Hell no! We won't go!

So I got a call from the United States Marines recruiting office today.

My mom approached me, phone in hand, with obvious trepidation.
"Ben? The phone's for you," she said, keeping a firm clutch on the receiver.
"Who is it?"
"The Marines."
After a brief, pregnant pause, she reminded me to "remember my manners" and handed off the phone.
Now, I may be a pinko hippie scumbag, but I consider myself above chewing some hapless desk jockey out over the phone.
Anyway, Sgt. Wossname introduced himself and, in the interest of loosening me up, asked me what I was up to.
"Reading," I replied.
Now, I don't want to make any unwarranted generalizations, but I'd image that was about the point he began to realize he wasn't going to make the sale. He may have been more optimistic if I'd been polishing my impressive shotgun collection.
Undaunted, however, our boy in blue pursued the conversation.
"What is it that you're reading?"
"Breakfast of Champions. It's a Kurt Vonnegut book. Maybe you've heard of him? He wrote Slaughterhouse-Five."
The irony of asking a military recruiter if he'd read a famous anti-war book written by an anti-fascist communist sympathizer didn't occur until later.
He hadn't heard of him. And still he pressed on, determined not to cut to the chase.
"Hey," the intrepid soldier inquired, "have you ever read any John Grisham?"
Strangling my literary elitism, I informed him that no, I had indeed not.

Silence.

"Look, Benjamin, we're calling all the Saguaro seniors. Have you given any thought to what you'll be doing after graduation?"
I told him that I was planning on attending college.
"And have you ever thought about how the Marines could help you pay for college?"
Now was as good as ever. The nice man was keeping me from my reading.
"I'm sorry, I'm not interested in joining the military."
"Oh. May I ask why?"
"I'm a pacifist."

Another awkward silence.

"... and... you don't think that'll change anytime soon?"
"Umm... no."

Count 'em, that's three uncomfortable pauses.
He finally broke through, thanked me for my time, I thanked him for his (which was kind of a weird thing to do), and I went back to my comfortable existence of good literature and large muffins.