A few years back, I was in the wilds of Pennsylvania having a bite to eat and a beer and ended up chatting with an older gentleman at the bar. During the course of the conversation, he mentioned that he'd been a P-51 fighter pilot during World War 2. Right away, my bullshit meter went on alert, but a few of the things he said led me to believe that he was the real thing. One anecdote in particular rang true.
He spoke of a squadron commander he once had who'd inspect the planes when they returned from ground attack missions. If you didn't have mud on the windscreen, you weren't pressing hard enough and got the shittiest mission assignments as punishment. That story, along with a few other amusing stories, convinced me he was the real thing. I bought his beers the remainder of the night, which was a cheap deal for me.
Tonight I was at a pub here in Britain (Reading). I was chatting with a gentleman who I thought was maybe 10-15 years older than I, but who turned out to be a bit older. He said he was a young lad during the London blitz. Again, the bullshit detector went off, but he told a story that convinced me he was telling the truth.
When the "Jerrys" would attack, he and his brother would try to identify what kind of plane it was by the sound. He described that at his age (about 5 at the time) it was all so exciting, but when the Battle of Britain finally ended, he recalled how "boring" life was.
I guess boredom isn't so bad, after all.