Office Life - a love letter to te team.

**Note - while this blog is in present tense...I  started it some time ago and thought it time to finish as I really want to share a bit about the cast of characters

 I spent my deployment with.*** Tonight's movie night and the general concensus (of all guys) was to watch "Cowboys and Aliens." Since I can guess by the title of the movie that it's pretty much going to suck, I thought I'd share a bit about the people I spend my days with here.


To set the tone, I work in a plywood hut.  Our office is in the very back of this hut.  There are 8 of us in the office and 11 desks.  We are gaining people soon so it will get pretty packed in here before I know it.  At the end of our office is a plywood wall with a plywood door. On the other side of the plywood is our front office with 4 more people to include our Col and Lt Col.  Our privacy is pretty limited here so we get to know a lot about each other.

The head of our motley crew is the Col Bishop.  My personal pet name for him is P.O.D. for Prince of Darkness.  He likes quiet, order and discipline; none of which describe me.  Since we are separated by plywood, this seems to cause a lot of angst for him, which in turn causes a lot of angst for me.  I don't so much get yelled at as sternly admonished. He's the stereotypical silver-haired action-spy movie villian.  You know the brilliant mastermind who is always just on the cusp of a psychopathic break.  I'm sure when his evil plots get foiled, he will launch into a monologue about his great plans while banging the side of his head with his pistol.  He doesn't o need to yell too often;  he's the master of the demoralizing glare. 

Then we come to our Lt Col.  He's British and such a great stereotype.   I don't know if I should reference Mr Bean or Mr Magoo, but he's definitely one of them.   He's a generally happy type who likes to forget to unbuckle his seatbelt before exiting the car.  Always a good time.I go out of my way to start conversations when we get close to our destination to see if I can make him forget he has it on.  It's especially fun listening to him Skype with his family.  Either he or someone on the other side doesn't quite have Skype figured out so there's a constant barrage of "Can you hear me?", "It doesn't matter if you can't see me." or "Oh, bollocks."  Again, always a good time.

Then there's our Senior Enlisted Leader, MSG Clementine.  He's a short guy and a fan of MBWA so we see him on our side of the office a lot.  He's also born and bred Army with a penchant for the " fist-bmp" style of leadership.  You don't have to be told he has boys...the fist bump says it all. 
 
  The majority of characters live in our side of the office.  I can't talk about characters without mentioning Petty Officer Doubting.

   Petty Officer Doubting is in his 20s still and from the great state of Wisconsin.  He's sounds like the Northern version of Gomer Pyle but he actually has more sense.  He has one of the purest souls and emptiest stomachs I have ever come across.  This kid could win a hot-dog, pizza and ice cream eating contest all in one day.   Someone sent me a large jar of peanut butter for sandwiches and he legitimately told me "Ohhh, Chief..that should last you a week."  I like peanut as much as the next girl; but a week?  I'd be a damn peanut by then.

    Sitting next to me, we have SSG Pomegranate.  He's having twins soon and I hope they are girls...he already has one so it would be fabulous to know he's surrounded.  It would be a little payback for all the puns I have had to endure thus far.  That's his thing; puns.  It doesn't matter what you say; he's got a punny remark. 

   Then, there's Petty Officer Quack.  He's Chinese with a pretty thick accent and a very bright smile.  English is his second language and listening to him talk to foreign journalists also speaking English as a second language might be one of the best experiences I have here. I hate returning calls from messages he leaves me; I can guarantee the name is wrong and I will have about half the information I need to sound like an intelligent human being.  A little side note; Quack is now gone....when he left, we met him at the terminal.  He had TEN bags with him and of course he was late.  I could have helped him, but he wanted to carry all that shit with him so I thought it a good lesson to let him hump it all himself.  His last bag was a plastic one with a big box in it.  With  sweat dripping down his forehead and barely any breath left in his lungs, the bag ripped in half.  He gave it to me to keep.  Inside the box were the sample-sized toiletries he had stolen from the community locker.  Remember, we are in Kabul...need to fly to Kandahar and then Kuwait before finally lugging all our shit to the States and this guy brings home hotel shampoos? Sometimes all you can do is shake your head.

   To add to the office dynamic, we have TSGT Cromagnon.  He's about 7' tall and scary in a Beaker from Sesame Street kind of way. Every time he goes to speak, his eyes get big, his face tightens up and I expect him to tell me he just killed a man with his bare hands.  He's one of the most intense people I have ever met without even trying. 

   Rounding out the team is our token Marine; 1st Lt Jacks.  He's a young'n; all of 13 or so, but he is wise for his age.  H e's definitely my favorite person in the office.  Lt Jacks is actually fortunate enouugh to be on deployment with hs brother, Capt Jacks.  This gives him playmate for mischief.  Lt J has many hobbies but he seems to spend the most time on two out here; practical jokes and working out.  I didn't know people still played pranks but then again, I haven't been a teenage boy in, well, ever.  In stereotypical Marine fashion, this young man spends about 6 hours a day running or in the gym.  He'll leave in the of the day for about 4 hours (he runs in the morning and gym mid-day) and have the nerve to innocently ask, "Did I miss anything,"  when he returns.  Of course you missed something, you missed half the godamn day!  All craziness aside though, I don't know how I would have made it through this deployment without him.  Lt J was always willing to listen to me bitch about the day's ridiculous adventures (although I don't know if I ever gave him a choice) and I really value his opinion.  Even though I am still and will always be the Chief in our dynamic, I'm able to relax around him and he's the only person in the office I can just be me with.  I don't think he knows how much that has meant to me.

  The above does't quite touch on the entire cast and crew it takes to make our world go round in the PAO shop but it touches on some of the core group.  We drive each other nuts but together we make a team and each person provides something of value (well most every person...but I won't go down that road).  I am proud to know each one of them.  Our paths converged for awhile and as we separate, I am proud to have worked alongside each of them.

The journey

As I prepare to trade the gun on my hip for a Blackberry, the rifle on my shoulder for a laptop bag and combat boots for heels, I can’t help but try to figure out what I’ll take from this experience.  I made a lot of friends, but not many very close.  I have had a lot of experiences but none monumental.  I have learned a few new skills I hope I won’t ever need again and I have carried a lot of anxiety that I hope I can shake when I return home.

I like to think I made a difference, but really don’t know.  There’s nothing tangible for me to measure.

 I keep trying to come up with some grand life lesson; some “a-ha” moment and I will know why I was here.  I may never know.  What I do have is the knowledge that I answered the call once more.  I can be proud that I was willing to be here when so many others aren’t.  I didn’t want to be here, but I came.  I made a commitment. 

I have spent a lot of my life waiting for my defining moment; that chance to find out who I really am decisions I made.

I realize now that moment came and went in the blink of an eye, or rather a ring of my cell phone.  I was in an airport on a layover and somehow after a short conversation, I had agreed to come to Afghanistan. 

That was my moment.  I didn’t realize it then or for most of my deployment.  Only now that I have had time to look for answers have I been able to find one.  I knew the call was coming and I answered it.  I didn’t try to dodge it, I didn’t have soul-searching thoughts; I just honored the commitment I had made to the country.

This deployment, I think I am coming home in a better state of mind.  I’m not walking around with a chip on my shoulder. I don’t need to walk with a strut (although it comes natural regardless) and I don’t feel the need to prove my worth with this deployment.  I’m not sure if it’s age, wisdom, the locale, validity of my job this time around or some combination of it all but I’m going home in a better place.   I may not  be able to point to my accomplishments but I don’t really feel the need.  I think I’m ready to join the ranks of those who have answered the call before me.  I have always been proud of them, now I can be proud of me.

The Good, the Bad and the WTF?

Okay, so I've been a lttle absent lately.  Sorry folks, between being busy with work, my broken laptop and my general apathy towards everything lately, I haven't been able to keep you all up to date.  For a quick fix, here's a new little saga I like to call "The Good, the Bad and the WTF?":

I weigh less now than when I still in my 20s

because, yet the food is that bad…

..Are they really serving Carcass of Lamb?

I never have to do my own laundry

because we have a contractor who does it in large loads.

Who’s “manties” are these in my clean laundry?

I am surrounded by the Hindu Kush and Himalayan mountain range

that I rarely actually see due to the poor air quality

 Afghanistan-induced asthma anyone?

We have indoor plumbing here

that doesn’t really work.

What is with the methane smell? Is this toilet going to explode while I’m sitting on it?

I truly do enjoy listening to two non-English speakers try to have a conversation in English

until I have to read the official email traffic

What is “traficcability impact” and “it was hided”? Have an native English speaker proofread before you hit "Send".

Eating (or starving) at KAIA

I love to eat, I really do.  The smell, sight, tastes and sometimes, even feel of food makes me happy.  Grabbing the top and bottom of a soft, fresh, seeded bun and feeling the grease of a good, juicy cheeseburger...chomping down on crisp lettuce and pickle, sliding through the goo of the cheese as you bite through the burger...ahhh, heaven. 

Yeah; I don't get any of that here.  Let me take you on a journey to our Dining Facility, or DFAC:

 We have two DFACs on this base, and they really aren't far from one another.  They both serve the same food but the nice DFAC does have cushioned chairs and usually stocks Diet Coke. 

  Everyone who enters the DFAC is required to wash their hands.  This is a great practice for anyone, whether you are living in a bacteria-ridden place or not.  We all learn how to wash our hands growing up and it's a great way to combat disease. However, here we are forced to wash our hands with scalding hot water.  It's like a test of will to keep your hands in the water long enough to rinse off all the soap.  Instead of paper towels for drying, we have Dyson blade blowers.  This is my favorite part of visiting the DFAC (that should tell you how this story will go).  It's like a fun house for your hands.  You stick them in and air blows out at hurricane-wind speeds to push the water right off your hands!  I like watching the way my skin pulls away from my bones and flaps in the wind.

After playing with the finger funhouse, I walk down the hall, scan my meal card and grab a paper plate.  I then move to the meal line and usually want to cry.  There are a few items we have every lunch and dinner:

   Pasta with a red sauce and white sauce
   Either fried rice of some sort or stir-fry noodles

Now, you might be thinking.."that doesn't sound too bad"...you are wrong.  None of the above options offer any flavor value whatsoever.  I actually tried the "3-cheese sauce" today.  It tasted like dirty water.  It may have been dirty water for all I know.  Great, now I think I ate dirty water sauce today.  Sadly, the dirty water flavor is almost an improvement over the complete absence of flavor I normally experience there.

For main dish options, they like to keep it exciting and rotate things out on a bi-weekly schedule.  Here are some of my favorite meal options:

   - Tuna and onion pizza, hot dog pizza (don't ask)
   -  Fish pie (not sure what kind of fish and I really am not interested in knowing)
   -  Hawaiian style Gammon (spam with pineapple on it)
   -  Quorn lasagna (no, I did not misspell the vegetable that grows on a cob - google it and share in my disgust)
    - Turkey burger (not an actualy burger..rather flat pieces of cut turkey that I am supposed to put in a bun)
    - Egg burger (see above...same concept)
    - Dessicated Sponge Cake
    - Creamed Leeks
    - Meat-Glazed Potatoes (no, I am not making that up)
    - Frankfurter Curry
    - Schnitzel.  Turkey Schnitzel, chicken schnitzel, quorn schnitzel, schintzel on a stick....do Germans really eat everything schnitzel?  I don't think so..I think it's laziness on the part of our cooks. Fry everything and call it freaking schnitzel!!

  This is just what I can remember and I don't eat at the DFAC very often.  Given the above menu choices, can you blame me?

     I pass through the line and usually get the fried rice or noodles.  Not because either option is really edible but because the DFAC does have bottled chili sauce that isn't half-bad.  Then, I move to the salad line....I have to use the term "salad" loosely.  We have lettuce and either cucumbers or shredded carrot.  Oh, and usually olives and those little baby onions.  That's as good as the salad gets folks.Every once in a while, they have crab sticks too.  Yes, processed crab sticks. Now, I don't do seafood so I really could care less, but for Christ's sake, THEY KEEP THE PLASTIC SEPARATORS ON THE CHUNKS O'CRAB! Who does that? Would it really kill them to at least pretend it's real crab meat instead of processed whatever it is?  At the end of the salad bar, they have big plastic containers of salad dressing type substances.  I never know what it is because it's rarely labelled.  I know I have seen "garlic oil dressing" and "orange dressing" and I think one is blue cheese but really can't tell.

  After that comes the cheese and meats platter.  There is always grated parm (for the past maybe) and then usually two different types of cheese. On a great day, we get little chunks of brie but sometimes it's blue cheese, cheddar cheese or that white, processsed, half-melted cheese.  When they don't know what kind of cheese they are serving; it's Emmantel cheese.  My good friend, Lt B, pointed out that they had two different cheeses the other day but both were labelled Emmantel.  Sadly, this isn't uncommon so there's no telling what I eat half the time. 

   The meats are always an interesting site.  The meat quality here seems to be a source of concern for a lot of folks on base.  If any of you have ever eaten Scrapple, you should be able to visualize this.  Scrapple is a processed pig product.  The parts of the pig that aren't even good enough for hot dogs are mixed together and pressed into Scrapple.  That's what all the lunch meats here look like.  Even the turkey slices don't look right.  It's not a slice of turkey breast. I think someone ground up all the extra parts not deemed good enough to make a turkey hot dog and made it lunch meat.  I bet their is ground beak in there somewhere. 

     If I still haven't made a meal of these delectable creations, I can go to the Sandwich line.  The lunch meat at the sandwich line is just a depressing as at the meat station.  Fortunately, they usually have "tuna mayonnaise" and "chicken mayonnaise" to eat.  Apparently, calling it tuna or chicken salad woudl be false advertising. I at least admire their honesty. If you want a sandwich, here are your garnish options:

    -Mustard
    - Lettuce
    - Onion
    - Pickles
    -On special days, Branston pickles (some kind of purple stuff the Brits like)
   - Slice of cheese, still in the plastic wrapper. I'm serious here, they throw the slice on your plate..so if I ask for a wrap, I have to unwrap it to add the cheese. You only get one slice per sandwich.

My favorite thing about the sandwich is the portion size.  It's the same regardless of bread type. I get one regular eating spoon's worth of tuna or chicken if I choose a wrap or a big ass bun.  It's just enough meat to make me feel like I'm not eating plain bread.

If you enjoy the fruit, then you are in luck. We have a fruit bar! Sadly, the fruit is rationed to one piece a person.  The choices do change but the standards are bananas (over-ripe), apples and some kind of melon.  Since they won't give you a whole melon (and really, that would be a bit much), they cut it up and give you one small bowl of melon pieces.  I personally love that the military wants me to eat my fruits and vegetables while giving me so little access to either here on this base.  Now, to be fair, American DFACs don't seem to have this problem...and our base is known throughout Afghanistan for the bad food.  We are not the norm.

Dejected and once again disappointed, I find a table and sit to my meal.  We have no salt and pepper shakers, so I tear open my little packets and try to season my food with my airline meal-sized salt and pepper.  I reach across the table and grab a napkin, unwrap my plasticware and wish I were eating an MRE instead.

Random Thought

I have so many stories I want to tell and so little time to tell them, but I wanted to share the newest thing I have come to realize about  the Army: changing course and moving forward is not their cup of tea.  They like to write Fragmentary Orders, or FRAGOS.

When I hear fragmentary, I think of grenades.  Most of you may not get that connection right away, but hey, I have been to high-speed, low-drag NARMY training and we learned how to throw grenades.  I like to thing something as simple as a change or additional order must be a big deal to the Army, and thus like throwing a frag grenade into somebody's well-laid plans.

It seems that the Army needs written orders for everything they do.  If they set up a command, they need an order that lays out the scope of the command; its structure, services, responsibilities and accountability.  That part makes total sense.

However, if this scope doesn't include an 11 am weekly conference call with various command components, a FRAGO gets written.  You can't just send an invite out to Bob and Bill and Tom with a recurring meeting time, you need an order.  Really?

To put this in perspective of my daily civillian life,  if you run to Starbucks to pick up coffee for your friends and someone wants to add an order, they can't just call you on the cell phone.  If the Army were in charge, someone would have to write an official order and send it to you, your friends and probably even Starbucks.

I just don't get it.

The Marine Camp..part 2

I didn't get to finish my story last time and while I know you can't imagine my trip to the Marine camp getting any better; keep reading.

I believe I left off after the shower incident.  I got myself dressed and went about my business.  After all, I didn't travel down South to frolick in tepid shower water.  Somewhere along the line, we went to lunch where again I feasted like a fat kid who broke out of fitness camp.  I stuffed my pockets with all the goodies t he DFAC had to offer.  This included Dr Pepper. I put a can in my leg cargo pocket and went on my way.  It stayed with me all day since I wanted to take it home and enjoy it in front of the envious eyes of my co-workers.  Our drink selection here largely consists of strawberry and lemon Fanta.  Who drinks that anyways?

At the days' end, we prepared to leave so the team could drop me off at the terminal to catch my evening flight.  Now, I may have mentioned I had my M4 with me.  I have a pistol and technically, I only need A weapon to travel.  However, anytime I head to a new location, I like to take my rifle as well.  I just don't know what to expect; I don't know if it's  a ride from the terminal to our work location or what the standard is on the base I am visiting.  Had I asked my counterparts, I am sure they would have advised I keep my rifle at home.  Of course, I didn't ask them. If you aren't familiar with carrying a rifle in uniform, this would be a good time to point out that you carry it slung over your back when just walking around base.  The sling crosses your chest and torso and the rifle diagonally slung across your back.

Sometime I hit stuff with the barrel of my rifle if I pass to close to inanimate objects.  As it just so happens, we passed an AC unit and somehow the barrel of my rifle must have hit the Dr Pepper in my cargo pocket.  I heard a tinny sound, a pop and then liquid spraying from somewhere.  I stopped to survey the situation. It took a second, but eventually I looked down.  That's about when I felt wet..it took me another second to organize the facts as I saw them.  Exploding liquid sound, wet leg and spray of liquid emanating from my pants.  It all came together; my Dr Pepper exploded in my pants!  The guys I was with realized the situation about when I did and I thought they were going to fall over laughing.  I never knew 12 ounces could be so much.  It just kept on spraying.  When the excitement was over, I grabbed the empty can out of my pocket and held it with two fingers.  I didn't want to get my hands sticky...which was kind of a retarded thought considering I just exploded an ENTIRE can of Dr Pepper in MY PANTS!  It was dripping down my damn boots.  How does this shit happen to me?

If you're curious, Dr Pepper dries as a hard, sticky substance on clothes.  My pant leg could have stood up on its own.  One of the guys asked me if I wanted to go change. Yeah; that would be great but I was only planning on being in town for 24 hours; I only brought one damn uniform and it was the one I was currently in.  Then, trying to be helpful, he asked if I wanted to go do laundry.  Considering I was on my way to catch a plane, that wasn't going to work out so well either.  So I went to the terminal.

The extra fun thing about military air is you have to check in a few hours prior to your flight's departure.  Once you check in, you can't leave the terminal.  The other really fun thing about military air is the delay factor.   My 1630 flight left somewhere around 2330. I got home sometime after 1am and then had to walk 1/2 mile to my barracks room, with my sticky, Dr Pepper leg.  It was definitely dry by the time I got home (it did dry quickly seeing as how I was in the damn desert) but I was still a mess.  All I wanted to do was shower, but considering the day I had...I baby wiped my leg and fell asleep instead.

I don't like Dr Pepper so much anymore.

Life on a Marine Camp

I can't believe I haven't posted in a month..I have so many things to share but, in my defense, I am in Afghanistan working..a lot.  I was looking forward to getting away from my civillian job for a little while and taking a bit of a break.  Well, I am away but definitely not getting the break I expected.  I have made a few trips recently to visit some of my counterparts in different parts of the country.  The trips have been uneventful and there's been little to write about...until I went to the "moonscape" in Southwest.  Let me tell you a little story.....

I went for a quick overnight trip to visit some people in Southwest Afghanistan. I booked my flights, packed up and headed out.  I had been told this area had little in the way of landscaping and the temps were climbing.  I was mentally prepared.....until I stepped off the plane.

The first things that hit me like a parking meter to the head (yes, I have had that experience before) were the blinding brightness and the heat.  I have said that Kuwait was at Hell's doorsteps, well the Southwest must be it's damn back porch.  As we left the plane, a searing wind hit me...I assumed this was the plane exhaust so I marched on...and marched on some more.  The further away we got from the plane, the cooler it didn't get.  The searing heat was just hot wind.  It was 126 degrees in this damn place and the wind was HOTTER. I thought my skin was going to scorch and flake right off.  The next thing I noticed was how far we were walking in the heat.  We marched in a single-file line for what felt like a mile (it might actually have been) and finally came to a road.  They stopped us at the road and waited for everyone to catch up.  I thought, "Great, they are going to put us on a bus and drive us to the arrivals terminal." Nope, I was wrong...they were just waiting so we could all cross the street together.  We got across the street and walked some more.  WTF?  I started wondering if we were going to walk back to Kabul.

Eventually, we made it to a tent.  The tent didn't appear to have power.  There was certainly no A/C and the lights were off.  The tent had power...at least enough for the Brits to boil hot water and offer us hot tea!  Again, I had a WTF moment. I have heard that drinking hot beverages is better for you in desert heat, but come on....I just walked a mile with my IBA, helmet, rifle and carryon back.  I would have settled for un-refrigerated water...but hot tea?  Silly Brits.

Our nice British escort said something in proper English and then left.  So, after taking a second to figure out my bearings, I promptly called someone and asked for help.  I found my way outside the tent and into another tent. I got in touch with someone to come pick me up and waited outside in the sun.  I finally had a chance to survey my surroundings.  There was nothing but tents, sand and sun all around me. Suddenly, I get the "moonscape" analogy. 

After what felt like 30 minutes but was probably less than 10, Petty Officer Adoption picked me up.  He took me to my transient tent so I could drop my bag somewhere and then to meet the rest of the media team.  After a few introductions, we went to lunch at the DFAC.

The Marines eat well.  They may not have many creature comforts but these guys do know how to put on a spread.  There was a ton of food to choose from and I tried it all.  They had a speed line with pizza and wings and egg rolls, they had a grill with steak sandwiches and a main line with stir-fry and lo mein. I remember this because I did try it all.  And OMG, the salad bar.  They had real vegetables ... and lots of them and croutons and bacon bits....and REAL salad dressings.  I am surprised I didn't end up in a food coma.  To finish it off, I had Baskin Robbins ice cream.  Now, I am not normally a huge sweet eater but it's amazing how good something can taste when you never have access to it.

After spending some more time with the team and getting some work done, I eventually called it a night.  I went to my tent and settled in.  Since I was a guest of the media support team, I got to stay in their transient tent, which is supposed to be better than the regular transient tents.  It's a big tent with partitions in it to make rooms and doors to each room.  Each room has one set of bunk beds.  I had a room to myself.

Now, silly me...I hadn't bothered to scope out the location of the female bathrooms or showers while the sun was still up.  By the time I got back to the tent, it was close to midnight.  As I unpacked, I realized I had no interest in traipsing through the dark with a flashlight to take a shower. Plus, I had both my weapons and no locks on my door.  There were journalists staying in the tent so I opted to wait until morning. I brushed my teeth on the front door of the tent with bottled water and got ready for bed.

As soon as I turned on the light in my room, I decided I would sleep on the top bunk.  The bottom bunk mattress looked like someone died a horrible death on it.  Now, in all reality, someon probably spilled red Gatorade on it at one point...but I was already freaked out and my mind was made up.  Since I was too lazy to pack a sleeping bag or pillow, I laid out my woobie and extra blanket and balled up my towel to use as a pillow.  I then got in bed..well, I attempted it at least.  See, the bunk beds didn't have a ladder or any other way to get to the top bunk.  For those of you that don't know me, I barely scrape 5'4" on a good day.  So, I stepped on the bottom mattress, grabbed the railing at the head of the top bunk and pulled with all my might to get a leg up and over.  I'm pretty sure two of the legs came off the ground, but I made it up.  That's when I realized I forgot to grab my alarm clock.  I would have left it, but I didn't have it set and I had an early morning appointment.  So, I got to repeat the process.  This took what little strength I had left.  After a bit of reading, I was ready for bed but, try as I might, I couldn't reach the light switch from the bed.  I really think I should get paid extra for being a short person.  Life is hard enough without being vertically challenged.  Normally, I would have just put my pillow over my head but oh, wait...I didn't have one!  So, I got to experience getting down and back up AGAIN.  My last time, it took three concerted efforts to finally make it up there and I was severely concerned for my life in all three attempts.  I don't really want to get crushed by bunk beds in Afghanistan....how does that eulogy go anyways?  "Here lies a hero who fought bravely against a bunk bed.  If only she'd been 2 inches taller."

Fast-forward to the next morning. I start my day with a fabulous breakfast.  I ate enough to feed five starving children and was damn proud of my gluttony.  After breakfast, I handed over my weapons to my colleagues and went to shower.  Since it had been a good 12 hours since I last went to the bathroom, I hit the head first. I asked some ladies where I could find the heads and the showers and walked in that direction.  I couldn't find either at first.  That's because I was looking for standard Cadillacs.  If you don't know what one is, I can't really explain it.  I guess they are really just mobile restrooms with either toilets or showers.  As I looked around me, all I could see was tents. And then I noticed the water tanks connected to the tents, and then I started reading the signs.  There was a bathroom tent and a shower tent.  Yes, I said "tent".

Curious, and ready to burst, I entered the bathroom tent.  I can't say I have ever seen anything like it.  The tent was pretty large and it had nothing in it, except for a toilet stage.  Yes, I do mean a toilet stage.  In the middle of a tent is a raised platform; you have to climb steps to reach the top.  On top of that are toilets, each separated by fabric on the sides.  For extra privacy, there's a fabric in front that you can pull down once you are on the toilet.  Great idea, but the fabric isn't as wide as the opening so it doesn't really block any view unless someone is standing directly in front of you.  The whole setup kind of reminded me of the Olympics. I expected to get presented a medal at the top of the stage just before I sat down to pee.  Another WTF moment for the books.

Given the wonderful luxury of the toilet tent, I was extra-anxious to see the shower tent.  It did not disappoint.  Once again, the center of the tent was the focal point of the room.  The middle of the tent housed one long row of shower stalls.  Each stall had two shower heads...not so that you could enjoy dual water-stream action but so that someone could literally shower 8" away from you separated by nothing.  To give you some privacy however, every pair of shower heads did have surrounding canvas cloth for separation.  Fortunately, there were only two other women in the tent so I didn't have to share a shower.  On either side of the room's centerpiece were aluminum sinks with aluminum mirrors.  Finally. lining the tent were benches with hooks for hanging your stuff.

Fortunately, I have been in the Navy too long to be self-conscious or prudish about being undressed in front of other people.  I think I got over my privacy issues in bootcamp.  I foud myself a bench and got undressed.  I found an unoccupied shower and proceeded to reach for the knobs to turn on the water.  There were no knobs.  There were no dials, there were no handles.  I sat there for a minute or so and just stared.  I couldnt see a thing but I couldn't believe it either.  How the hell do I turn on the shower?  At this point, I begin surveying my options.  I am stark naked, standing on a shower stafe, staring at an empty shower stall and wondering how to make this work. I can - a) get dressed and consider this a failed attempt at washing my ass, b) ask some random stranger, while I am completely naked, how to work the shower or c) try to use the sink and paper towels to bathe myself.  I had resolved to walk up to a stranger and ask about these damn showers when I finally looked up and found a lever.  I pulled on it and water came out.  There was no temperature control and no flow control..the lever was on/off only.  What the hell, at least I showered.

An Ode to Air-Conditioning

My first five weeks here, our air conditioning did not work.  I don’t mean it didn’t work as in..it didn’t get cool enough or it blew out warm air. I mean it just didn’t work. We couldn’t turn it on; we had no airflow.  As I understand it, the air conditioning hadn’t worked in nearly a year. 

At first it wasn’t too terrible, the temps never broke 90 during the day and the evenings cooled down into the 60s.  Of course, I was still adjusting to being here and probably could have slept outside at high noon if I needed.  However, as time went on and my body adjusted, the temperatures rose. The days got hotter which meant the nights took longer to cool and our room turned into a steam oven. The only relief we got was by keeping our window open. That presented its own set of problems.

First, there is a cement factory at the end of our street.  It’s loud and they work all night.  So our symphony of sleep now included the blissful sounds of forklifts and dump trucks beeping as they back up or make absolutely any kind of movement.  This sound even found its way into my dreams as a never-ending distress beacon or alarm clock.

Second, it’s actually bright on this base.  In order to get the full effect of cooler temps in our room, we kept our blinds open.  There’s a street light right outside our window.  And when that’s not on, the sun’s up. The sun rises here BEFORE 5AM!!  It took me awhile not to wake in sudden fear as I realized I overslept and missed work only to realize I still have 2 hours of sleep.  I so enjoy the morning heart attacks, really I do.

Third, it’s dusty here.  That makes the wind an untrusted ally in the quest to keep cool.  On one hand, the breeze is great when we get it. On the other, I actually got dusty as I slept. So did everything in our room.  Where’s Molly Maid when you need them?  Me and most of my roommates work at least 12 hours a day, every day.  It takes about a little more than an hour each day to get dressed and undressed with all the luxuries of showering and human maintenance.  There’s usually a half-hour or so devoted to laundry..be it putting it away, dropping it off or picking it up.  A half-hour bullshitting with  our cohabitants and an hour or two of trying to relax.  Best-case scenario, we have 10 hours to sleep, eat and run any errands we may have.  It’s rarely a best-case scenario day.  I don’t want to spend my time wiping down every horizontal surface in my room; but I also don’t want to live in filth.  Decisions, decisions.

So, my roommates and neighbors (the room next-door had no A/C either) launched a campaign to get someone to pay attention to our plight.  3 Colonels and a GS13 got involved.  The star of the show however, was my very own LT Fingers.  She called and emailed almost daily.  She spoke to anyone who listened.  The company in charge of such “trivial” matters as air conditioning is KBR.  They have a huge contract and have their fingers in a lot of pies here in the Middle East.  Surprisingly enough, our comfort is not high on their priority list. I’m thinking “big picture” here.  Well, the good LT took them head on and badgered them until they knew her by voice.  She is my hero.  She finally got a reaction.

I can only imagine the conversations in that office.  “Bob, it’s that damn lady again bitching about sweating while she sleeps.  What the hell is wrong with her? You think she’d appreciate having a sauna in her room” “Well Jim, let’s use some Afghan ingenuity and get the locals to fix it.  That will teach her.”  They both laugh that evil genius sitcom laugh as the scene fades to black.

It all started a week ago….some men came in the room while our two night-shift workers were sound asleep and half-naked.  The hotter it gets, the more they strip in their sleep.  Makes perfect sense, right? What doesn’t make sense is that random men walked into our room without the common courtesy of a knock.  However, they apparently looked at the ceiling and said something that my roommates discerned as having to do with the air conditioner.  Given the importance of the topic, my roommates wouldn’t have cared if these men had seen them naked.

The next day, Fingers got an email saying our A/C would be fixed that week. This was a joyous occasion and one she shared in our staff meeting.  Not everyone saw the relevance of that information to our staff meeting, but they all had nice, cool rooms.

Two days after that; success!  I had to stop by the room in the middle of the day and saw little men in KBR suits outside our building in the general area of our room.  As I neared the building, I noticed our window was missing.  Well, at least the actual window portion of it anyways.  Instead, we had plywood where the window used to be.  Huh, interesting.

Then, I walked in the building. As I entered the hallway, one of the little KBR men stopped and asked me if I was in that room. I said yes and he said something about coming back.  Okay, great. 

As I opened the door to my room, I felt cool air hit my face.  Not being used to the sensation, my eyes immediately shut in a knee-jerk reaction.  What was this refreshing breeze?  Was it, could it be, am I dreaming….AIR?!

When I opened my eyes, I saw the best engineering that KBR could muster.  They boarded up our window, cut a hole for an air hose and built a wooden trapeze.  On the top of this trapeze-like structure was bolted a portable unit of some sort.  Or at least I thought it was portable.  That doesn’t really matter though…what does is that we had air-conditioning. Hallelujah! I immediately called Fingers and beckoned her from the office.  She had to bask in the crowning glory of our trapeze unit.

As I took it all in, I immediately thought of those “Look honey, I done fixed it,” emails. You know the ones I’m talking about.  It started to sink in..we had a hand-made, wooden parallel bar in our room. I get gym equipment mixed up in my mind..being a paragon of physical fitness and all.  Right about then, I realized I had goose bumps; real ones from cold air.  The AC was on and their seemed to be two settings; on or off.  On was arctic and off brought back the tropics…especially with our new plywood window.  Then, I realized we are screwed if there’s a fire.  That’s a real possibility given that I do live in a dangerous country filled with dangerous people who hate Americans.

As I left that day and headed back to work, I took a closer look at the outside of the window and realized; our portable unit wasn’t portable at all.  They have a main unit on the ground outside the window..hence the hole with the hose running through it.  This thing is about the size of the AC unit on my 1600 square-foot house and our room might be 100 square-feet big.  I would love to see the bill. I just want to know how much it cost for KBR to be rid of my good roommate, Finger.

A week has passed with our new air-conditioner and I will not complain a bit. I have learned to appreciate living in the Arctic.  It’s even dark in here all-day.  Of course, we now all consistently oversleep and I have to give myself a pep-talk every time I enter the room after showering but it’s all worth it.  I can sleep at night… I just happen to be swaddled in blankets and wearing sweats.

I know it's not rotated, but you get the idea.

Driving in Downtown

There are so many new experiences that I could share but having recently finished driving training, I thought I would share this one.  Driving training here is 7 days long. There is no classroom instruction and no final exam.  You spend 2 days in the passenger seat as the TC (tactical commander) and then 5 days as the driver.  You drive here with the MOVECON guys, or combat taxis, as I have heard them call themselves. It's these guys job to get people safely and efficienty around the greater Kabul area.  Sounds like a pretty nice gig, until you live it.

The nicest part of driving with these guys is their vehicles.  For my training, I got to ride around in a big, black Suburban.  All of the vehicles we drive off base are fully armored with bullet-proof windows.  These things are beasts and boy are they heavy but they are also very comfortable.  It would be a great ride..except for the windows that don't open, the IBA (individual body armor) and helmet you wear..and oh yeah; the loaded rifle and pistol sitting right next to you.

Leaving the base is kind of a freeing experience; outside the wire...new sights to see, new things to learn, music to listen to...the power of driving an armored SUV.  And as soon as you get outside the wire, you want to get back inside it.  Kabul is a bustling city like any other.  Except, this bustling city is still working on things like sewage systems, trash pickup and oh yeah; traffic rules.

I don't know what sadness hits you first; it may be the children picking through the trash dumps on the side of the street, maybe it's the smell of the place as you pass what used to be a flowing creek or river or the herd of goats and cows or maybe it's the falling apart homes and businesses along the sides of the streets.  The sights and sounds create a sort of sensory overload on a regular basis.  There is always a donkey or horse pulling a cart somewhere nearby, a man, woman or child pumping water from the town well, a kid waving at you or throwing a rock at your vehicle, a parent walking a child across the street and there's usually at least one civillian carrying an AK.  Seeing this town firsthand is a constant rotation between laughter at some cute, human moment, disbelief in some "you can't make this shit up" sort of way and fear that you are going to hit someone or be hit.

And then there's the actual foot and vehicle traffic.  I mention the foot traffic because there are people EVERYWHERE; they are along rural roads and highways alike.  There are men, women and children running about and darting in front of everything that moves.  The streets do not have cross-walks and I have seen only one working stoplight. In Italy, if you want to cross a busy street as a pedestrian, you have to commit.  Don't look at anyone, take a breath and just step off the curb.  Cars will stop if you don't make eye contact with the driver.  These people live off the same principal but they don't completely own it...so you end up moving one way to avoid hitting someone only to have them turn back into your path.  And then there's the kids...they are just everywhere and they really have no fear.  Where are there parents?  I personally would put an electric collar on my kids and set it to the edges of the sidewalk.  They try to step off and they get zapped.  It may sound cruel but given the alternative, I think it might just be a great parenting skill these people could pick up.

Next, we get to the cars. I don't even know where to start.  I continually remind myself that only a few years ago, most people didn't have the luxury of  owning a car.  I think I remember reading that Kabul's population of drivers has more than doubled since  Taliban rule ended.  I don't think these people actually learned how to drive their cars; I think if you have the money to purchase one that seems to be good enough for driving.  I really don't know if there's a speed limit in this country and it concerns me.  Most people don't go too terribly fast for the roads they are on until you consider the aforementioned pedestrians.  Oh, and I forgot to mention the bicycles. 

Bike riders here are worse than pedestrians; because those two wheels and metal frame makes them so much safer. These people like to cut into traffic, go against it on the F*IN HIGHWAY (an issue there..but another story for another time ... and definitely not in print) and generally pretend like they are invincible.  It freaking kills me.  I don't mind that there are so many bikes on the road but being on two wheels does not give you the right to act like an idiot. Oh wait, the guys with four wheels act just as retarded.

So, back to cars...Kabul's streets are filled with traffic circles. In MOVECON, I learned that when you enter a circle, you always enter at the six with the clock laid out in front of you. If you are taking a right, you exit at the 3, if you are taking a left, you exit at the 9.  Well, at some of the bigger circles, instead of entering at the six and going aroudn to the 9, it's apparently so much more fun to just take a left into the oncoming traffic.  WTF, man? W..T....F?  Who does that shit?  Even the Italians have more sense than that...and they drive however they want.  Talk about pucker factor...every time I have to encounter or maneuver through that, I want to curl up in a ball and cry for my mommy.  If I make it through, I typically feel like I should be awarded an Olympic medal or some such accolade of equal prestige. 

As each trip draws to a close, I realize the real freedom is getting back on base.  Yes, the perimeter may seem confining; yes, driving may remind me of being home and yes, I may enjoy listening to the radio but none of it bests the freedom of not worrying of who I will hit and when.  So, while it may be necessary and even nice to get out and about once in awhile, I will remember that walking on base is a freedom that comes with a lot less risk...and a lot less body armor.

The First Days

So, we finally land in Kabul and they let us get off the plane.  The first thing I notice is the wonderfully cooler air.  Immediately, I prefer this place to Kuwait or Kandahar.  They load us on a bus and, after our luggage is unloaded and the pallets moved, they drive us to the terminal.  Before we even unload the bus, I see my good friend Butler with 3 Sailors unloading the pallet and I realize they are looking for my bags.  I hurry off the bus and yell for him.  The smile on his face told me he was happier to see me than I was to see him...and I was pretty happy to see my friend.  However, my arrival reminded him of his impending departure I think.  The guys grab my luggage and load it in a truck.  I even had welcoming presents from Butler. He immediately handed me my new IJC patch, a tupperware filled with random useful stuff and a wallet for all the IDs I will soon need. Consider it my guest amenity if you will.  This is real VIP treatment and my travelling partners, the rest of Morgan's Zeroes, finally realize how important I really am.  After a few quick "goodbyes" and "good lucks," Butler and I leave the terminal.  He tells the Sailors to drive to my barracks and we will walk.  That's when I realize I am actually stationed at the airport. I had a different idea in my mind but we walked off the flight line and onto the compound.  Butler gave me a quick overview as we walked and we passed my future workspace.

At the barracks, the guys were already taking my stuff in and Lt Finger met us and showed me to my room.  Before heading into the female berthing, Butler asked me how long I needed.  Keep in mind, I had been travelling for 11 days, wearing the same cammies for 3 and sweating profusely the entire time.  With a straight face, he asks if I want to meet him in 30 minutes.  Yeah, he was excited to see me.  I gently remind him I need to shower and for my efforts, get an hour and a half.  The good Lt showed me my lockers, let me pick a bed and already even had one with sheets and a pillow on her.  Yeah; we'll get along famously.  I dump my stuff, find clean clothes and hop in the shower.  Ahhhh, relief.  I'm "home" now but have no time to get used to it. Butler wants to begin turnover.

He takes me to the office and the handshaking and "nice to meet you" part of turnover begins.  Fortunately, no one had anything terribly important to say.  I think they all remembered what it was like their first day and knew I would remember nothing we talked about.  After a quick tour, Butler asks me if I'm hungry.  Considering that the only meal I had consisted of the few raviolis I was able to spear with my knife, the answer was "yes." 

He took me to the Turkish restaurant for dinner. I had a nice kabob.  Sadly, mealtime included a fly invasion that ruined the ambience of the whole place.  I'm not an expert, but i think the missing screen or glass on the front door might have been their entry point into the place.  Butler had a checklist to review and all sorts of official looking paperwork.  He gave me a rundown of the crew and my new officemates as well as a history of his experiences during deployment.  It was great to have a friend and familiar face on my first day and I am so glad I got replace him.  All the emails, phone calls and letters really prepared me for the coming days.

We went back to the office where I had packages waiting for me already!  I had one from my good friend Jennifer and two from my mother.  Jennifer's package included flashlights and caribiners which helped make me an instant hit in the office.  It also included a little momento to remind me of some of our finer moments at the occasional watering hole.  My mother had sent forward some of the items I had left for her as well as chocolates, cup O' noodles, crackers and assorted snacks. I thought, "my new office mates HAVE to like me now, I showed up with cool gear and food on my first day."  It was nice to have pieces of home and care packages waiting on me.  It was a great harbinger of mail to come!

At about 9 that night, I finally tell Butler I have to go to bed.  We make arrangements to meet for breakfast the next morning.  I won't bore you with detail of my dining experience..that's a later topic.  Let's just say that the food really is as bad as everyone told me it would be. 

My first few days really were a blur. I met a lot of folks, learned a lot of information and forgot even more.  I got my emails set up, checked in to the various offices on base, started to unpack but never quite finished and before I knew it, Butler was leaving.  I think I may have pushed him out of the office at some point.  This job has been his project for the last seven months and I could see the passion and concern he has for it.  Somehow, I think that will start to fade in the coming weeks and months as he gets closer to home and returns to his life.  I only hope that in 7 months, I have put the same effort into this job as he did. I hope that I will have been as good to my relief as he has been to me.  I guess really, I hope I will have been as good period.

11 Days - is this trip ever going to end?

Well, once again, under the cover of night we boarded a plane.  On this plane however, there was no in-flight movie or beverage service to be found.  We did luck out and end up in a C-17.  C-17s are mostly cargo planes but they have real airline seats.  Everyone had at least two seats per person.  I picked a row, settled with all my stuff and turned on my iPod.  The flight wasn’t very long and before I knew it, we were landing at StinkySmells Air Field.  Why did I pick that name?  This particular airfield boasts a poo pond as one of the main tourist attractions.  Yes, I did say poo pond; as in a pond of poo.  The other main tourist attraction at this exciting locale is the boardwalk.  It’s a large square with an actual wooden floor outside.  The boardwalk has a plethora of little shops and food joints.  There’s even a Friday’s restaurant.  No beer, but you can get a burger for about $20 served to you at a real table.  The place even has the typical TGI Friday’s décor.

So, we arrive at Stinkysmells Air Field (SAF) early in the morning.  Our first sight in Afghanistan is an air terminal that’s literally falling apart.  It’s an old Afghan building that appears to have seen its fair share of warfare.  It’s missing chunks of wall and ceiling and there are cracks running through the entire structure.  IF Kuwait sits at the doorsteps to Hell, then SAF is on the edge of the trash dump.  After an inbrief and a lot of moving around, the NAVCENT team there told us we would leave that same day.  Miracle of miracles! 

We took our bags off the pallet and commenced loading them on a truck.  We walked from the arrivals terminal down the block to the departures terminal.  During that walk, it set in that we were actually in a war zone.  There were people in uniforms and vehicles flying flags from countries I didn’t even recognize.  Armored vehicles of all shapes and sizes lumbered down skinny roadways as people walked along the sides trying not to get hit.  OH, and yes it was hot .. and sandy.  I was back in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome; all I really needed was Tina Turner to show up with big hair and a black leather outfit.

Once we got to the departure terminal, we unloaded the truck and piled our bags on the ground outside.  By the time we got settled in, breakfast was being served at the DFAC.  We waddled down the street like a gaggle of geese in a single line to find food.  The food wasn’t bad but I just couldn’t get over the amazing sound track.  While I ate breakfast, we had 80s Madonna and Michael Jackson as our soundtrack.  We even saw some friends from Kuwait who got to call SAF their new home.  They travelled in another group…the one that didn’t get stuck in Kuwait for 5 flights.  They had already been busy at work while the rest of us were in the limbo that is Kuwait. 

After eating breakfast, we wandered over to the barely air-conditioned MWR tent and sat down to watch some TV.  Even though it was easily in the 80s inside, I think we all fell asleep for a nap.  It had been a long, overnight trip and we were exhausted.  Eventually, we woke up and headed back to the terminal.    In the departure terminal at SAF, there is no inside waiting area until after you pass security and there is little shade.  So, we all crammed into a 5’X5’ area and “chased the shade” as much as was possible.  By late afternoon, we all smelled.  Fortunately, so did the entire base so you it was hard to notice the body funk. 

Eventually they called our flight and told us it was time to go through the security.  Here comes my favorite part, the terminal wasn’t prepared for all our luggage and despite the fact we had just unloaded our stuff off the flightline, we now had to pass it all through security on an Xray belt to get it back on the flightline.  Would it have been so bad to let us leave our stuff on the air side of the terminal and re-palletize it?  Would it?  This is also about the time they informed us that no carryon bags are allowed on these flights.  Oh, and we had to tag every single bag. And it gets better, inside the terminal there was barely enough room to fit just us much less us, 4 seabags each and a carryon each.  So, we hustled to get out bags into this shoebox of a space, get everything tagged, figure out what we could take from the carryons and shove in our pockets and then empty our pockets, take everything off and send it through an Xray machine.  I will never f-in complain about any kind of airport security again.  It was freaking bedlam in there but somehow we got through it.

After getting through security and re-dressing ourselves we went upstairs and finally found seats in a semi-air conditioned space.  We sat some more.  I think our flight was scheduled for 4pm.  We were going to fly to another base first, take on some cargo and then head to Kabul.  At about 3:50, we were still waiting and I knew bad news was coming soon.  Sure enough, a British lady came up and said, “We have a bit of a situation.”  It went downhill from there.  Long story short; we weren’t getting to Kabul.

After a bit of conversation, we were told we would be manifested on a flight the next morning.  Originally, the people at the terminal wanted us to grab all of our bags and take them with us. Of course, where we were supposed to take them, no one could really tell us.  Finally, we got some Air Force guy to keep them on a pallet.  We were able to grab the items we needed for a single night and leave the rest; one small victory in a sea of defeat.  Our NAVCENT friends brought a bus for us and took us to the transient tents on base.  The best part of my trip was yet to come. 

We reached Camp Hood and I wanted to cry.  I can laugh at most situations, but this just wasn’t one of them.  Camp Hood is apparently an old British Camp on SAF.  The Brits abandoned it and gave it to us…I’ll have to thank them one day for that.

Camp Hood was nothing but tents..there wasn’t a single structure in site.  These tents might have actually been there since the war started.  IF so, they certainly had not been maintained.  Parts were flapping in the wind and the whole area had an air of desolation that was tangible.  This camp had none of the amenities we had grown accustomed to.  The tents had warm air  flowing in them.  The tolets and showers were in metal Conex boxes. There was no place to eat on the camp, no wireless internet, no phone.  There was nothing except tents and I mean that quite literally.  I am not exaggerating out of some twisted sense of artistic liberty.  THERE WAS NOTHING. 

The only good thing about Camp Hood was leaving the next morning.  NAVCENT came to pick us up and we were back on our way to the terminal.  Another flight awaited and if there was one place I couldn’t wait to leave; this was it.  We went through security again and made it upstairs to the luxurious waiting room.  Since we were there early in the morning, they had MREs available.  Of course, since we were starving, we attacked them.  Except these weren’t American MREs..they were from some other foreign land and had shit I never heard of and certainly didn’t want to eat.  However, after some digging I did find a tortellini MRE.  Once I opened it though, I found one main component lacking…freaking utensils!  Whatever foreign land produced these MREs apparently doesn’t’ believe in forks..or spoons for that matter.  Good thing I had a knife on me.  I set about bobbing for tortellini with my knife.  Man vs Wild has nothing on me…I can hunt down pasta in a savory tomato sauce and eat it fresh of a sharp blade.  If that sounds easy, you try it.

Eventually, our prayers were answered and we boarded our plane.  Holy shit, after 7 attempts, we were finally going to make it to Kabul!  This flight was on a C-130 which meant our seats were basically cargo netting attached to the side of the plane. I didn’t care…I still don’t.  C-130s aren’t terrible once you get used to them and it meant we were leaving SAF!  A few short hours later, I was able to look out the porthole and see mountains capped with snow.  Shortly after that, I could see real land….and eventually we were on real land and exiting the plane.

Next episode…Kabul, here I am!

11 Days...the Mystery Flight

I believe I left you when we found out that we weren’t leaving Camp Walkalot on our originally scheduled date.  We were the question mark flight.  As our travel brief ended, our chock commander (person in charge) was instructed to walk to the headquarters building the next day at 1400.  This meant he got to put on his uniform and walk about a mile just when the sun was reaching its most infernal temperature. Why our good Navy partners couldn’t manage to get in their air-conditioned vehicles and drive to him, I still don’t understand.

Regardless, it meant that all of us were stuck at the gates of hell to wait one more day.  Stacie and I had a grand plan; we bought snacks and sodas with the idea that we would have a movie day at the community tent in our area.  Great plan, right?  Seemel like it at the time..  The day started out okay. We woke up and hiked to breakfast.  Then, we watched the majority of our group depart at their regularly scheduled intervals.  With the crowd gone,  I got my Family Guy DVDs out of my luggage and we laughed as we watched the first episode.  When it came time to watch the second, there was no remote to be found for the DVD.  Being in the AV business and all, this did not discourage me.  I simply walked up to the DVD player and searched for the menu buttons.  Oh wait, there were none.  Faced with the choice of watching the same  episode of Family Guy on constant rerun, we decided to pick one of the movies available for our viewing pleasure.  Except almost every DVD case was empty.  Jackpot, we found “District 9.”  Have you ever seen that movie? I had heard about it and because of that, I assumed it must be decent.  I was terribly mistaken.  I still have flashbacks of what may very well be the worst movie I ever attempted to watch.  I don’t know whether I should hate the writer, the jackass movie guys who bought the script or the juvenile who actually made it.

Shortly before 1500, our "person in charge" had completed his journey back from headquarters and told us our mystery group was being split in two.  This was especially traumatic as I was being separated from Stacie.  I like most of the people in our entire training group but Stacie was the person I spent most of my time with.  I would wish that she got to stay with me, but I like her too much to wish the fate “Morgan’s Zeroes” would soon have to endure.

Our group was the first to leave on Friday.  So, I woke up Friday morning, re-packed (for about the 5^th time at this point) and we set about loading the truck with all our seabags.  If I never have to load another truck again, it will be too soon.  We boarded the bus and off we went.  We left the base and headed on the road. Finally, after 6 days of travel, we were headed towards our final destination; for about ½ mile.  Shortly after leaving the gate, the convoy turned around.  I was sitting towards the front of the bus so I was able to figure out what was happening right away.  The people in the back of the bus didn’t really have a clue yet.  It gave me some small joy to tell them we weren't getting on our flight.  We went back through the gate and found ourselves back at Camp Walkalot.  Our flight was cancelled.  We unloaded the truck (at least I got exercise that day) and hauled all our shit back to the tents just in time to help our friends load up their truck.  We waved goodbye and looked forward to another day of with less than nothing to do.  We were told we would leave the next evening.

The next day was one of the longest in my life.  Normally, I enjoy a full day of doing nothing.  It’s a great chance to recuperate from the stresses of life and let go of trivial worries.  Except this was a full day of doing nothing after 5 days of doing nothing.  I don’t even know how I spent my time. I’m sure I went to breakfast Saturday morning…may have even gone to dinner but I doubt it.  Our bus left at 1800 and it was still hot out.  I know I didn’t want to sweat before getting on a flight to another hot location.

We re-loaded our truck, got back on the bus and started out again.  This time; success!  We made it to the airport at Al Oxenfree.  Good times.  We started hauling our bags off the truck.  Then, out of nowhere came the order to stop.  Not good my friends, not good.  A minute later, we were told it was a false alarm and to return to unloading.  Just as our last bag hit the ground, we received word flight number two had been cancelled or re-missioned.  The cause.is irrelevant; the effect was the same.  We were spending another night in Kuwait.

However, this time we were going to enjoy the lovely accommodations at Camp Oxenfree.  Now, Oxenfree is probably the largest rallying point for troop movements in and out of theater.  This place is jam-packed with Sailors, Soldiers, Marines, Airmen and civilian contractors.  There’s a tent city about 20 columns wide and 8 rows deep.  Each tent has bunk beds and sleeps 14 comfortably (if that’s even possible).   I don’t know whether it was the surge or just the passage of time, but this place looked nothing like the Camp I ahd visited five years earlier.  Next to tent city was a recreation city of sorts.  There were many of the same amenities and stores as we enjoyed at Walkalot but in the space of half a city block.  If it’s a small city block…think Des Moines, not Chicago.  Though the living conditions were less desirable at our new location, it was still a nice change of pace.  Plus, we were scheduled for a flight the next morning with a 0900 show time.

We did have access to our bags, but had to sift through the pile of them to find the basic comforts of life.  At Walkalot, I debated vigorously over the pros and cons of packing a rucksack.  In the end, I listened to my shipmates in Walkalot who said “don’t pack a rucksack.”  That’s the last time (well, not really) that I second-guess my own instinct.

I sifted through the pile-o-bags with everyone else and eventually found the one that had the essentials. This included a towel, my sleep system and pillow.  I already had my underthings and shower basics in my backpack.  Fortunately, I’m not the dumbest traveller in the world.  After a brief stop at the USO and a late night snack at KFC, I settled in for the night and dreamt of the travels in store for me the next day.

The next morning is Sunday and we have officially been vagrants for one full week.  We wake up, repack our essential stuff and muster at 0900 for our morning flight.  Third time’s a charm and we are so on our way to Afghanistan.  Third time’s a bitch is what it turned out to be.  Someone in their infinite incompetency failed to actually manifest us on our flight.  So, we are stuck.  Again.

Our next flight, later that night was re-routed to another location.  Flight attempt number 4 and another night in Oxenfree.  At this point, all humor in the situation was lost.  I can’t figure out how we actually get people to war; I really can’t.  Somewhere along the way, we officially named ourselves “Morgan’s Zeroes” after our senior officer and the famed WWII comedy about American POWs.  It was fitting; I did feel a certain kinship to the characters stuck in a Nazi camp.  Yes, living conditions were far better but I could certainly relate to the hopelessness of ever actually leaving. 

We finally did make it out of Oxenfree late Monday night.  Apparently, when trying to leave Kuwait it’s the 5^th time that’s the charm.  Next stop, the backside of hell.  See ya there!

11 Days - Part 2

I'm picking back up after a 16-hour flight with a quick stop in Germany.  We landed in Kuwait City at 0001, Monday, May 9th.  Groggy and achy, we got off the plane and watched a team of our hard-working shipmates unload all 400+ of our bags.  They boarded us on busses and we began our trip into the desert.  An hour or so later (who really keeps track of time after such a long day?), we arrived at Camp Walkalot.  Once there, we were met by some of our counterparts who briefed us on the basics of life in the camp.  Here's what I remember:

    - It's hot in Kuwait so drink water.
   - Wear your glowbelt so you can be easily spotted under the cover of night.
   - Watch out for scorpions, desert foxes and mice.
   -  No booze of any kind.

I'm sure there was some other important information we were supposed to remember but I don't.  The above points are all that really stick out in my mind.

  After our in-brief, we unloaded the truck, found our seabags and threw them in our tents.  Yes, I said tents...this is life in the Narmy after all.  The tents were actually pretty nice; they were spacious, air-conditioned and offered real beds for sleep.  Sadly, no sheets or pillows to sleep with.  Good thing the Army issued each of us our very own, slightly used sleep system.  There was also nowhere to store our weapons which meant they went everywhere we did from that moment on.  Yaaay. (insert sarcastic voice here)

  By the time our bag drag was complete, it was already light out and time for morning chow.  So we set out walking for the DFAC.  We walked through deep sand, past an abandoned tent city and then walked some more.  By the time we reached the DFAC, I thought it might just be a mirage.  Inside though, the food was worth the trek.  Considering I had just spent the last 3 weeks eating some of the worst food the Army has to offer, I was in hog (or cow) heaven.  They had cook-to-order omelets, Lucky Charms cereal, fresh fruits, hashbrowns, juice, soda, english muffins..you name it..they had it.  Except for decent bacon.  

    Sometime during the breakfast discussion, Stacie, Kat and I decided we needed to get on the correct time-zone.  So after spending the last 36 hours or so in travel mode, we decided to stay awake as long as we could.  We walked around and experienced all Camp Walkalot had to offer.  It actually had very nice facilities.  There was a USO with free internet and phones, an MWR with pool tables and couches, Starbucks, McD's, Taco Hell, Green Beans Coffee (love this place), spa and other fine establishments. 

     It was like a mini-Army resort until someone turned the heat on.  Our first morning started out cloudy and quite overcast.  That didn't last long.  When the clouds dissipated, we soon discovered that the sun is about 10' off the ground in Kuwait.  It burns into the core of your flesh and cooks you fromt he inside I think.  Sounds pretty bad, right?  Oh wait...it's not over yet.  Just when you think you're probably registering a nice medium-rare, the wind kicks in.  I'm not talking about a nice seabreeze or a wind that rustles through the trees...(oh wait..there are no trees..as a matter of fact there is no green in this place at all..just dead bushes and sand)...I am talking about a 15000 watt hair dryer turned on full blast.  The temps while in Kuwait were somewhere in the 110s and the wind is HOTTER THAN THE STILL AIR!  This is when I realized I was located just south of the gates of hell.

     Of course, with the wind comes the sand/dust/filth.  Since the showers are a short walk, staying clean is pretty impossible.  Of course...given the 3-digit temps...staying clean really isn't possible anyways I guess.  I know why Moses walked for 40 days..he wanted to get the hell out of Kuwait. (okay, okay..so he led the people out of Egypt..but I bet it's all pretty much the same) 

     SInce Camp Walkalot didn't have indoor plumbing, that meant we got to enjoy all that port-a-potties have to offer in the middle of the desert.  As an upgrade, we did have small modular structures that also housed toilets in them.  These structures are kind of like portable executive washrooms; the blue-collar version.  They had no air-conditioning and no electricity.  If the smell didn't get to you, the heat certainly did.  Entering these damn things was like moving from the frying pan into the fire; or maybe the oven is a better analogy. Oh..and they ran out of water daily so you couldn't flush the toilets.  It just keeps getting better and better folks.

   At the end of our third vacation day at the Hotel Steps of Hell, we had our travel brief.  We all gathered in a different tent and found out when our next leg of travel would begin.  We had folks on their way to Qatar, Iraq and Afghanistan.  Becuse of our size, they had to split us into multiple groups.  As they discussed travel plans and informed us of our travel groups, they got to my group.  We were Afghanistan 2...our flight plans..."?".  That's what the slide said folks..."?".  While everyone else got to leave Thursday, the 12th, we were optimistic that we might leave at some point in time on Friday the 13th. 

     I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  While our time in Kuwait had required very little action on our part and virtually no actual work, I was stuck enduring heat that could cook a meal and I had already experienced all the Camp had to offer. I had experienced it all 5 times over.  By Wednesday, I had refused to go to lunch because walking a mile one-way through the desert in a mostly abandoned camp was not an acticity I was willing to pursue. 

      I thought I would go stir-crazy spending an extra day a Walkalot...but it turns out I hadn't yet begun to know the depths of boredom and frustration I would later experience.  Stay tuned for the next chapter.

the bathroom experience...

                                               the morning bag drag

                                               our luxurious accomodations

                                               ..just like the Ritz

                                             I bet you even Ronald's smile turned south in the sun.     

                                               Kat and Stacie...in the midle of nowhere.