Soaked

"Right lad," said the sergeant in the recruiting office, "what's your name?"

"McCoy, sergeant."
"And what was your civvy job?"
"I was a cork socker, sergeant."
"A cork socker? What's that?"
"Well, I worked in a winery, see, and my job was to put the pretty paper over the corks in the wine bottles. A cork socker, they called me."
"Okay," said the sergeant, "through that door there and see the medical officer. "Next!" The next bloke fronted up.
"Name?" asked the sergeant. "McCoy, sergeant." "Another McCoy! And what was your civvy job?"
"I was a coke soaker, sergeant."
"A coke soaker? What's that?"
"Well I worked in the foundry, see, and it was my job to keep the coke damp so it burned hotter. A coke soaker they called me."
"Okay," said the sergeant, "through that door there and see the medical officer. "Next!" The next bloke fronted up.
"Name?" asked the sergeant. "McCoy, sergeant." "Not another McCoy! And what was your civvy job?"
"I was a sock tucker, sergeant."
"A sock tucker? What's that?"
"Well, I worked in a sock factory, and when the socks came off the production line I had to fold them neatly and tuck them together. A sock tucker, they called me."
"Okay," said the sergeant, "through that door there and see the medical officer. "Next!" The next bloke fronted up.
"Name?" asked the sergeant. "McCoy, sergeant."
"Not another one!" the sergeant groaned. "And what the hell are you lad? A coke soaker, a cork socker or a sock tucker?"
"None of those sweetie," lisped the bloke. "I'm the real McCoy!"