Inanity 2

They have an armed guard, letting them into their complex?

“This makes me feel really unprotected…” he muttered as we approached the gate, sliding the truck around the jersey barriers and pulling out our IDs. When we actually entered the compound…Wow. It was as if we took where we lived, got rid of all the mud and puddles, smoothed out the rocks and polished them, added a certain level of attractive people, tripled the female populace, took away the weapons, and tossed in a certain level of doubt that we were even in Iraq. The amenities the Air Force had was a slap in the face.

Where we have to walk over half a mile to get to the shop with basic necessities, they had one ten feet away. They had a barber shop, a private gym, a tailor. We had mud, and some bathrooms.

And then we found the H6 Rec Center. It was the cherry on top. Outside it was clean looking, a well manicured basketball court beckoning all to play. Smiling, clean people playing sports. Even the sun was brighter. Inside was an answer to a question I’d never thought to ask – “What does the Air Force really have that I don’t?”

Bean bag tossing. It was simple. The Air Force (Chair Force? Air Farce?) deploys with bean bags. And they toss them. A good 10 meters, laughing while they do it. Helping cute girls learn how to toss. And fear and shame possessed me then.

I cannot say for certain, but I think off in the distance of the large open building was some shuffleboard and a massage parlor. Even a room specifically designed for smashing dreams. Dreams and cake, your choice Airman Person. The dreams are of soldiers, who wish they were taken care of better by the Army. The cakes, those are their too. Smash away!

You got to be kidding me, I was dumbfounded. The worst part was when, a moderately cute girl walked past Tyrone and I, saw our uniforms, saw our weapons, saw our obvious look of not belonging, and gave us a smile that said it all. It said, “I’m sorry. Have some pity. Some cute pity. And deal with it! Hahaha!”

It was a pretty expressive smile.

He and I looked at each other, looked around, and decided that the best plan was to come back for salsa night and start some shit. I suggested stabbing a few people, on principle alone, but his plan was more elaborate.

“I’m going to lock and load and start shooting.” It’s the beauty of being forced to carry ammunition and a weapon all the time. You start wondering how anyone can rightly fuck with you. You see the MPs and wonder are they scared of pulling me over now? They should be, I would be. Knowing, not fearing, but knowing that the person you’re about to confront has a weapon on one arm, and has within reach of the other enough rounds to put down a whole boat full of folks.

Destructive plan in hand, Tyrone and I escaped the compound for the time being and headed to the airstrip.