The dawn of my time in Iraq is fast approaching. The administrative tasks, such as filling out forms detailing the physical and psychological injuries I may have suffered, start next week. The highlight is a briefing called Right Finish. It’s not the least bit informative or helpful. It’s often referred to as the Don’t Go Home and Rape Your Wife briefing. In the course of the briefing they do threaten that if you rape your wife, you’ll be punished to the full extend of the law. What a wonderful image to put into peoples heads. Can’t they say something positive and righteous for a change?
Naturally the conversations between those of us leaving begin to revolve around what we’re going to do when we get home. For me this can lead to trouble. I’ve found one of the worst things you can do is raise your expectations. The reality is that life went on without you. Promises may have been made before you left. Promises may have been made while you were gone. Take those with a grain of salt and a tall glass of water—or in my case, four fingers of whisky. Expectations will fall apart under you. Best not be to far from the ground.
What I’m going to do when I get home is exceptionally simple. I shall do whatever I feel like at that given moment in time. Outside of a few well placed individuals, I will not make plans. I think I’m going to buy a new suit, no particular reason why. My Chicago plan may be scrapped because I’ll be going to Arizona in January for a couple weeks. The whole point of going to Chicago was to put myself out of place. That may seem odd since I’ve been away from home and out of place, but there’s a challenge to being out of place. In Arizona I’ll also have a chance to see my little brother and his wife, so I’ll need my reserves for causing them havoc. He now hunts illegal aliens and drug mules for a living. That job isn’t as cool as a pirate or ninja, but it’s certainly better than jockeying a cubicle and they give him a gun. Maybe they let him wear an eye patch to kick up the cool factor.
We’re working without days off now because I unfortunately work for an idiot obsessed with his legacy. He’s desperately hoping for a grand achievement before he retires. The people with the drive to lead are often the least suited to do so. I have yet to hear a single good idea come from that man. He’s the anti-Oracle. Go to him for advice and do the exact opposite. We live in an ugly world and people like him are able to accumulate power by selling out others. The entire munitions crew is working long hours and the end result will be a medal for him. I could suggest a 230 grain lead metal instead, but I wouldn’t dream of even hinting about threatening senior leadership. When he holds a meeting he likes to use phrases like “bring your A game” and “this is our chance to leave a legacy”. I think he hired a squad of writers that script made-for-television movies about underdog football teams that achieve glory due to the charisma of a crotchety old coach or a mentally retarded place kicker. That wasn’t politically correct of me, but I don’t care about delicate sensibilities.
I need a damn chiropractor or a nice solid jab between the shoulder blades. A vicious knot has worked around my upper spine. I’m sure that it has nothing to due with the 27 pounds of body armor I have to wear or the 84 hours I work in a week. I’ll have to go to the clinic before I leave so it gets entered on my medical record. In the military it’s vitally important to prove an injury is service related. For the Guard and Reserve it’s even more important because other than days we’re performing military duties, we don’t get the health coverage unless the injury is service related. If only I could claim a service related lack of sex.
If you care to read about some of the awesome physical damage I’ve been subject to, get on Google and search for “Air Force Times Balad burn pit”. Wonderful read.