868 Moments

Gonna start posting the COLS Dynasty league podcasts here...hopefully that will jar me back into posting regular podcasts here more, too!

This covers week one and two of the 2012 season...there was a problem with the rcording though...so I lost like 20 minutes of it in the middle because I was using the trial version of Pamela instead of the REAL version that I own...ah well...live and learn...CDL 002

This is the interview I had with David. The next episodes will be on format, where the focus will be stories.
This is all more of a test than anything else...Hell of a funny convo though.

This is a podcast now, yo.

Deal with it.

This is going to be short and really it's just a post to remind me that I need to get into this era of my story.

Last Saturday, after pulling a shift at NBC, I met up with Charley for some coffee- but we never found a coffee place that was open. So we ended up going back to his sister's place (where he was shacking up) and had some pasta and beer.

We talked about a lot of shit but of course we always led back to our time at American Journal.

Now- the situation at AJ was the most fucked up, crazy, unbelievable shit you could ever think of. Really. I'm not joking.
But that was an awesome introduction into what it would be like to edit in NYC. It was so extreme! Everyone was a character in that tent and I miss every single...well, MOST of them- immensely.

Charley and I talked late into the evening about that place, where sleeves were chewed and the bodies of feinted P.A.s were casually stepped over in the name of journalism.

Yes.

I must recant some of that stuff here and I will. Daunting as the task may be.

It's that time of year again. My cup runneth over.

Football!

Every year my passion for it grows exponentially and I don't really understand it. It went from a gentle expectation that came with my favorite time of the year (Fall) to a full bodied lust that began to burn furiously sometime around June.

Anyone who has ever known me from before the past couple of years might only describe my interest in the sport as slight if at all, for I didn't carry myself as a football lover. Of course anyone associated with me even somewhat closely over the past 5-6 years would be able state with certainty that I am a football nut.

When I think back on it- you know, my introduction to football and how everything fell into place- it does make sense.

My step father was the football lover in the house. I don't know how he got me watching but I remember plenty of Sunday afternoons rooting for the Cowboys. Now, I wasn't a freak then. I was a kid. So if there was something going on outside for me to do- biking, running- whatever. I'd do it but I would never be so far as to not know what the score was.

And the Cowboys were a great team to root for. Dorsett, Newhouse- all the Cowboys were like shining knights of blue and silver. Stars blazing a trail across a stripped field of green. I remember watching Staubach have what seemed like the entire Redskins defense huddle over him menacingly- only to emerge from the cluster of red jerseys almost effortlessly. It was always amazing how many times he got out of a jam and made a great play.
On top of that, they had the hottest cheerleaders ever and since. Rows of beauties in every color and shape, all smiles and kicks and excitement.

Thinking on it now, those Cowboys probably made me feel like a real Texan, too. Not like someone who had been carted in from the hot sands of Arizona under the cover of darkness.

Pop not only had us watch football- he even talked us into playing for the Base pop warner league.
I would dread those weekly practices as they were sweat and tears, yo. We met up two or three times a week and it was intense.
Today- I would pay to go through some of those routines but back then- ugh. The hardest part really was doing all the exercises at the beginning. The running. The jumping jacks. The push-ups. The tires. The whistle stops...Yeah, the fucking whistle stops.
After that we would run through plays and that was pretty awesome but the cool shit was Saturday.

Game day.

Mom would pack a bunch of food and drinks and stuff into a cooler and Pop (who was coaching my brother's team) would have charts and whistles and pads and shit.
Then we would get out there in our uniforms (My team was the JETS- which is kinda appropriate-, Joe's were the Steelers) and just rip shit up like we were being paid. We were highly competitive back then. I never saw a parent hit a coach or a ref or anything like that kind of nonsense but the parents of the neighborhood that I raise my kids in now would frown on the sheer ferociousness burning in the eyes of my fellow team mates back then.

Sometimes that competitive edge got us into trouble.

Once- while we were on the bus to that weekend's match, we came across a kid from the opposing team who was walking, so the driver decided to stop and give the guy a ride.
This skrawny little thing slowly made his way to the back and a few of us decided to get the bus fired up to let this kid know he was being driven to the ass-kicking of his life.

"We're gonna whoop! Up! Side-the-head! We're gonna whoop'em upside the head!" we began to chant and it wasn't long before the whole bus was rocking with the righteous thunder of the Kelly AFB Jets.
Young girls dressed in green and white uniforms of cheer, gnashed their teeth and stomped their feet just as viciously as any boy on the team- Their Pom-Poms pumping rhythmically to the chant.

Our tender little visitor sat quietly amidst the choreographed chaos. He had a panicked look on his face- like some poor bastard sitting on a stake during some sacrificial dance.

When the bus stopped. He practically leaped off and ran to his team. We smiled as he as did so...until we saw what he was running to.

On the other end of the field were the biggest bunch of beasts packaged as preteens I had ever seen up until that time. Massive children that resembled gorillas much more than anything human and all of them dressed as our freshly released captor who was now pointing frantically in our direction.
We were done for.

What followed was the most embarassing display of a "football game" ever known to the sport. A one-sided event very similar to a Harlem Globetrotters game except muddier and intensely more violent.

Football was my first and only organized sport and I would have to say that My year with the Jets was probably my favorite- even though I would go on to play for a few years after that.

Micheal Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and The Gap Band's "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" are miracles of science as they are instant portals to the past. When I hear those songs I find myself sitting on that bus on the way to a game or standing on the sideline in my number "72" jersey waiting to get back into the game.

My position was defensive tackle but sometimes I would play offense too. I would get other positions later due to my tallness but never was I able to run the ball. My dream was to get into that end zone! I knew I was fast enough I just never got the ball.

My closest shot was a game where I was on the defensive line and once the ball was snapped- I shoved the kid in front of me to the ground (which was easy because he was smaller than I) and barreled down on the quarterback who was smaller than the guy I had just stepped over.

The QB, startled at how fast I got through the line, slipped and dropped the ball.

Now, I knew that once I picked that ball up they would call the play and we would pick up the game from that spot. The coaches told us several times that we weren't allowed to have run backs in this league,
BUT:
1. That rule never made any sense to me. and
2. This was my chance! I was gonna score, dammit.

I scooped the ball effortlessly with no one standing between me and the goal line. I was just a few leg pumps away from the dream that any kid wearing pads and a helmet has. I was gonna make a touchdown! Whether it counted or not.

A bolt of energy shot through me as the crowd collectively gasped- realizing the tables had turned.
I planted my first step deep into the earth and pushed. I propelled forward slightly, tucked the ball and shifted my weight all simultaneously. A young Dorsett in the making.
I went to dig at the ground again with my next step but it wasn't there. Something small lassoed my ankle and pulled my foot back and out from underneath me. Not prepared for the sudden change the top half of me came tumbling down like some old worn out Vegas Casino. Slow and hard.
I looked back and saw the kid who I plowed through to get into this joint, still clutching my foot with his eyes closed.

The ref took the ball away from me and planted it back where I picked it up- barely a yard away.

When I got back to the sideline the coach patted me on the back as he noticed my obvious disappointment- "Nice turnover, Kim- But even if you'd had run they'da brung it back."

Yeah- GREAT!

I think TD Remorse is popular with a lot of guys who played pop warner and didn't get in the end zone. I was talking to my friend Larry a couple of years ago and he had TD-R, too. Maybe they'll come out with a pill for that and hawk it to us during the news. I'd buy it.

I continued to play through for Kelly AFB for a few years up until I was a Freshman. Every year was pretty much the same for me. Pop (coach) and Joe (unstoppable tank) were the champions of their league one year.

Joe may not have been able to read worth a damn nor did he have the sense to comprehend many of the complexities of the plays but he could NOT be stopped. In this he was amazing. He could have been a great athlete if he hadn't been distracted by things he shouldn't have never ever been a part of.

Our final year playing for the base Joe and I were joined by our cousins, Marvin and Micheal.

Marvin was my age so he was on my team. Micheal was Joe's age. My mom and her sister, Jewel (Marvin and Micheal's mother) seemed to compete in everything- even this.

Anyway- we had some great times hanging out as we where growing up and playing football together was extra cool!

Marvin was the QB, green eyed, light skinned AND a ladies man- so I don't even have to tell you what his situation was like- Me? I was me. So, I managed to have fun telling different cheerleaders "secrets" they should know to get to Marvin.

I don't remember much from this year except there was this one game that we were losing horribly. I was a corner back and I remember running in after the quarterback in a direct line- which the coach had told me NOT to do! The coach always told me to make corners- BUT THE DUDE WAS RIGHT THERE!!! So I ran right at the guy and suddenly he spun and was running around me.
I turned to catch him but now I was falling behind and he was sprinting away from me like a gazelle. The worst part was that he was holding the ball down at his side just out of my reach- TEASING me with it.

After he was finally brought down, I was called to the sideline where I was admonished mercilessly. It was my fault, so I could say nothing.

The rest of the game went pretty muc

The first and only time I lived on my own, completely- was in a first floor apartment in a duplex on Cable Ranch Rd.

It was Apt. 911.

When I moved in, my parents gave me their old couch- I had some other furniture I cobbled together including a coffee table but not a bed. So I slept on that couch for the first month or so.

It was pretty cool.

So many great things happened in that place- I'm going to break up each moment of relevance- but this is just about getting the place itself and what the aura was like.

The complex itself set alone behind the Westlakes Mall area next to this man-made huge pond/small lake shaped body of water.

I got the bottom floor because it was the cheapest- I think my rent was around 350 a month. The apartment was about 427 sq. ft. so it was small.
It had two major rooms- the largest one was a Kitchen/Living Room area seprated by a counter so the place still seemed sizeable.
The second room was the Bedroom/Bathroom. Also a sizeable room- especially since I didn't have a bed in it at the time.

The place was pretty sparce for a while as I was collecting things to put in there on my measly $16,000 a year salary- Which I was HAPPY to make, mind you- it was a nice chunk of change for SA at the time- especially for someone my age.

I lived next to the H.E.B. I worked at as a High School Senior. I would visit this place like twice a week to load up on necessities: chirizo, tortillas, eggs, sausage, beans (refried and baked), corn in a can, wine, candles, bread, milk, cereal, ice cream, tomatoes, hamburger meat, a roasted chicken and premade potato salad.
This would cost me between 40-50 bucks and would last me a week- maybe longer. I would buy a pack of Dove soap, dish detergent, toothpaste and a four roll of toilet paper once a month.

It was rare that I would have to buy beer because there was always some left over from some get togther that had happened a couple of days before.

It was cool to be really on my own. I mean, I was always very independant and I was pretty responsible (except with paper work and mail- which I can't stand- but I had pulled it together enough to run things). So I loved it!
There were times when I was pretty lonely on my own but that came after I had lived there for a while.

In fact- there was always people coming over to my place. It was a hangout for Cisco and a lot of his friends as we had dinners/parties like twice a week. My National Guard friends rolled through once a month and Roger came over throughout the month as well.
Jerry, Susan and Ted paid me regular visits and Gary even had a key- so he would stop by and do his laundry PLUS there was a ritual we had where we would buy a Louisiana crunch cake and a box of vanilla bean ice cream and finish it off in one sitting.
Bryan would roll over and we would jam and watch cartoons.
Dave and his wife came by a couple of times so's she could drink my beer.
Rob would come by with the crew we used to hang with at the arcade.
Sarah came by a few times as well as Marcos and Joann, Mike and a few other peeps from Fox Rocks and KRRT.
Randy and Lisa visited me often.
My cousin, Teddy would come by with all kinds of people he was hanging with at the time.
Lisa and Alfred came by a lot too.

Thinking back, I don't know how I got so lonely in that place. But I eventually did-
I do miss it but I don't think I could live like that again. Not really.

Too many memories, yo. I will have to go into detail.

Before I jet on this opening to 911 Cable Ranch-
I remember finding a cat on my balcony and I happened to have a can of tuna so I busted it open and set it out. The cat ate well and hung for a bit then rolled. I was happy for the company while it was there but didn't think anything of it.

The next morning on my way out to work I found a dead mouse on my welcome matt as a thank you from the cat.

That was pretty much the vibe at my place. Give a little, take a little and everything was apprieciated.
Even though it was MY place- it kinda felt shared by the various networks I was associated with.

Yeah. It was a pretty cool place.

Like I said before-
We used to live in a small trailer-sized apartment that was kinda connected to Mr. Fred's house- who lived next door to my Grandma.

We were hiding out from my real father because we didn't know how he was going to act when he was around. It was kinda like hiding right underneath his nose and we shoulda known that the cover was gonna get blown sometime.

I don't remember a lot of the details here because:
1- As a 5 year-old I'm sure I wasn't told a lot of the details.
AND
2- Did I mention I was 5?

I feel like we stayed there for a while though-

I remember watching a story on the news about a singer who died from choking on a sandwich while we stayed in that apartment. My mother had to explain it to me and I remember it being really odd for someone to be gone because of a sandwich and it felt- sad.

I also remember standing outside of that place on a New Year's evening and watching fireworks fill the sky- I'm pretty sure that was 1974's first day.

Now- my mother had been dating my step father for a bit around then and it was often that my brother and I would stay the night over at my Grandma's while she and he would go out at night and then retire there to- get to know each other a little better.

It was one morning after such a night that my grandmother looked out the window and saw my biological Dad's car pull up- she panicked and moved from curtain to curtain as my Dad walked past my Grandma's house in a bee-line towards that little trailer-sized apartment.

I bolt of fear struck my body and the energy from it just sat with me as I watched my grandmother fret-
It was that special kind of fear that children have when they see- and feel- that everything is not okay in their parent's world.
My grandmother paced back and forth-
chanting "Oh Lord, oh lord...Oh!" over and over to herself, under her breath- wiping her forehead and placing her hand over her mouth.
I watched her and I just knew the world was gonna end- you know?

Then, BLAM!

I had never heard a gunshot before- I'm sure I knew what a gun was- but I didn't know what that sound was. It was loud. It was scary and it meant something BAD had happened.

Before I knew it- I was streaking in the direction of the noise calling after my mother.
"KIM!" My Grandmother screamed out after me but I was already off the porch and around the corner.

When I got to the apartment my Dad and the man who would be my Step Dad were tussling. My mother scooped me up and was backing out as she yelled at the two men to stop.
That's when my Grandma busted in and somehow between she and my step dad they got my father wrestled down away from his gun.
My Grandmother sat on my dad 'til the cops came and took him away.

Sometime later- and I really don't know how long- it feels like a couple of days, there was talk of moving to Texas with this man who had fought off my dad.
Apparently- he had to go there because he was in the military- we didn't know if we were going to go with him, though.

One night after dinner, around this time- I remember being on the steps outside of that little place with a wishbone that I had split with my brother-
I turned and looked at the winning end of the bone and wished aloud to myself that we would go to this place called Texas- I felt that wish very strongly.

It wasn't long after that wish that we had everything we owned in the back of my Pop's Caddy and were headed to San Antonio.

It was a move that saved my life and made me what I am today- of that I am absolutely SURE.

I didn't know it then but it would be decades later before I would see my father again- at the time, I was very thankful.

We were a week or so into basic.

We were "pickled"- meaning we had been handed our green uniforms (now they wear BDUs- which are camouflage- so I don't know if they are called pickles anymore).

Our name tags were on order and we would pick up our Dress Blues later. Basic was getting easier but there was still one thing on our weighing heavily on our minds- Taking a dump.

Yeah. I said it.

You see- we had been warned early in the program that when you experience a drastic change in your lifestyle, Like basic training, sometimes this messes with your biological clock. So it is not unusual for a person to have severe constipation.
Sometimes, an airman would get so backed up that they would actually get sick from it.

So a lot of us were looking for that first bowel movement and already at a week and a half in- many of us had not had it yet- including myself. It was a little amazing because we were eating and drinking big meals, 3 times a day.

Other than that- I thought I was doing pretty well.
I had gotten the meal routine down and had managed to stay under the radar, like Gary suggested.

Then one night just before lights out, Dillard, our Dorm Chief, got my attention with a "Pssssst" and motioned me over into the Day Room.

Dillard was an interesting character. He was this tall, olive skinned man whose chiseled face prominently displayed his Native American heritage.
Apparently, he came from a family with some money, too as he had been a professional model and his family owned "Dillards" the department store. He didn't need to be here in the military but there he was.

I remember how he volunteered to be the Dorm Chief that first day we were there. I thought he was a sucker for doing it because he was just ASKING for trouble being the leader of our flight. There were four Squad leader positions beneath him that had to be filled- no one volunteered for those- the T.I. just pulled them out due to the size of a person. I had managed to make myself unnoticeable during the selection by using the Jedi Mind Trick-
Okay, maybe not but I WAS lucky enough not to be picked.

"Pssst" Dillard beckoned.

I walked over to him in the dark- from his expression, I knew that this was serious.

"A couple of things I want to tell you. First off' I found these." He dangled a set of keys in front of me.
"What are THOSE?"
"These are the keys to the closet with all our civilian stuff in it!"
"WHAT!?" I said in a whispered yell.
"Yeah, I found them in the Sgt. Jone's office desk-"

See. Sgt. Jones, our T.I., didn't stay with us- the T.I.s went home after about 6 or 7pm. We were to clean ourselves up at the end of the day and get set for the next day- which meant laying out your uniform on a chair next to your bed in the PRECISE way that was lined out in your basic training manual (your uniform had to be ironed and your shoes shined, of course) and your locker also had to be organized correctly (also in the manual).

Sometime before you woke up (like 4am)- T.I.s would creep through and inspect your displays and lockers with a flashlight. If your shit was wrong you would lose the 341* that you conveniently had to place on top of your clothes.

So anyway- it was after the T.I. left that Dillard had gone into his office at the center of the dorm and found the keys.

"We are going to have to figure out how we are going to use these because I definitely want to read the books I brought." he told me.

"WE?" I said. What did I have to do with this? I'm just a nondescript airman trying to get to his second week of basic. And while I WANT to get into that closet- why am I involved in helping the Dorm Chief figure out how to do it?

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." Dillard said, "Were you in R.O.T.C?"

My face dropped. My eyes bulged. I was in total shock.

"How- How do you know that!? You can't tell anybody about that."
"Sgt. Jones told me."
"How'd HE know that!?" This was worse than I thought.
"I don't know but he told me he is going to make you a Squad Leader tomorrow."

Way worse.

"He said that your R.O.T.C. experience could help a squad come along real fast."

"SHIT! I don't want to be a squad leader!"
"Well, he told me it's going to happen, so I thought I'd give you a heads up."

Dillard raised the keys as he began to move away from me "We gotta figure out what we should do with these." and with that he left me standing in the dark Day Room.

I was pondering the future- Gary's warning about laying low was ringing in my head.
Keeping a low profile would be impossible standing at the front of a squad and being responsible for how they set their displays at night- FUCK!
I could see it now- I was going to lose a book of 341s trying to lead a squad of airmen.
Basic Training just got really hard.

Then, I convinced myself that somehow I would prove I was a fuck up so he COULDN'T promote me to squad leader but I didn't know exactly HOW I would do it. I knew that I was going to get out of this promotion, though. No DOUBT!

That night, I tossed the problem around my head over and over with very little sleep.

The next morning came waaaay too fast and many of our flight woke up to find the 341 on their displays missing. It was going to be a long day.

We formed up downstairs so we could march out to our morning exercises.
We had barely gotten into formation when Sgt. Jones mentioned how shitty we had done on our displays.
Then he turned to the second squad leader- a blond dude named Harris who was not much older than me- I was the youngest in the flight at 18.

"Harris! You look like a pussy. Are you a pussy, son?"
"Sir, No sir."
"Well I say you ARE a pussy!"
"Sir, No sir!"
"Are you calling me a liar, son!"
"Sir, No sir!"
"-And I think I detect a smile on your goddamn face, Airman Harris! Do you find the fact that I think you're a pussy, FUNNY!?"
"Sir, No sir!"
"Well, I think you DO, Harris. YOUR FIRED! We're gonna get us a new Squad Leader up here- GORDEN! Front and center!"

I was so surprised at how fast things were happening that I forgot my plan to fuck up and stepped up in perfect military fashion. I messed up a PERFECT opportunity to be a dumb ass.

"Airman Gorden reporting as ordered, SIR!"
"You're the new Squad Leader."

There was a shuffle because I was taller than the guy who was leader of 2ND squad so he became the new 3rd Squad Leader and I became 2ND Squad leader.

And that was that. We marched out to exercises with me leading the 2ND squad.

Dammit.

Later that day we were headed to the Day Room for our afternoon meeting.

Davis came in from the bathroom area with a smile on his face and his index fingers spread wide indicating the length of the beast he had just created.

"I did it! I finally did it!"

The two or three of us that heard him celebrated with high-fives and light laughter.

"Hold it down, you all- hold it down." Sgt. Blake said. She was the assistant T.I. to Sgt. Jones. A small framed black woman who would say the word "Furnt" in place of the word "Front"- as in "Airmen, align yourselves to the furnt!"

She and Sgt. Jones began to ream us royal over how shitty our displays were the night before and they told us they expected a different story tomorrow morning or there would be hell to pay. They broke the day early to allow us time to get our shit together.

So we split up into our Squads and for the first time I was alone with the five or six dudes that were under me.

I gathered the guys and broke the work up into tasks and asked who knew how to do what. Most of us were familiar with shoe shinning, I had ironing skills so me and this one Asian guy got together on that- we did the folding too. The other two guys went through and made sure that the lockers had everything where they were supposed to be- you know?
Like making sure all the hangars where evenly spaced. That the shaving cream and the tooth paste was closed with the tops clean. That the underwear was folded and placed correctly in the locker.

We were actually having a good time with it. Telling jokes and busying our hands.
It took us a while but we got it all together and put away.

Right after "lights out"- I crept out of bed and double checked all my squads displays before finally laying down- I slept hard that night.
Next thing you know- Taps was playing and we were at it again.

Sgt. Blake broke the bad news in the morning meeting.

"It's not that difficult Airmen!- You have a manual that TELLS you what your displays are supposed to look like and yet you failed! The only improvement in this dorm goes to second squad who didn't have any three-forty ones pulled."

At this my squad, who had chosen to sit near me began whispering "Yes!" and high-fiving one another.

"I suggest you figure out what second squad did and DO IT!", she continued.

Later that day, when it was time to get our displays together- I was asked what we did and other squad leaders broke their squads up into groups to where a group of us were shining shoes- another ironing and yet another checking lockers. So if you were good at something- that's what you did. People who couldn't iron worth a damn got their clothes ironed my someone with some skill in trade for shining their shoes- etc.

It was that night that Dillard decided to bust out the keys. Since we all kinda had assignment

Like everything else in basic training- eating came with a policy that had to be adhered to or you would find yourself staring down the esophagus of some T.I. as he berated your ignorance.

The rules were fairly simple:

1. You must keep military bearing at all times when in the cafeteria.

This meant that you had to "march" to and from the table. That is to say you made "pivots" instead of just turning in one direction or another.
You kept your hands in a fist at your sides and you certainly did not stop to jibber jabber at someone else's table.

2. You must stand at attention at your table until all four seats are filled- then the last person there will say "be seated" at which time you may all sit and eat.

Um...yeah- that pretty much explains itself.

3. Each flight will have 10 minutes after the last of it's members sits down to finish their food- then the T.I. will dismiss the flight from the meal and they will get into formation outside the cafeteria and march back to their dorms.

So- this meant that if you were in the last squad of your flight- you were doing some SERIOUS eating and FAST. Each meal they would rotate which squad went in last so it wasn't always the same dudes rushing through meals.

4. You MUST drink 8 glasses of water a day.

If you went to your table and you didn't have at least one glass of water on your tray- you might get your ass handed to you. This rule was to keep you from passing out in the Texas sun from being marched too hard without enough H2O in your system. A very reasonable request- if you disobeyed this one you heard about it pretty quick.

5. DO NOT ATTRACT ATTENTION TO YOURSELF.


Okay- this wasn’t an official rule- this was just something you did- ALL THE TIME- especially in the cafeteria- because having one T.I. jump on you for not pulling a pivot the right way as you went to your seat was like having a paper cut in a pool of sharks- it isn’t long before they are all feeding on you.

So that said-
Here is a loose mock up of how the cafeteria was set up (at least how I remember it).















We would get our main food in a line (much like Luby's) that was in an area separate from this one. You would have a choice of a couple of main dishes. Then you would come into this room to actually eat.

We would enter through the "IN" doors at the bottom of the drawing.
The HUGE "Salad Bar" table had more than just salads- often it had the sides to your meal but most importantly it had the DRINKS and the WATER that you so desperately needed to get you through the Texas heat.

At the top of the room you'll see "The Snake Pit". That was the area where the T.I.s sat to eat.
Directly in front of them was where the condiments were. So, in order to get ketchup or mayo or mustard- you would have to march and stand DIRECTLY IN FRONT of the Snake Pit. Anyone going for condiments was BEGGING to get picked on my the T.I.'s and they did it OFTEN- sometimes they would even make airmen answer military questions or even sing them songs or do imitations- I'm not kidding.

Also there was an icebox filled with all kinds of goodies in each corner. That thing had Ice Cream sandwiches, Bomb Pops (red, white and blue as well as the banana/fudge variety), Orange Creams, Drumsticks- you name it!

Now, you will also note that there is a shit-load of open space between the Snake Pit and the icebox. Anyone headed to that icebox is an open target for any T.I. sitting in the Pit looking for something to yell at.

One thing I have to say is that the food was always GOOD and there was plenty of it. In fact, the whole of my Air Force career- they always gave me good food. Much better than other wings of the military.


Okay-
So very early into our first weekend there we were trying to get all these rules to the cafeteria down.
Some of us didn’t know how to march so bad pivots were being made and T.I.s were stopping people and yelling at them.
This person would then crack under pressure and forget to say “sir” because they’d only been in the military for 48 hrs and MORE T.I.’s would start yelling at them- next thing you know, they’ve spent their whole mealtime getting yelled at.

I remember sitting at the table with three other guys- we had done everything right-
We'd hit the salad bar- gotten our water and other drinks-
We correctly filled in the next available spot at the next available table and waited at attention for it to be filled then we sat.

We ate in extreme observance of rule number 5- well, at least as much as we could be because we were still “rainbows”- meaning we didn’t have uniforms- we were all in civilian clothes and stood out painfully everywhere we went on base as new recruits that needed to be broken into the military way of life-
especially in the cafeteria.

Still, at the table- we spoke in hushed whispers as we shoveled food into our mouths with our heads down.
Eyeballing those less fortunate than us as we tried to figure out the lay of the land-

Michaels: Damn, I want some ketchup on my fries.
Davis: (pointing to the Snake Pit) It’s over there-
Me: Fuck that- I’ll be eating dry fries for a while, ya’ll.
Michaels: Yeah, me too. Damn it.

Just then, Nelson- the dude who had the condom before- was sitting at his table when he realized they were out of napkins. Not thinking anything of it- he reached over from his table to the next to his for a napkin.

This was a HUGE mistake.

The first T.I. was on him so fast that I don’t even think his legs were moving. It was like he slid across the room right up to Nelson’s ear.
“Where the hell do you think you are, airman!? McDonalds!? –Stand up! Stand up right now!”

Nelson stood- he was kind of laughing at how stupid he had been or maybe the McDonalds line got him- the T.I. didn’t like that and yelled at him harder.
Nelson started to get upset- his stance became aggressive- he was from some gangs up north and getting yelled at over a meal was unacceptable.
He said something back to the T.I. that I can’t remember- before you know it- 2 more T.I.’s were on him. He was catching three mouthfuls of shit for the rest of the meal and they only stopped because our flight was dismissed from the cafeteria.

It was a big lesson for our flight- we knew that a screw up at mealtime was costly- especially if you lost a 341* for doing something stupid in the damn cafeteria.

About a week in (remember we had been getting 3 meals a day in this circus) when I was a pickle- I finally got the nerve to go to the condiments bar.
I had heard stories of people being asked to do Elvis imitations- I had seen many an airman on their way to the condiments table only to be stopped short because they had made a wrong move or took too long to get to the table as they were focusing on their marching movements.

What drove ME to finally get up was: fried fish.

While I could eat dry fries all day long- I couldn’t STAND to have dry fish- and there was ketchup AND tartar sauce sitting right on that table at the front of the room mocking me- daring me to come and get it.

Me: I’m gonna get me some tartar sauce.
Michaels: You’re crazy.

Was I? - I wasn’t worried about my marching- the one thing I kicked ass at in AR-OH was marching- that was cake- I just needed a little luck not to get noticed.

I waited ‘til I saw some other airmen head in that direction and I stood up.
I feigned confidence with each step and each pivot was like a dance move. As I got to the table and turned my back to the T.I.’s, I quickly scanned the table for the items I was interested in- ketchup and tartar sauce.

Other airmen- they were jarred pickles- meaning their green uniforms had their names on them- were doing the same.

I noticed that there were lemons there- salt, pepper- all kinds of wonderments- but I was taking too long-

“AIRMAN!” One of the T.I.’s shouted-
I didn’t turn around- I didn’t move.

“AIRMAN!”
An airman next to me turned-
“Come here and tell me about the chain of command Airman- STEVENS.” He said reading his name tag.

Stevens had fallen for it- The T.I. was just waiting for one of us to turn around so he could fuck with us.

I took what I had in my hand and cut back to the table with a precision that would have made any drill instructor proud. That day I had tartar sauce and all was well.

About a week and a half later it was Michaels who would risk it-

“I’m going to get a dessert.” He whispered.
“Are you fucking CRAZY?”- I asked with a hushed yell full of envy because I had dreamed so much about the ice cream in that box.
“I haven’t had dessert in two weeks! I’m going crazy- I’m going for it.”
“Bring me back one, too!” Davis said-
“Fuck you! I’m not gonna get called out because I’m holding TWO ice creams in my hands.”
He had a point.

He stood and began the long trek to the icebox in the corne

We lived on a street called Echo Valley for a while-

I was about 8 or 9 at the time. The street was a Cul-de-Sac so all the kids would hang out together and knew each other pretty well even if we didn't all get along all the time.

There were a couple sisters named Kelly and Becky there. They had an older brother named Hank who was in the 6th grade.
I used to hang with Kelly and Becky- mostly Kelly though. Kelly was crazy into "Grease"- that hot little musical starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton John. Now at the time, I was into Star Wars- but this Olivia chick was kinda smoking. I also thought Kelly was the bees-knees so on one of my MANY trips to the Century South movie theater- I happened to see "Grease" and it was THE BOMB (you know, in a good way- not A bomb).

So now I understood what Kelly was so freaky about and we would sing and dance to the songs together.

One day we decided to put on a show for our siblings- Well, not Hank because he was a dickhead 6th grader and you never knew what kind of attitude he was gonna have from day to day- but my brother Joe was in the audience and so was Becky. I forget if there were other kids but it feels like there were...

Anyway- we took a couple of boards and put them on the fence in my backyard so that they straddled the corner- this made a great stage.

How we didn't fall off and kill ourselves was probably a better show than the one we put on but we DID put on one HELL of a show. We did songs from "Grease" and The Bee Gees and I think we even made up some shit.

Good times...

Now, it was sometime around here there was a school dance at my elementary. Going into the dance I was a bit of an outcast 'cause of who I hung out with. All the popular kids were there though- Ronnie included.

They had this dance contest where people would some and tap you on the shoulder when they thought you sucked and you would have to leave the floor.

I was kickin' ass as they were playing a bunch of Grease songs and Bee Gee songs. Between the sessions with Kelly and the shit my Aunt Lo-Lo taught me- it was like I trained for this contest my whole life!

I totally came in first place and had the time of my life (you know, so far).

The next day at school- even Ronnie came up to me and gave me mad props for my dance moves. I didn't give a shit about his approval but I have to admit it was cool of him to say so- I also didn't get picked on as much after that.

School dances ROCK!