Good evening from
I’m not complaining it’s what I signed up for when I raised my right hand and was sworn into the military all the way back in November of 1979. Who would have thought the road I chose to travel down so long ago would lead here of all places. Of all the things I have seen in my career they never prepared me for what I would find waiting for me here. People wear gloves in order to keep from getting burned when touching the exposed metal. Locals wrap their faces and wear bandannas here to prevent sun burn and filter the dirt out of the air. Back home wearing the same garments would get you shot. Speaking of clothes here you wear two shirts so your sweat evaporates. If you’re curious about the bathrooms here, I was used to sharing a bathroom with four kids and a wife long before I got here. There are some bathrooms here that alternate between men and women throughout the day and night. Then there are the coed bathrooms (toilets only) with your own private stall. I’m all for alternating time periods but I still have issues when it comes to Mother Nature calling knowing there is a female sitting in the stall next to me. I was trying to be a good sport up to now but my embarrassment of giving birth outside is being overshadowed by the porta- potties that are baking in the 110 plus degree sun. I for one know it can’t be good for you to even attempt to go when the plastic door handle is soft to the touch. Not to mention what might be cooking in the slow cooker located inside.
Then there is the porta-potty that the locals use. No hand rails, no back rest, just a place for one foot on each side of the hole. Close your eyes and visualize no seat, no shelf, no hand rails, just a hole in the floor right between your feet. It seems like a bathroom right out of a twister game sales catalog. How they keep from whizzing on their pants or laying some fertilizer in their shorts has me wondering what in the world? You can’t even lean against the back wall and slide down into a good firing position. What would you do if your friend Charley Horse does one of those surprise attacks? Maybe they are smarter than me on this one. But truth of the matter is, you won’t catch me in there with a camera, my first time in there was my last!
We are going to watch the movie Ground Hog Day Saturday night. I wonder how many will be able to relate to the theme of the movie. I try to separate the days of the week by every three days I pick up laundry which never works out. I tried using meetings to track what day of the week it was because every Monday, Wednesday and Friday I have a meeting in the morning. But that didn’t help because I have a meeting on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday that seem to fill the void. Maybe the true way to tell the difference is Church; after all it is the day of rest or is it? If it wasn’t for the mass, and the shorter work day an untrained soldier might not be able to notice the difference. I mean after all between meetings, 3 square meals a day, sleep, mail call, and good old Mother Nature what else do you need to mark you time?
It’s been a long day already being a fire fighter. What I mean is just about everyone we talk to have an emergency of some sort. Either they ran out of something they needed, didn’t get the message in time to respond, were on leave, didn’t know, or that their roommate ate their paperwork. It’s true when I mentioned it being ground hogs day. Every day here is the same stuff, different day. You would think dealing with the regular Army dudes it would be different. Trust me it’s not, if there is a corner to cut, or a short cut to take they find it. I guess in some ways I can’t blame them you’re never fully appreciated here until you don’t do something. Kind of like the guy whose job it is to put toilet paper in the bathroom. He can do it for months on end and no one notices. Yet if he misses a day no one is worried about him directly they want answers on why he let them down.
Last Monday I was shamed into going to Yoga. You know one of those the “team” needs you kind of things. Anyway I went, I saw, and I conquered (sort of). The lady in charge was not a professional yoga instructor by any means but she did a great job. Those of you with that poop eating grin back home need to understand it’s not easy by any means. She started out by asking if it’s ok if she made corrections to our forms if need be. We all nodded our heads and I was thinking to myself with a little attitude let’s get going. She went through the warm up and then we started. She came over to talk to me on one occasion; I’m pretty sure to tell me I was doing a good job. I’m sure she felt she had picked on the others already and didn’t want to show favoritism. I mean if she actually thought I was able to hold the pose she moved me into she had another thing coming. Why before she could spin around, click her heels together and take off to correct another my foot had slid back to where it came from. The whole time she kept saying listen to your body. I have to tell you I had to shut off listening to my body early on, all it did was bitch (Pardon my French). At one point I think we were doing the crouching tiger, hidden dragon move when my foot released itself from where I had lodged it into. I almost took out the back row with my recovery attempt. I’m sure that my move went unnoticed by those around me. I like to think the snickers were from some joke that they had heard earlier in the day. Truth be told I might try it again knowing I’m going into it sober again. If you ever see my instructor at Helga’s house of pain tell her Dave and crew says hi!
I just wanted to send you another snapshot of life on a deployment.
That is all,
Dave
Sound like you are having a very rounding experience out there. Your turn to come home is coming!
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