Cdt. Nakamura stands before Lt.Cmdr. Mundy’s desk, looking rather worried. She hands over three hand-written pieces of paper. Lt.Cmdr. Mundy reads them, tries not to smile, and asks,
“Other than the fact that some Jr. Officer can’t spell, what’s the problem, Nakamura?” Nakamura hesitates, but replies
,
“We think somebody is trying to copy your handwriting, Ma’am.”
Lt.Cmdr. Mundy looks terribly official as she counts out,
“One: if they are, they’re doing a terrible job of it. Two: imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Three: how do you know what my handwriting looks like? Oh, and Four: who is ‘we’?”
“Uhm, that’s Cdt. Song, Ma’am. She said you hand-wrote a recommendation…”
“So I did. Fair enough, Nakamura, that isn’t my handwriting. But, again, why is that a problem?”
“Well, Ma’am, we didn’t want it to look like you might have…”
“They’re better suggestions than the Sim Purple Heart. Even though that was spur of the moment, and I hadn’t had time to come up with anything better. Still, I would hate for anybody to think I’d spell “manoeuvre” like that, so thank you for your concern.”
“So… is that it, Ma’am?” Nakamura looks somewhere between confused and relieved.
“Of course it is. Off you go, Cadet, don’t you have some votes to count?”