Last night I beat up a fellow soldier, more specifically, I beat up a captain who I will be going to war with. It was the result of an incident that just escalated beyond my control and it is something I’m not very proud of. I would like to say that it was a result of something substantial, but it wasn’t. Here is my recollection of the incident:
Last night the commander of our CRC unit cut us loose a little early and a group of us decided to go let off some steam at the post bowling alley, not that any of us were really excited about bowling, but it was a chance to get out of the bays which are feeling more and more like a prison these days. The cabs picked up the 12 of us around 7:30pm (or 1930 for you military types) after evening chow (which none of us went to) and hauled us to the ever familiar Airborne School where the bowling establishment resides. None of us talked a lot of smack about the friendly sporting challenge since we all knew that our pin smashing skills were not so good, but after donning our ever so stylish bowling shoes, ordering up some grub and a few pitchers of liquid courage, soon we were talking trash. The first game was mild mannered as we all got use to hurling the house balls down the lanes, but as the beer flowed and the tension eased, we started to get a little rambunctious. Some of us broke 100 for the first time in our bowling careers and the LTC and COL taught us that the higher rank you get in the military, the better your bowling abilities are, and they schooled us with said abilities. Hyped up on Pepsi and sugar (I don’t drink much beer), I let loose with my arsenal of mad bowling skills that I learned as a youngster growing up in Michigan; a few left handed throws, a few between the legs, a no look bowl, the super sloth ball and the ever popular “run from the bathroom with a ball and launch it at breakneck speeds” throw. It could have been called showboating, but with scores of 112 and 116, it falls more in the category of acting the fool (I get that way on caffeine for some reason). The time snuck up on us and some of us decided to head back to the bays before it got too late. That meant that the other part of the group, fueled by a few more pitchers of beer, donned their beer goggles and decided to do a little hunting of the opposite sex in more target rich environments than the post bowling alley. The time was 10:10pm.
Let’s fast forward to 3:30am this morning. So there I was, back on my rubber mattress, curled up under my army issued wool blanket and far away in dream land when I heard the second group stumble into the bays. I’ve come to learn that drunk people, much like small children, have a hard time perceiving sound, or at least the sounds that they make. They try like the Dickens to be silent, but their clumsy motor skills and loud whispering takes away from their attempted stealthiness. Group 2 came in with the grace of a heard of hippos, but they soon settled down to their beds, or rather, they passed out on the first horizontal surface they fell on, which happened to be their bunks. It wasn’t long after this that the snoring began. It started with one, then two, then three, and then it was as if I was stuck in a horrible episode of “Snoring Idle” and everyone was giving their best to impress the judges with their impersonations of a hiccupping lawn mower, a broken chainsaw and fowled up tractor engine. The Lawn Mower’s bunk was next to mine, and I did my best to try and understand that he was probably a little inebriated and just needed a gentle nudge to put him in a more comfortable sleeping posture. This ceased his bellowing, but only slightly. As the Mower revved up again, I slipped out of my bunk and put in some foam earplugs to help block out the sound. This only helped in muffling the blare of the Chainsaw and Tractor Engine. The vibrations of the Lawn Mower however still found their way through my fragile sound barrier and I knew I had to come up with a better plan if I had any hope of getting back to sleep. So, politely, extended my arm and with my rubber pillow, I hit him on his arm. This did nothing to phase him or the snoring. I hit him again, this time with a little more force, and I aimed for the chest area this time. This only gave me a 5 minute reprieve from his gurgling breathing. Getting more frustrated, I hit him again, this time aiming for his gaping mouth. Nothing. At this point, something in me snapped. I saw white as I wielded my pillow like an ancient spiked flail, thrashing at the source of the sound with backhanded blows until the rubber pillow ripped from it case and landed on his head. The Lawn Mower didn’t even budge from the volleys of blows, but the noise had ceased and I had lost my pillow. I reached over, retrieved my lost weapon, and tried to get back to sleep, only to be woken 15 minutes later by the lights of our bay being turned on. It was 6:00am and time to get ready for first formation at 6:30am.
As we all got up and began the daily preparations for the duty day, there were discussions of what Group 2 did after we parted ways at the bowling alley last night followed by friendly chidings about the alcohol enhanced sleep that caused folks to make so much noise. The conversation also brought up questions about another noise that people heard under the din of the snoring; the sound of someone going postal on their mattress as if they were having a violent nightmare about fighting a fierce beast. As for me, I got dressed, made my bed, and quietly tucked my pillowcase up under itself to hide the ripped seams from the battle.
No infantry officers were hurt in the making of this story.
Last night the commander of our CRC unit cut us loose a little early and a group of us decided to go let off some steam at the post bowling alley, not that any of us were really excited about bowling, but it was a chance to get out of the bays which are feeling more and more like a prison these days. The cabs picked up the 12 of us around 7:30pm (or 1930 for you military types) after evening chow (which none of us went to) and hauled us to the ever familiar Airborne School where the bowling establishment resides. None of us talked a lot of smack about the friendly sporting challenge since we all knew that our pin smashing skills were not so good, but after donning our ever so stylish bowling shoes, ordering up some grub and a few pitchers of liquid courage, soon we were talking trash. The first game was mild mannered as we all got use to hurling the house balls down the lanes, but as the beer flowed and the tension eased, we started to get a little rambunctious. Some of us broke 100 for the first time in our bowling careers and the LTC and COL taught us that the higher rank you get in the military, the better your bowling abilities are, and they schooled us with said abilities. Hyped up on Pepsi and sugar (I don’t drink much beer), I let loose with my arsenal of mad bowling skills that I learned as a youngster growing up in Michigan; a few left handed throws, a few between the legs, a no look bowl, the super sloth ball and the ever popular “run from the bathroom with a ball and launch it at breakneck speeds” throw. It could have been called showboating, but with scores of 112 and 116, it falls more in the category of acting the fool (I get that way on caffeine for some reason). The time snuck up on us and some of us decided to head back to the bays before it got too late. That meant that the other part of the group, fueled by a few more pitchers of beer, donned their beer goggles and decided to do a little hunting of the opposite sex in more target rich environments than the post bowling alley. The time was 10:10pm.
Let’s fast forward to 3:30am this morning. So there I was, back on my rubber mattress, curled up under my army issued wool blanket and far away in dream land when I heard the second group stumble into the bays. I’ve come to learn that drunk people, much like small children, have a hard time perceiving sound, or at least the sounds that they make. They try like the Dickens to be silent, but their clumsy motor skills and loud whispering takes away from their attempted stealthiness. Group 2 came in with the grace of a heard of hippos, but they soon settled down to their beds, or rather, they passed out on the first horizontal surface they fell on, which happened to be their bunks. It wasn’t long after this that the snoring began. It started with one, then two, then three, and then it was as if I was stuck in a horrible episode of “Snoring Idle” and everyone was giving their best to impress the judges with their impersonations of a hiccupping lawn mower, a broken chainsaw and fowled up tractor engine. The Lawn Mower’s bunk was next to mine, and I did my best to try and understand that he was probably a little inebriated and just needed a gentle nudge to put him in a more comfortable sleeping posture. This ceased his bellowing, but only slightly. As the Mower revved up again, I slipped out of my bunk and put in some foam earplugs to help block out the sound. This only helped in muffling the blare of the Chainsaw and Tractor Engine. The vibrations of the Lawn Mower however still found their way through my fragile sound barrier and I knew I had to come up with a better plan if I had any hope of getting back to sleep. So, politely, extended my arm and with my rubber pillow, I hit him on his arm. This did nothing to phase him or the snoring. I hit him again, this time with a little more force, and I aimed for the chest area this time. This only gave me a 5 minute reprieve from his gurgling breathing. Getting more frustrated, I hit him again, this time aiming for his gaping mouth. Nothing. At this point, something in me snapped. I saw white as I wielded my pillow like an ancient spiked flail, thrashing at the source of the sound with backhanded blows until the rubber pillow ripped from it case and landed on his head. The Lawn Mower didn’t even budge from the volleys of blows, but the noise had ceased and I had lost my pillow. I reached over, retrieved my lost weapon, and tried to get back to sleep, only to be woken 15 minutes later by the lights of our bay being turned on. It was 6:00am and time to get ready for first formation at 6:30am.
As we all got up and began the daily preparations for the duty day, there were discussions of what Group 2 did after we parted ways at the bowling alley last night followed by friendly chidings about the alcohol enhanced sleep that caused folks to make so much noise. The conversation also brought up questions about another noise that people heard under the din of the snoring; the sound of someone going postal on their mattress as if they were having a violent nightmare about fighting a fierce beast. As for me, I got dressed, made my bed, and quietly tucked my pillowcase up under itself to hide the ripped seams from the battle.
No infantry officers were hurt in the making of this story.
By the way, this is what happens when you leave the bowling alley drunk. Note Lawn Mower's feet next to his wall locker.
6 comments:
Are you trying to give your parents a heart attack? Thank God it was just a pillow! All is well here. Your a little richer. The house seems so quiet with everyone gone now. I've been taking pictures and printed some off. I mailed them to Grandma and she was very happy with them. Love you much
You just gave me a scare as well.
Just so I am clear on this, did Stonz go with us to T.C. this past summer? Glad to hear your bowling scores have improved at the same rate as mine. Talk to later.
Stonz is mom you fool! By the way, I like the screen name you chose for yourself.
Never really thought of you as the violent type. I can sympathize with you, at home dad was always snoring in the next room, and now my fiance :) snores, and he is normally right next to my head. Love and miss ya.
I figured my people would know who I am. Sorry mom for not knowing it was you. Its been awhile.
Blondhairjew I knew who you were right away.......and thought maybe you had forgot who I was. I feel better now!! And you my son, should be more used to snoring after being raised around your father!! Thanks for the help getting me back on here.
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