My Job, My Hell...

Share a survival experience with us and explain what you learned from it. You might help someone.

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TheLastRifleMan
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Wed Jul 09, 2014 3:22 pm

Indeed! Almost illegal but like the did with alcohol, damn hard to enforce stupid.

I have an old tale about a flashlight, told to me by a family friend who was a city police officer back through the late 60's to the late 80's.

His department still had the night shift officers flashlights and luckily, they were issued the state of the art lights for the time. I think most everyone here remembers the old Ray-O-Vac Sportsman line of 2x D cell lights like these:

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For the time, until MagLites came out, these were the go-to every day working man's flashlight. When the weren't able to use their cruiser mounted spotlight, the steel bodied incandescent light were all they had to do the job. Better then nothing and I remember as a kid, those cost about $6-$7 retail and we though they were damn bright. We look at the lights we have in comparison now and bow our heads in pity.

One evening, the officer in question and his partner got a call about a possible drunk driver, who has just crashed his vehicle into a residential mailbox and was screaming and attacking anyone trying to stop or help. They arrived to find the man nearly a half mile from his vehicle. Being in one of the back streets in thinly populated area that lies just within the city's northern border made two things apparent: the cruiser's very bright vehicle spotlight seemed not to be functioning. It had worked when they went through their checklist but now it dimmed to almost nothing when turned on. The second thing was they had only the flashlights on their duty belts for illumination or the headlights of the cruiser.

The drunken man's hike had seemed to have calmed him somewhat and let the officer's partner lead him to the back of the cruiser while the officer held his light on both men in order to see the proceedings. Indeed, the man was drunk, morose and out of steam. Until he heard the word "jail". Things became controlled to chaotic very quickly.

The partner had only the man's right hand cuff attached before he caught a left elbow to the gut, knocking him backwards and breathless. Before he caught his balance, he was just able to dodge the man's right fist, but not the open handcuff that had been dangling from it. The steel bracelet caught the partner in the left temple with enough force to make him see starts and cut him deep enough to have four stitches later. It was then when the officer stepped in and used the only implement he had in hand: his flashlight.

He had been holding with his left hand while keeping his right hand on his S&W Model 65 revolver holstered yet ready. Knowing that drawing his sidearm and yelling "FREEZE" would do nothing and shooting an unarmed suspect was completely out of the question, he had to move quickly. Also, even though it was hanging from his duty belt, he knew that using a nightstick, even in those bygone days, had dire consequences for the officers that use them "improperly". He had once told me they were great for breaking windows or knocking on doors, although the intimidation factor was a great motivater with a nightstick.

Taking two large steps forward and bringing the flashlight across his face in a horizontal arc, he swung with everything he had at the drunken mans' head before he could land another blow on his partner. His aim was perfect since he felt the light impact something solid and heard a sound that was reminiscent of a bat hitting a baseball.

He pulls back for another hit, yet realizes the flashlight is much lighter. It is also not working. Suddenly, he hears what sounds like two solid thuds and small pieces of metal striking the pavement a short distance away from him. He looks to see the drunken man, barely visible from the glow of the forward facing headlights, shaking his head and trying to keep his balance. His partner recovers faster then the drunk and is able to turn and body slam the man face first on the trunk lid of the cruiser and finishes restraining the man. He is stunned enough to give no resistance to the officers as they load him in the cruiser, call the two truck and get both his partner and the drunk to the hospital.

It seems the officer struck the drunk hard enough to cause the batteries to push their way out through the light, taking the reflector bulb and lens with them as the flew about ten feet into the street. The casing of the light was also bent to the point the battery's no longer fit nor the other parts as well. As a light, it was pretty much finished. The drunk ended up with a nasty bump and concussion, paid a fine and was released. These days, he would have gotten much, much more trouble. The officer's captain gave him a lecture about damaging department property and was told a new light would come out of his pay.

About five years before he retired, everyone got brand new, 4x D cell MagLites. They loved them. Bright, tough, no need to carry a night stick and they always worked! Yes, they were heavy but nothing was perfect. He liked his so much he bought a couple of the 2x versions for his own personal use. He had just retired about a year later when his former officer's were told to turn their beloved lights in and were issue AA MiniMag flashlights. There had been some well known incidents of police officers severely injuring suspects by using their MagLites as ersatz clubs, even a death, so that department wanted to make sure the same incident would not happen.

He sad they would have loved those big Maglites back in the day, he told me. He is just glad he did not have to ever try to stop an angry drunk with one. That was the kind of trouble he did not want to have happen to him.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jul 09, 2014 4:37 pm

TheLastRifleMan wrote:Indeed! Almost illegal but like the did with alcohol, damn hard to enforce stupid.

I have an old tale about a flashlight, told to me by a family friend who was a city police officer back through the late 60's to the late 80's.

His department still had the night shift officers flashlights and luckily, they were issued the state of the art lights for the time. I think most everyone here remembers the old Ray-O-Vac Sportsman line of 2x D cell lights like these:

Image

For the time, until MagLites came out, these were the go-to every day working man's flashlight. When the weren't able to use their cruiser mounted spotlight, the steel bodied incandescent light were all they had to do the job. Better then nothing and I remember as a kid, those cost about $6-$7 retail and we though they were damn bright. We look at the lights we have in comparison now and bow our heads in pity.

Sometimes stupid is lethal......

I remember those....dang I'm old. But they do still sell something like that in Japan or they did back in the 90's, because it is my son's favorite flashlight. He took it with him when he left home, and even took it with him to the desert.

My one of my Grandfathers worked for Alabama Drydock and Shipbuilding Company in Mobile and he carried one of the three cell ones with him all the time.

Times certainly have changed, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. DWIs were not a big deal for decades, then they were. It took the Army years to catch up. It was around 1983 or so before they even started doing something about it. Still the rules were what you did off post was your business, just don't get one on post and you were good to go.

We had a Sergeant First Class (of course he was my platoon sergeant in Second Platoon, the Goon/Loon platoon) that had 9 DWI's off post, it wasn't until he was involved in a traffic accident that crippled him that his career was ended. Only because he was unfit for duty, because of his injury and they held him in med hold till he could retire.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Fri Jul 11, 2014 5:25 pm

I have one around here somewhere, as well as me original green Boy Scout angle head 2x d cell light that I carried during my first dear hunting trips. I found it a few years ago but not sure where the Scout light is. I think you can still find those Ray-O-Vac's around. Come to think of it, my step grandfather had several he had stashed around his farm. One had a magnet on the side that let you keep it stuck to metal surfaces for no hands type use.

I still remember the "Don't drink and drive" PSA ad's in the 70's (remember "Don't take the car! You'll kill yourself!) on TV. I think you were right about the time frame, Laager, when the authorities really started cracking down on dunk driving. I know they do in my home state.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by taskforce71 » Mon Aug 04, 2014 6:18 pm

Mr_Sheesh wrote:Viper, we had a guy hit 20:00 instead of 2:00 on a burrito, same thing, at school, some time back. When he saw that the burrito had cooked too long, took the (now flaming / smouldering) burrito and ran outside with it. Triggered the whole place's smoke detectors; Fire Department responded. And they weren't supposed to have a microwave in their office, "oops!" (Lunchroom only for those.)

One of those "Dang I'm glad that wasn't me!" things.
There are always one or two total numbskulls at work who should never be allowed within a mile of a microwave. They microwave all kinds of crazy stuff. One girl even stuffed a FOIL wrapped burrito inside. She didn't believe me when I warned her that it would catch fire. Of course, five seconds in, there were SHOWERS of sparks flying throughout and when she stopped it, smoke poured into the room. I kinda enjoy my job. It's just that I can't stand the fools I work with. And she's just one out of a dozen others... Oh, and there are also those who microwave stuff again and again. I can't believe their food didn't burst into flames the third (yes, third!) time they RE-heated it because they're trying so damn hard to cheat the time clock. They don't want to clock out for lunch to fatten their paychecks so they take a 15-minute break. Only it's not 15 minutes, more like 45 minutes stretched out to an hour and a half so the manager doesn't catch on to it. But when I point out how they're cheating on the time clock, he doesn't seem to do anything about it.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by taskforce71 » Mon Aug 04, 2014 6:26 pm

Laager wrote:
So slug, click clack, then buck, then another slug, seven later and I was a happy Sergeant. Then I shared them with the Corporal of the Guard as well.
I don't totally get it. Are you staggering the loads? In other words, is this order going into the tube: buckshot/slug/buckshot/slug? Is it because of the ancient ammo the first guy demanded that you use? PS: what were you issued at the time? Remingtons sound likely...

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Tue Aug 05, 2014 2:18 pm

Ok, misuse of company food prep appliances are the topic. You know, uncleaned coffee pots and fridges, light bulbs in microwaves, that kind of thing.

C'mon Laager, you must have one or two!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Aug 06, 2014 10:34 pm

taskforce71 wrote:
Laager wrote:
So slug, click clack, then buck, then another slug, seven later and I was a happy Sergeant. Then I shared them with the Corporal of the Guard as well.
I don't totally get it. Are you staggering the loads? In other words, is this order going into the tube: buckshot/slug/buckshot/slug? Is it because of the ancient ammo the first guy demanded that you use? PS: what were you issued at the time? Remingtons sound likely...

I like to stagger my loads whenever possible, depending on the situation. Since we were guarding an Ammo Supply Point/Holding area I wanted a little bit more reach for a just in case situation. If we would have been inside, then OO or #4 would have worked well. But it's been awhile but if I remember right we were only issued buck shot (OO buck), but I never turn down any ammo.......

The reason is the moron decided to wrap it in duct tape so that it was easier for him to keep track of when they issued the guard ammo. So even if you could get it unwrapped from a wad of duct tape or thousand mile an hour tape/gaffer tape there was virtually no way to get all of the adhesive off of the paper shells and then load your weapon and actually expect it to work.

In order to circumvent the system people brought their own ammo. Especially when we figured out that they just looked at the witness holes to check to see if it was a full mag or not. Next thing you know the guard ammo is maybe 80% civilian made and 20% U.S. Lake City issue stuff. There was heck to pay when someone finally showed up to check the guard ammo and found out that the headstamps did not match the paperwork. I'm glad it was not me.

We had some old Stevens Model 77Es and there were a few Ithaca Model 37s running around. If I remember right the Marines had the 870's as well as some 11-87s and the Specops types had some full auto Remington 1100s.

My Section Sergeant had one of the 1100s and it had a "duck bill" choke on it. That was one nasty surprise. Not sure what it cost him, but I know it was not standard issue equipment. It was not "on the books" and it went home with him when he PCS'd. One of the other Company's First Sergeant carried a U.S. Marine Corps Issue Winchester 1912.........it left with him also.

Added this:

One of the main reasons people brought their own ammo was if some moron lost a round of ammo, it turned into a very painful experience for the entire guard shift, if not the entire guard company. They usually made us stay out there looking for the missing round, then they would do a LOD or Line of Duty investigation and throw some Article 15 punishments around. Usually the moron that lost the round got the Article 15, but if they found anything at all that they could spread the pain around they did.

That way everyone "learned a lesson" not to play with the ammo.

So if someone lost a round or worse, actually fired their weapon and it could be covered up, the round was replaced with a civilian round and everyone shut the heck up. Thankfully they did not have all these video cams and youtube crap. Bad enough we had 135mm cameras but as a general rule it was cover it up or spend time (usually a day or two, but once we had a unit stay out for a week) looking for a single lost round of GI issue ammo.
Last edited by Laager on Thu Aug 07, 2014 1:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Aug 06, 2014 10:34 pm

TheLastRifleMan wrote:Ok, misuse of company food prep appliances are the topic. You know, uncleaned coffee pots and fridges, light bulbs in microwaves, that kind of thing.

C'mon Laager, you must have one or two!


Well let me go dig through my foot locker, I have a Counseling statement that covers coffee makers.............
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Thu Aug 07, 2014 1:09 pm

I have not seen a duck bill choke for a long time. I used to frequent a gun shop, long closed, were the owner had one equipped on a single shot 12 gauge with an 18" bbl. behind the counter with a load of #4 buck for close-in work. It just looked like a huge ass cannon or "blunderbuss" as he called it.

So years later, when I was able to pick up a Model 37 Winchester single shot cheap and a friend, who owned a gun smith shop and owed me a favor, I had him thread the barrel and set it up for threaded choke tubes. The first tube I picked up for it? One of those nasty looking breaching tubes. Throws buck shot loads great but looks like bad news. So hence, we named it "The Blunderbuss" as well in memory of the other shop protection gun. Thankfully we never had to use it, even those nights we both stayed watch over the place when we lost power, Devil's Night, etc.

And a simple change of the choke turns into a back up turkey gun.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sun Aug 24, 2014 1:09 pm

Topic for the Week:

Lunch time at work. Too much, too little, boring or stolen? You tell the tale, we tell' em like they are.

I worked at a place that three women were stealing other people's lunches from the company fridge. Two were fired, one ended up buying lunches for a whole bunch of who ended up with missing lunches.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by wamba » Mon Aug 25, 2014 6:33 pm

Work/lunch stories, I have one off the top of my head. :twisted:


Back in my bachelor days I'd sometimes try my hand at the culinary arts. Mostly my attempts while edible were nothing to brag about & often the leftovers would show up at lunch to the amusement of my co-workers. But every once in a while I'd get it right, one of those times resulted in meatloaf sandwiches. The second day I went to lunch late to find my lunch was short the sandwich & drink. I was a little miffed. Several co-workers thought it was funny & hinted at knowing who the culprit was or alternately having had divided it up.
So that night while feeding my faithful hound & sharing with her the story a lightbulb clicked on. The next day I placed yet another lunch in the fridge while a second one sat in a cooler in my pickup. When lunch time came around I made sure to be "busy" at the other end of the building & took my time joining the others. When I walked into the breakroom with cooler in hand I was met with a mixture of amusement & disgust by those already there. I was hoping for at least teeth marks in the "meatloaf" sandwich but it seems the aroma tipped the thief off. At least a couple of coworkers didn't have their usual appetite that day.



When making up a fake meatloaf sandwich using dog shit it's amazing how realistic it can look with some ketchup & a slice of cheese. 8-)
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Tue Aug 26, 2014 7:13 am

would watching a tater-tot on the floor under the heater for several weeks to see how long it would remain count?
in a cafeteria?
in a hospital cafeteria?

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Tue Aug 26, 2014 7:25 am

Ah those are endless...

Waiting in line at the super busy chow hall I am waiting on some fried eggs. The fry cook picks up a plate to put the eggs on and notices that there is some material on the plate that should not be there. So he takes the plate and wipes it on his ass to remove the offending material and then drops the eggs right on the plate.

I skipped breakfast that morning.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Tue Aug 26, 2014 10:08 am

emclean wrote:would watching a tater-tot on the floor under the heater for several weeks to see how long it would remain count?
in a cafeteria?
in a hospital cafeteria?
Yes it would!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Tue Aug 26, 2014 11:03 am

I remember one Saturday at one of former places of employment. Just after opening, everyone pitched in and agreed we would order pizzas for lunch. Since it wasn't a pay week, I only had a couple bucks in cash in my pocket. It was just myself and a skeleton crew of the clerks and secretaries. I had about half of a two liter of pop stored in my repair shop so I was lucky in that regard. I had almost forgot that I had been scheduled to work that day and had no time for any breakfast, so filling up on slices of baked goodness sounded great.

It ended up being a busy morning for me. My boss had left a list of things we would like me to do, fairly easy stuff. Wrong. Nothing went right and I had only three of his six items done when my phone rang. Lunch had arrived! Finally, a bright spot in my day.

I came into the lunchroom and behold, not a pizza to be seen. Not a single disc of pepperoni, no sauce, not a slice of baked ambrosia to be had.

All they had was salad. Not even antipasto, no! Bare lettuce leaves and light Italian dressing (only a teaspoon, ladies!), which I hate.

"Oh, we decided we were going to have light lunches because we are all on Dr. Blank the Quack's new fad super diet. Pizza is so bad for you!"

I asked for my money back, explaining I was not told of the change in menu and I am not going to eat a lunch that wouldn't keep a rabbit alive for two minutes. Oh, no, we can't do that because we spent it all on delivery, food and tip. I was more then welcome to eat as much of this fiber inducing, flavorless weeds as I wanted. Humans, I told them, do not eat this type of meal and expect to lose wait. They expect to die of starvation.

I turned away, angry as hell and knowing someone higher up would learn of this scandal. Wondering if I had stashed a Pop Tart in my paper work drawer. I found one, realizing why I had stuck it in the drawer and had not eaten it.

It was Smo'res flavored pop tarts. Cloying sweet and with enough sugar to kill a diabetic just by looking at it. No wonder kids are taking insulin shots by the time their 10. At least it was food and I needed something, so I choked them down with a couple slugs of Mt. Dew. Nasty, but it should get me through the day.

Again, wrong. The sugar high, which let me finish up most of the projects my boss had left me, ended and let me crash about 45 minutes before the day ended. After a half day of nothing at all then a meal of processed sugar and carbs, I had not an ounce of fuel to go any further. I sat in my chair, finished the previous day's paperwork and hoped they wouldn't lock me in if I fell asleep.

They did make sure I was awake, left ASAP and I had enough energy to hit the Taco bell across the street. They were the first fast food places in my area to take credit cards so indulge I did! Nachos, burritos and those deep fried cinnamon twist things they used to sell. Food of the Gods indeed! It might have been a four star, five course meal prepared by Julia Child herself for all I cared. I was as full as my credit card limit. It soothed all but my seething anger of my stolen lunch money.

I did tell my boss the following Monday about what had happened. Later that afternoon, he handed me an enveloped with three different gift cards from local fast food places. He told me he gets them for free as incentives when people would buy large dollar amounts of equipment and told me the same group of ladies had done the same thing to him a month ago on his scheduled Saturday. He felt bad about it since he had forgotten to tell me about it when he asked me to come in. I told him him thanks and I would put them to good use. He was a decent guy and a great boss and if he had not gone to another company, I would probably still be working there.

A month later, I again was asked to throw in for lunch. Oh, I will be OK, I've got mine handled, I told them in a loud voice. About lunch time,, just before their lunche orderes were being place, my order of cashew chicken with chicken fried rice and egg roll from the local Chinese place down the street filled the whole place with it's wonderful spicy scents and aromas.

I understand that many diets were broken that day...
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by MacWa77ace » Tue Aug 26, 2014 4:09 pm

I'm one of those guys that has to be fueled. So if they say we're bringing in breakfast, I still eat before I leave. If they say we're bringing in lunch, I still bring my lunch. And we used to hit Taco Bell on the way home from the clubs because they were open all night. Definitely the food of the gods.

Anyhow OT, many many moons ago I was driver for a Furniture/Appliance/Electronics rental chain. Deliver, setup, and pickup furniture and such. Pretty cool job, but one thing you ran into was roaches. I mean sometimes total Creep Show / X-Files / Hephaestus Plague infestations in peoples homes.

One time my co-worker and I had to pick up a living room set from a housing authority location. The thing about this one model sofa set is that for some reason they didn't have those dust covers enclosing the bottom of the sofas and chairs. So if you turned them over you could see right up the guts of the sofas/chairs. Anyhow, we kinda figured there were going to be roaches in the furniture so we didn't put 'em directly on the truck, we staged them in the parking lot as we brought them down. After bringing the 3 piece set out of the apartment we turned them over to check thinking we might see a couple of roaches in the backs. Well, it was amazing how many roaches had crammed themselves into these pieces. It was a solid black mass of roaches all along the inside of the back about 4 inches wide by the length of each piece, sofa, loveseat and chair. We were in the middle of the parking lot outside the building and there were people milling around, so what we did was we flipped them upright and with a guy on each end picked up and dropped them repeatedly to knock the roaches out. When the roaches hit that hot pavement and sunlight they scattered like a moving carpet in all directions, it was incredible. The people out there were like WTF. We dropped them like that multiple times and each time a wave of roaches scattered. So when we finished and loaded the chairs on the truck we stopped at a drug store and bought a couple of those bug bombs and set them off in the back of the parked cube truck with the furniture in it and the door closed. I don't think I've ever seen that many ROACHESZZzzz in one spot IRL, in a horror movie yes, real life no, well except maybe the time ...

Another night we were at this single family home delivering a refrigerator. And as soon as we walked in the front door you could smell the roach s#!+. This was amazing, everywhere you looked, on every surface there was that tell tail roach skat that looks like dirt. Every wall socket and switch had antennae coming out from behind it and roach dirt stuck to the wall around it. This was not some hoarder's house, it looked normal except for that thin film of roach dirt everywhere, the smell, and the ROACHESZZZ. OMG. We were afraid to breathe.

When I was working there I always brought my lunch, every day made a tuna sandwich, put it in a ziplock in a brown paper bag with an apple, yogurt, etc. No worries, eat at around 12 or 1 and I'd have enough energy to make it to 7:30ish PM, a normal day. We'll one day I'm making my lunch and I'm out of Ziplocks. So I had some of those old fashioned fold over sandwich bags for some reason [do they still make those?] and used them instead. Anyhow I kept my lunch under the seat in the cube truck and pulled it out at about lunchtime, opened the paper bag and about 50 roaches came scurrying out. I was like WTF, but I didn't really worry 'cause everything was in its own sealed container, except the apple which I could wash off, right? Wrong, there were another 100 roaches inside the fold over sandwich bag munching on my tuna sandwich. I threw it on the ground and stomped the tuna out of that bag. Then I set off another bug bomb in the cab of the truck too. ROACHESZZzzzzzzzz

The delivery procedure was that we had to go over the rental agreement with the renter and have them sign before we brought in the furniture. So another time, I'm working late by myself, its 9 or so and my last stop, an upstairs studio apartment where this attractive female limo driver lived. I sit on this bamboo framed sofa to go over the agreement with her, and as I'm talking, I'm having a little trouble concentrating with her in her skin tight dolphin shorts and 2 sizes to small t-shirt [with no underwear], for some reason I happen to glance into the holes in the bamboo frame of the sofa I'm seated on and I see 30 or 40 of these little antennae and eyes looking back out at me. ROACHESZZZZ! My mind races and I get an insane image of roaches pouring out of those tight shorts. At that point I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Yep, I was officially damaged by then.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Tue Aug 26, 2014 7:15 pm

those deep fried cinnamon twist things they used to sell
fried spiral pasta, that you dump into a new clean trash bag and pour in a scoop of cinnamon sugar. you know with almost two years of working at a taco bell, my only memorable stories are burning my finger prints off one afternoon, and all the threats from several of my managers to file sexual harassment complainants for the nicknames i gave them. (it's ok, it was the '90s, and they were mostly male)

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Tue Aug 26, 2014 7:50 pm

Damn, I hate fucking roaches. The civilized world's way of telling people your living condition's cleanliness sucks.

I have only been in a couple places with the crawling disease carriers. In one place I had to haul the scooter outside in 15 F temps to work on it because the damn things were getting into my tool box, clip board and winter coat. I found out that it takes more cold then that to kill them. They just ran back into the mobile homes in the adjacent area ASAP.

About two years after this, I noticed the trailer was empty. It sat that way for about a month when tore the place down and set it on fire. Yes, fire. Since I drove by this insect ridden hovel from the road on my way home, I saw the whole happy event. Burned the trailer right to the frame.

I was waiting for the nuclear bomb from orbit to come down and wipe it out. Just to be sure. Never happened.

Only other time was the aftermath of a bug bomb in a garage. Friend of mine wanted my help getting some nice ash bow staves from a garage that we quickly found out had been recently cleaned of rotten garbage. Guess what? The things where crawling out of the holes in the top of the bug bomb's canister, covered in pale yellow powder as the sought refuge buy crawling over the bodies of their dead comrades that were laying in the hundreds of thousands.

I guess they bought the wrong kind of bug killer. Like a grenade, perhaps.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Fri Sep 19, 2014 11:44 pm

Howdy, all -

I've been enjoying the stories, and thought I'd contribute.

First, a little back story. Or How I Got My Job.

In the spring of '69, I dropped out of my junior year in college and, one step ahead of the draft board, enlisted 11B. The reason I enlisted was that our family has a certain history of doing well on tests, and I was pretty sure the military would grab me for something like a clerk. This was a fairly ironic concern, as will become apparent.

Now, actually enlisting for 11B was (in 1969) a rather odd event. In AIT I was one of 4 in a training company of 160, so I got a number of odd looks. After AIT I spent some months at Ft. Benning, and then arrived in Vietnam in January of '70. The 90th Replacement Battalion in Long Binh took about a day and a half to send me to the 537th PSC. 537th? thinks I. What is that, some independent brigade? Nope, it was another personnel processing unit, and what with one thing or another I wound up in a Medium Truck company in Long Binh, slated to be a truck driver.

Well, OK, I'll generally do what I'm told, so I spent a week in the motor pool waiting for my military driver's license, along with a couple of days spent riding shotgun on convoys. With the license issued, I was all set to start driving. Then, at company formation, I was told to report to the orderly room, where I was told that the company clerk was very short and no replacement was in sight, so I was the new company clerk.

Did I use the work "ironic" earlier? Yes, yes I think I did.

Well, I settled in to that but after about six months I started getting twitchy and requested reassignment as door gunner up near the DMZ. Agreed, this may be a good indicator that a couple years of college is no guarantee of functional intelligence, but I'm sure my choice of MOS has settled that question pretty definitively.

I'll mention that at this time the battalion commander was peeved that some of his soldiers were going the door gunner route, so he instituted a new policy: all door gunner requests to be summarily rejected. However, when my paperwork was bounced back, I was ready. One of my weirder hobbies at the time was reading regulations, and it so happened that the Army had had a rare attack of good sense. A USARV (US Army Vietnam) reg specifically stated that anybody requesting a transfer from a non-combat to a combat position could not be rejected by intermediate commanders. So it was with a certain glee that I resubmitted my request, citing chapter and verse, and I'm pretty sure it was just as well that I was getting out of the battalion. Field grade officers do NOT like being told what they cannot do, especially by SP4s.

And so it was that 4 months later I arrived in Chu Lai, having also extended for a year, and wound up in the gunship platoon of the 116th Aviation Company (Assault Helicopter).

But enough back story. On to the Hell part (for certain values of Hell).

I'd been in the company a day or two when I was warned to be careful about using the latrines at night.

Another digression. Latrines. Laager has already mentioned about shit-burning detail, and the same system was in use in my area. A latrine consisted of several toilet holes, each perched above a 55-gallon oil drum cut down to 1/3 or 1/4 height. Every day some lucky soul got to haul out the cans, pour in some diesel, then light the contents. It was also necessary to stir the contents to ensure complete combustion, and in a dead calm there was no way to get upwind of the resulting smoke - and Vietnam has a lot of dead calm days. Oh yeah - join the Army and see the world.

A month earlier, one of the warrant officers went to answer the call of Nature, and sat himself down. Unbeknownst to him, a rat was perched on the rim of the can, considering his choice of dinner. Feeling his personal space being invaded, the rat reached up and bit the WO just behind the head of his dick (the WO's, not the rat's). In the ensuing confusion, not to mention screaming, the rat made good his escape. This ensured that the WO had to undergo rabies shots, which in 1970 was a dozen very painful shots in the stomach. This was generally considered adding insult to injury.

So the upshot was that, in a company flying combat missions every day, whose flight crews tended to walk with a certain swagger, it was really remarkable how much effort was expended, what with the shining of flashlights and the general banging and thumping on the latrines, just to take a simple dump.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sat Sep 20, 2014 10:52 am

SAEP wrote:Howdy, all -

I've been enjoying the stories, and thought I'd contribute.

First, a little back story. Or How I Got My Job.

In the spring of '69, I dropped out of my junior year in college and, one step ahead of the draft board, enlisted 11B. The reason I enlisted was that our family has a certain history of doing well on tests, and I was pretty sure the military would grab me for something like a clerk. This was a fairly ironic concern, as will become apparent.

Now, actually enlisting for 11B was (in 1969) a rather odd event. In AIT I was one of 4 in a training company of 160, so I got a number of odd looks. After AIT I spent some months at Ft. Benning, and then arrived in Vietnam in January of '70. The 90th Replacement Battalion in Long Binh took about a day and a half to send me to the 537th PSC. 537th? thinks I. What is that, some independent brigade? Nope, it was another personnel processing unit, and what with one thing or another I wound up in a Medium Truck company in Long Binh, slated to be a truck driver.

Well, OK, I'll generally do what I'm told, so I spent a week in the motor pool waiting for my military driver's license, along with a couple of days spent riding shotgun on convoys. With the license issued, I was all set to start driving. Then, at company formation, I was told to report to the orderly room, where I was told that the company clerk was very short and no replacement was in sight, so I was the new company clerk.

Did I use the work "ironic" earlier? Yes, yes I think I did.

Well, I settled in to that but after about six months I started getting twitchy and requested reassignment as door gunner up near the DMZ. Agreed, this may be a good indicator that a couple years of college is no guarantee of functional intelligence, but I'm sure my choice of MOS has settled that question pretty definitively.

I'll mention that at this time the battalion commander was peeved that some of his soldiers were going the door gunner route, so he instituted a new policy: all door gunner requests to be summarily rejected. However, when my paperwork was bounced back, I was ready. One of my weirder hobbies at the time was reading regulations, and it so happened that the Army had had a rare attack of good sense. A USARV (US Army Vietnam) reg specifically stated that anybody requesting a transfer from a non-combat to a combat position could not be rejected by intermediate commanders. So it was with a certain glee that I resubmitted my request, citing chapter and verse, and I'm pretty sure it was just as well that I was getting out of the battalion. Field grade officers do NOT like being told what they cannot do, especially by SP4s.

And so it was that 4 months later I arrived in Chu Lai, having also extended for a year, and wound up in the gunship platoon of the 116th Aviation Company (Assault Helicopter).

But enough back story. On to the Hell part (for certain values of Hell).

I'd been in the company a day or two when I was warned to be careful about using the latrines at night.

Another digression. Latrines. Laager has already mentioned about shit-burning detail, and the same system was in use in my area. A latrine consisted of several toilet holes, each perched above a 55-gallon oil drum cut down to 1/3 or 1/4 height. Every day some lucky soul got to haul out the cans, pour in some diesel, then light the contents. It was also necessary to stir the contents to ensure complete combustion, and in a dead calm there was no way to get upwind of the resulting smoke - and Vietnam has a lot of dead calm days. Oh yeah - join the Army and see the world.

A month earlier, one of the warrant officers went to answer the call of Nature, and sat himself down. Unbeknownst to him, a rat was perched on the rim of the can, considering his choice of dinner. Feeling his personal space being invaded, the rat reached up and bit the WO just behind the head of his dick (the WO's, not the rat's). In the ensuing confusion, not to mention screaming, the rat made good his escape. This ensured that the WO had to undergo rabies shots, which in 1970 was a dozen very painful shots in the stomach. This was generally considered adding insult to injury.

So the upshot was that, in a company flying combat missions every day, whose flight crews tended to walk with a certain swagger, it was really remarkable how much effort was expended, what with the shining of flashlights and the general banging and thumping on the latrines, just to take a simple dump.
Good tale and keep 'em coming!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sun Sep 28, 2014 6:31 pm

This week's topic:

Training the Newbies! The learning curve for new hires can be a real bitch, and the boss says it's your time to train 'em!

Laager, you have got to have some of those!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by BloodLust » Mon Sep 29, 2014 2:46 pm

I used to work in a restaurant as a line chef.
One of my duties is in charge of adding finishing touches and plating the food before it gets served.
The plating station logistically is nearest the door going out to the dining area so that the servers can just pick up and serve the dish after plating. This is also the place where they hang or clip the order slips (The small sheets of paper where they jot down orders and clip to a wire or board which the chefs look at to know which dish to make.)
I was with a culinary student doing her OJT in the kitchen. She was beside me as we were plating the food.
She was using a blowtorch to grill some feta cheese as part of a dish before it's to be served.
When using a blowtorch, I would like to think that gun rules apply. Do not point at something you do not wish to burn!
Someone calls her name and she swings around while the blowtorch was still on and she burns all the order slips on top of the counter!
On a busy night, everyone then starts scrambling to get the orders right. Good thing the order slips was on the type of paper where you write and due to the pen pressure, it makes a copy on the slip underneath without the use of carbon paper.
But we all had to sort the order slips out and which ones were made and served already and which ones were still pending.


----------

Another story.

Some guys don't know the difference between an oven and a microwave!
We have a small oven with digital controls for smaller dishes. It's also upright and has steel racks which no microwave has.
This new guy needed to thaw something out and he puts the food, container included into the oven thinking it was a microvave.
Next thing we know, there was a lot of smoke coming out of the oven and when we opened it, the container was smoldering!
Erik wrote:First of all, I doubt your body is a weapon and if you threatened me with your body, I'd pull out a real weapon and see which is more effective.
Bear_B wrote: I am not too worried about the bullet with my name on it... its the bullets flying around with question marks on them that worry me.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Oct 02, 2014 8:44 pm

Well I do have a few of those stories, but having recently returned from Fort Benning and running into someone I was stationed with I have a latrine story. I guess he ended up at Fort Gordon and was taking care of some business at Fort Benning.

For some odd reason we usually ended up with "nicknames", either completely made up, because of something you did, or just a play on your family (last) name.

The last time I was in Korea as a Manchu our Platoon ended up with a newbie. As a Section Sergeant it fell to me and the other two NCo's in the Platoon to try and keep him out of trouble and alive.

When we were allowed back to Camp Casey for a weekend or four day pass (as a Platoon) we stayed in Q-huts, with the showers and latrines located in a different building.

Unless you had an overnight pass or a "slickie pass" (one overnight pass for every five men in the company, a slickie pass was either a stolen pass or a fake one, that allowed you to enter and exit the main gate) you had to be signed in at the Company HQ no later than 2400hrs or midnight.

Midnight was when all the drunks came home........so let's just say it was usually pretty interesting. Soldiers trying to sign in at the wrong unit, pissing in their bunks, or someone else's bunk, puking, passing out in odd places, coming home with or without clothes, the list is pretty much endless and well lets just say just when you thought you had seen it all.....*poof* some moron pulls something truly disgusting.

One night at about 0100 or so I had to hit the latrine, as a general rule around that time it was not a good idea. You tended to get involved in stuff that you usually did not want to get involved in and of course cost you sleep and possibly R&R.

Anyway I tend to not make any noise when I move, usually not in a hurry to get anywhere, slow and easy and as quiet as possible is the way I like to move. It does tend to tick off the wife.......

I slip into the latrine and as I walk towards the stalls (without doors for some odd reason), I can hear the showers running and I hear a really loud nasty wet fart......then I hear someone say "Oh shit".....so I slip up to the shower area and see the new Private stomping on something with his feet and pushing it towards the drain.....oh and his rear end and back legs are covered in shit.

I could not help it....I asked him what the fark he was doing and he shit all over himself (again).

Evidently he had been out drinking, and spending money on bar girls (at the time early 80's) Korean bar girls did not take showers after "visiting" with male customers. I believe the correct term is "whore bath", as in splash some water down low and hit the pits and back to work they go. So he wanted to take a shower and well, went to fart and it was a shart.

Or as one of my old PFC's used to say.....Never pass up a latrine, never trust a fart and never ever waste a hard-on. The private passed up the latrine and paid for it. Well he also used to say Hard on's and bubble gum, so when you asked him What was up, he would reply Hard On's and bubble gum. That PFC worried me, we spent a lot of time in the field and there were no women around and the ones that were, tended to have a real dislike for Americans. I have a nice scar the bolo knife she tried to use.

Anyway here he is using his feet to move the larger bits and pieces towards the stopped up drain screen, and his toes to push the chunks down past the drain screen of the shower drain.

I just shook my head and left......passed up the stall and went back to the rack. Of course the shower drain ended up being plugged up and smelled like shit till CE came and fixed it. Then they told everyone to stop shitting in the shower.




I was going to keep it to myself, but about six weeks later, I am on CQ duty and checking the area for drunks and making sure all the building as secure.


I slip into the latrine area and as I walk past the stalls I here's that damn Private sitting on a stool, with no pants on, leaning to the side with at least two fingers shoved up his rear end. Digging for gold or something.

Honestly I was speechless.......I mean what the heck?? Until I asked him just what in the name of all that is Holy was he doing, he did not even realize I was there.

Let's just say it was uncomfortable for me.......here he is sitting on the stool, with his fingers still up his rear end, trying to tell me exactly what he is doing. I finally just looked at him and said, I don't know what in Hades you are doing, but go ahead and finish it up, clean up and bring your goat smelling ass up to the CQ area when you are done.

Now as it turns out that when I told him not to eat all the cheese, crackers and the peanut butter out of the C rats (sometimes K) he just did not listen. In fact he begged and borrowed everyone else's that did not want theirs and ate it as well.

Bottom line was he had not been able to down load for about a week, so since it was stuck, he thought it would be no problem digging it out. The only thing he had was his fingers........so he would stick two fingers in, pinch some and pull it out. Pinching a bit out at a time.

I had to mention his nickname, since he thought it would be a good idea to tell stories about me out of class so to speak, in front of my brother the shrink and my wife. Stories that he had heard second or third hand and ones that I would much rather not have to explain to Lil. I did time out beyond the tip of spear, That woman scares the living Hades out of me.

Pinch did not appreciate it for some reason...........I was pushing (pun intended) for Push, Fingers, Stuck, Cheese, Peanut, Butter, and Shart as well as a few others, but somehow Pinch stuck.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Oct 02, 2014 8:46 pm

TheLastRifleMan wrote:Damn, I hate fucking roaches. The civilized world's way of telling people your living condition's cleanliness sucks.

I have only been in a couple places with the crawling disease carriers. In one place I had to haul the scooter outside in 15 F temps to work on it because the damn things were getting into my tool box, clip board and winter coat. I found out that it takes more cold then that to kill them. They just ran back into the mobile homes in the adjacent area ASAP.

About two years after this, I noticed the trailer was empty. It sat that way for about a month when tore the place down and set it on fire. Yes, fire. Since I drove by this insect ridden hovel from the road on my way home, I saw the whole happy event. Burned the trailer right to the frame.

I was waiting for the nuclear bomb from orbit to come down and wipe it out. Just to be sure. Never happened.

Only other time was the aftermath of a bug bomb in a garage. Friend of mine wanted my help getting some nice ash bow staves from a garage that we quickly found out had been recently cleaned of rotten garbage. Guess what? The things where crawling out of the holes in the top of the bug bomb's canister, covered in pale yellow powder as the sought refuge buy crawling over the bodies of their dead comrades that were laying in the hundreds of thousands.

I guess they bought the wrong kind of bug killer. Like a grenade, perhaps.


The ones in the Philippines attack you.......not only do they crawl, but they fly and worse they bite.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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