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.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 1, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 25, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
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.
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| I know it's not rotated, but you get the idea. |
Saturday, June 18, 2011
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 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.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
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.
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.
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