kettle with water, the sound of snoring fills the Mess]