My Job, My Hell...

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

Moderator: ZS Global Moderators

SAEP
Posts: 19
Joined: Fri Sep 19, 2014 10:42 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Fri Jan 08, 2016 5:28 pm

And then (when you're in the Green Machine in an unnamed Southeast Asia country) there's the whole question of VD.

Now, for those without an appreciation of military history, the US Army in WWII was famous for its VD training films. This was pre-antibiotic days, so cures were hard to come by. The training films left remarkably little to the imagination when it came to showing entertaining sights like syphilitic chancres and rotting dicks, and would fairly regularly cause GIs to pass out. But at least they gave folks some idea of what the stakes were. Come the '60s and SE Asia, the chances of infection were probably at least as high, but troops were generally ignorant, at least the first time. Penicillin was a wonderful thing.

Well, even then antibiotic resistance was beginning to rear its ugly head, and there were rumors of the existence of a strain of syphilis called the "Black Syph". According to rumors (mostly, but only mostly, disbelieved) diagnosis with the Black Syph would get you declared KIA and shipped off to a secret base on a desert island for the rest of your miserable life, with your next of kin getting a "regret to inform you" telegraph and a sealed coffin with ballast inside.

Of course, none of that was true, as far as I know. Certainly the dispensaries gave a shots to a few of the guys in my unit. To add insult to injury, the flight-line dispensary at Chu Lai had a penicillin shot specialist, a civilian named Tammi. This was one of those absolutely adorable young Vietnamese women: petite, soft flawless skin, long silken black hair, and looked like she was about 16. How she got the job I never knew. But she was apparently good at it.

Hooch maids were hired from the civilian population: women who would clean the hooches we lived in, polish boots and clean and press uniforms. They were mostly RVN widows, and a few of them would turn tricks on the side. The one who did this in our cluster of hooches was called Wendy. I never availed myself of her services (I really don't like getting needles stuck in by butt.)

So one day, a bunch of us were shooting the breeze, and SP4 Clausen was asked a question. Now, Clausen was a good guy, although not a genius by any means, and about 19 (I was 22, the oldest of the junior enlisted by a large margin). The question was,

"Hey Clausen, I heard you had Wendy."
"Yup."
"You know she's got the clap, right?"
"Oh yeah - that's why I had her give me a blowjob". This accompanied by what I can only describe as an insufferably smug, shit-eating grin.

Despite the fact that "facepalm" had not yet entered the vocabulary, the gesture was certainly in use. I used it.

"Oh Christ, Clausen, tell me you didn't!"

Have you ever seen a shit-eating grin slide slowly off a guy's face, replaced with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's gone and screwed the pooch? It's really quite unforgettable.

And sure enough, 3 days later, he was off to see Tammi.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Jan 09, 2016 1:04 am

LowKey wrote:
Stercutus wrote:So your Korea Story reminded of a Germany story.

During the Cold War they held an annual exercise called Reforger. This was a huge event calling for the deployment of forces from the US and other countries to fight the Red Hordes Streaming through the Fulda Gap. Anyhow we were all packed up and ready to roll out at 0430 the next morning and our squad decides to go down town to Frankfurt-Sachsenhausen and blow off some steam before heading to the field for 40 days. Our platoon sergeant is a Vietnam Vet E6 with 19 years in tells us to make sure we get back in time. If anyone misses movement it is all of our asses. We agreed that we would all take the last train back which would leave at 0020. The first train in the morning is not until 0500 too late to get back.

So we head down there and everyone gets at least moderately drunk on some fine German beer, except for SGT Serbe who really likes Whiskey and another of the guys named Green who is about 270 lbs and he gets falling down drunk.

Serbe tended to get a bit nasty when he was drunk and liked to start fights with people who were at least a head taller and 50 pounds heavier than him. True to form about 1130 PM I see him rip a trophy off the wall of the bar and proceed to beat a soldier from a different unit about the head and shoulders with it. We all go rushing in and there is a general melee in the bar. This goes on for a couple of minutes until the barkeep starts yelling that the polizei are on their way.

Nobody sticks around for the polizei and their rubber spring loaded billy clubs. We all scatter out into the alleys. Typically if they caught you misbehaving they would beat your ass with the billy clubs, then turn you over to the MPs who would take you back to our unit where you would get charged. We meet up and notice that Green is missing. We don't want to go back to the club but we can't leave our team mate either.

So we fly a missing man formation and find that the bar is closed. We figure he has either been captured or is on his way back so we hot foot it to the bahnhoff. We get there just before the train and we find Green passed out on a bench. After several minutes of not being able to revive him the train arrives so I pick his dead weight up and hoist him on to the train. I am a big guy but Green is at least 70 pounds more than me. Everyone else is either too drunk or too small to carry him.

We keep trying to wake him to no avail and we have to change trains at the main train station, which involves walking up two large flights of stairs. Using incredibly good judgment I decide to drag him off the train to the steps a distance of about 100 meters then I carry him up the first flight. I start to get winded when this large Amazonian German lady appears. When I say large she is about 6'4" and 250 lbs. She speaks great English and tells me she is fire fighter and wants to know what is wrong with our friend.

I explain he had a little too much to drink and she takes a look at him. She agrees he is passed out drunk and I notice she is a little tipsy too. I tell her we have got to go because the train is coming and she volunteers to carry him up the second flight of stairs! I can't say no to that.

She picks Green up and hoists him on her shoulders like he is a 10lb sack of potatoes and turns around. When she turns around she smacks Green's head into the wall accidentally, raising a nice goose egg over his right eye. He doesn't stir. Off we go and we get on the train and head back to the barracks. From the last train stop it is still a half mile walk to the barracks. German Fire Fighter lady volunteers to carry him back to the barracks and we let her go for it. She has been really cool about the whole thing and quite entertaining.

It is almost 0200 when we get back to the barracks and Germany lady realizes that there are no more trains. We come up with the brilliant plan to sneak her into the barracks. The guard is half asleep in the shack and we just wave our ID's at him. Green is starting to come out of it about now and German Amazon sets him down then takes him to his room and starts having her with him in his mostly passed out state?!? Well, she did do all the heavy lifting and we are thinking he probably won't complain.

Thinking the night is over and things are quieted down I head to my room for a couple of hours of sleep. About a minute after I lay down I hear a tapping at my window. I look outside there and it is the platoon sergeant dressed in a light coat of oil and nothing else. For some reason he thinks I am SGT Serbe (room next door to me) and he is telling me that he is having PTSD flashbacks about Vietnam and he doesn't think he will be able to go to the field with us.

I tended to agree and my roommate runs and grabs the CQ to tell him to bring some guys and come get him. The next thing I know he is running all over the quad plex screaming a mish mash of English and Vietnamese waving his dick at people and tries (unsuccessfully) to scale the wall. They end up calling the MP's who then snatch him up but the commotion raises a ruckus that wakes up half the compound. I head back to my room hoping to get at least an hour of sleep.

The next thing I hear is Green yelling from Green's room; "Don't touch me, get off off of me!".

He comes running out of his room, also naked, screaming that there is a man trying to rape him. As it turns out he was proven half wrong as German Amazon woman then appeared (also naked) in hot pursuit of her prize. She was clearly a woman but I could understand the argument. She is trying to get Green calmed down and back into the room when the CQ sees them and starts calling for the MP's. The last thing Green says he remembers is being in the fight in the bar.

Ah, discretion. I run back in my room and lock the door hoping the night will end.

But no.

The First Sergeant shows up and boy is he hot. He wants to know "why the fuck we got naked people running around all over the place" and "why the fuck can't we fucks get even one thing right, ever". Everyone gets drug out into the hallway and he looks in all the rooms finding, of course yet more women who are not supposed to be in the barracks in various states of undress. He fires the CQ on the spot and tells me to take over. I am still a little tipsy but; what the hell I wasn't going to get any sleep any way.

We still rolled out on time but the fallout goes on for a couple of days. I go a good 72 hours without sleep and turn into one of the walking dead briefly. Eventually Green sort of finds out what happened to him and thanks me for looking out. A couple of the guys told him that I carried him the whole way home and that the big German girl is a big mystery. I let him roll with it for while until I figured he was calm enough to know the truth.

The good old days.
Lest anyone doubt this tale, this is exactly the sort of shenanigans that occurred in my unit in Germany back in the day as well. It was a wilder time back then....


REFORGER....what a monumental waste of time, money and resources...........still there was something about wandering around the German countryside, with no food, no logistics support and hitting the schwimmbads for showers.


Shenanigans........made them some of the best days of my life.....not that it made up for the bad ones, but still some people just attract trouble.
“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.

LowKey
* * * * *
Posts: 4648
Joined: Tue Feb 03, 2009 9:32 am
Favorite Zombie Movies: Night of the Dead (original and remake)
Dawn of the Dead (original and remake)
Land of the Dead
Diary of the Dead
28 Days
28 Weeks
Resident Evil
Shawn of the Dead
Night of the Comet (cheese squared!)
Dead Alive (cheese cubed!!)
Location: In the Middle East, for my sins.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by LowKey » Sat Jan 09, 2016 2:13 am

Laager wrote:

REFORGER....what a monumental waste of time, money and resources...........still there was something about wandering around the German countryside, with no food, no logistics support and hitting the schwimmbads for showers.


Shenanigans........made them some of the best days of my life.....not that it made up for the bad ones, but still some people just attract trouble.
:shock:
No food???? How does that happen?

I was a tanker, we used to "salvage" agricultural products all the time.
Neutral steer some potatoes out of the ground.
Collect corn off of the stalks caught in our fenders.
Catch the cherries that fell off the tree when we "accidentally" bumped it with a gun tube.

The farmers loved it, as it was chalked up as "maneuver damage" and Uncle Sam paid them top dollar. Some of them would point out places they hoped we'd tear up. Occasionally they'd supply some beer.
“Political tags – such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth – are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire.” Robert A. Heinlein

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sun Jan 10, 2016 6:34 pm

LowKey wrote:
Laager wrote:

REFORGER....what a monumental waste of time, money and resources...........still there was something about wandering around the German countryside, with no food, no logistics support and hitting the schwimmbads for showers.


Shenanigans........made them some of the best days of my life.....not that it made up for the bad ones, but still some people just attract trouble.
:shock:
No food???? How does that happen?

I was a tanker, we used to "salvage" agricultural products all the time.
Neutral steer some potatoes out of the ground.
Collect corn off of the stalks caught in our fenders.
Catch the cherries that fell off the tree when we "accidentally" bumped it with a gun tube.

The farmers loved it, as it was chalked up as "maneuver damage" and Uncle Sam paid them top dollar. Some of them would point out places they hoped we'd tear up. Occasionally they'd supply some beer.

We ended up with a First Sergeant that was not 11B, not sure what his MOS was but he would occasionally find us, throw some C rats at us and then promise us some hot chow, if we would meet him at grid square such and such.

Then a few days later he would show up and ask us how it was that we could not read a map and link up with him for the hot chow.

We were always filthy dirty and he looked like he was doing guard duty with the Old Guard. He also would not get out of his jeep, his driver would. He would also toss out mail and Stars and Stripes newspapers. He did manage to show up for the AFN interview though.

We raided many a farmers field and/or grove, and I remember watching some guys from 3rd Cav run wild in a couple of German farmer's fields. As well as traded off whatever we could for beer and snacks from local kids (for some reason they loved those cheap Skilcraft pens and pencils).

It got so bad one time we pooled our money together and then got "lost" and wandered into a village, hit the stores and took showers in someone's front yard. That was the straw that broke the First Sergeant's back and he started showing up at least once a day. Usually in the am to hand out c rats for breakfast and lunch with a promise of hot chow for the evening meal.

He told us to meet him nlt 1700hrs for hot chow....we got there, set up and hot chow showed up at 0300hrs. Then he had a fit because he could not get anyone other than the guys on guard duty to eat it.

I was always amazed just how much a single chicken was worth.............both in Europe and the Far East. I can't remember how many generations they would get paid for.

3rd Cav did get the shaft though, one of their platoons was asked to drive through a farmers field, he filed a claim and even gave up the unit and which vehicles drove through the field. I heard it got ugly.....for the guys that drove out into the field.
“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.

LowKey
* * * * *
Posts: 4648
Joined: Tue Feb 03, 2009 9:32 am
Favorite Zombie Movies: Night of the Dead (original and remake)
Dawn of the Dead (original and remake)
Land of the Dead
Diary of the Dead
28 Days
28 Weeks
Resident Evil
Shawn of the Dead
Night of the Comet (cheese squared!)
Dead Alive (cheese cubed!!)
Location: In the Middle East, for my sins.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by LowKey » Sun Jan 10, 2016 11:56 pm

Laager wrote:
LowKey wrote:
Laager wrote:

REFORGER....what a monumental waste of time, money and resources...........still there was something about wandering around the German countryside, with no food, no logistics support and hitting the schwimmbads for showers.


Shenanigans........made them some of the best days of my life.....not that it made up for the bad ones, but still some people just attract trouble.
:shock:
No food???? How does that happen?

I was a tanker, we used to "salvage" agricultural products all the time.
Neutral steer some potatoes out of the ground.
Collect corn off of the stalks caught in our fenders.
Catch the cherries that fell off the tree when we "accidentally" bumped it with a gun tube.

The farmers loved it, as it was chalked up as "maneuver damage" and Uncle Sam paid them top dollar. Some of them would point out places they hoped we'd tear up. Occasionally they'd supply some beer.

We ended up with a First Sergeant that was not 11B, not sure what his MOS was but he would occasionally find us, throw some C rats at us and then promise us some hot chow, if we would meet him at grid square such and such.

Then a few days later he would show up and ask us how it was that we could not read a map and link up with him for the hot chow.

We were always filthy dirty and he looked like he was doing guard duty with the Old Guard. He also would not get out of his jeep, his driver would. He would also toss out mail and Stars and Stripes newspapers. He did manage to show up for the AFN interview though.

We raided many a farmers field and/or grove, and I remember watching some guys from 3rd Cav run wild in a couple of German farmer's fields. As well as traded off whatever we could for beer and snacks from local kids (for some reason they loved those cheap Skilcraft pens and pencils).

It got so bad one time we pooled our money together and then got "lost" and wandered into a village, hit the stores and took showers in someone's front yard. That was the straw that broke the First Sergeant's back and he started showing up at least once a day. Usually in the am to hand out c rats for breakfast and lunch with a promise of hot chow for the evening meal.

He told us to meet him nlt 1700hrs for hot chow....we got there, set up and hot chow showed up at 0300hrs. Then he had a fit because he could not get anyone other than the guys on guard duty to eat it.

I was always amazed just how much a single chicken was worth.............both in Europe and the Far East. I can't remember how many generations they would get paid for.

3rd Cav did get the shaft though, one of their platoons was asked to drive through a farmers field, he filed a claim and even gave up the unit and which vehicles drove through the field. I heard it got ugly.....for the guys that drove out into the field.
Sounds like you had a wonderful first sergeant. :clownshoes:

We never gleaned anything from the fields withhold the farmer being in on it. Never had any issues with them being to specific about unit when they put in their claim. If they had we would have gone somewhere else on the next maneuver.

Then there was "Brochen Annie", a little old lady with a station wagon (capable of making it through mud and obstacles that would have trapped a jeep like the Le Brea Tar pits) who sold food and drinks.

And.....lest we forget.....the adventurous German girls who'd come out and flirt with us.

Overall I found the Germans to be very nice, friendly, and tolerant......once you got more than (let's say) 20-30 miles away from a military installation*.
Along the East-West border they were downright fantastic. I recall running out of smokes when on OP India and a local kid ran in to town with money I passed him through the fence and he brought me back a back....and the change. Wouldn't take anything for running the errand.
A buddy of mine actually managed to get "intimate" through the chain link fence with a local girl.... :rofl:
“Political tags – such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth – are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire.” Robert A. Heinlein

User avatar
shrapnel
ZS Global Moderator
ZS Global Moderator
Posts: 5653
Joined: Tue Feb 03, 2009 7:42 pm
Location: Aboard Baron von Counterculture's groovy purple dirigible, glaring down through a monocle.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by shrapnel » Mon Jan 11, 2016 12:15 pm

Caution, sadness ahead.





Today's room that wasn't marked but should have been* contained a woman and a tiny baby. A very tiny baby. Why was the baby not in the NICU? Why wasn't the baby under a warming lamp, on account of it being so tiny? Why was the mother holding this little baby who surely was too delicate to be touched? And why was its face so blue?

I figured it out eventually.






*this has been a common theme, but it's usually infectious patients, not stillbirths. If there's a grieving mother in the room, the nurses are supposed to put a little magnet on the patient's door so you know to not come in all cheerful and smiling.
OTTB wrote:"What's that you're wearing?"
"This? Oh, just my rabies hat."
shrapnel wrote:Darling, I would never fondle your sphenoid.
Dr. Cox wrote: People aren't chocolates. Do you know what they are mostly? Bastards. Bastard-coated bastards with bastard fillings.
JamesCannon wrote:Shrapnel, if you were a superhero, you'd be Captain Buzzkill Peener Pain.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jan 11, 2016 6:04 pm

LowKey wrote:
Laager wrote:
LowKey wrote:
Laager wrote:

REFORGER....what a monumental waste of time, money and resources...........still there was something about wandering around the German countryside, with no food, no logistics support and hitting the schwimmbads for showers.


Shenanigans........made them some of the best days of my life.....not that it made up for the bad ones, but still some people just attract trouble.
:shock:
No food???? How does that happen?

I was a tanker, we used to "salvage" agricultural products all the time.
Neutral steer some potatoes out of the ground.
Collect corn off of the stalks caught in our fenders.
Catch the cherries that fell off the tree when we "accidentally" bumped it with a gun tube.

The farmers loved it, as it was chalked up as "maneuver damage" and Uncle Sam paid them top dollar. Some of them would point out places they hoped we'd tear up. Occasionally they'd supply some beer.

We ended up with a First Sergeant that was not 11B, not sure what his MOS was but he would occasionally find us, throw some C rats at us and then promise us some hot chow, if we would meet him at grid square such and such.

Then a few days later he would show up and ask us how it was that we could not read a map and link up with him for the hot chow.

We were always filthy dirty and he looked like he was doing guard duty with the Old Guard. He also would not get out of his jeep, his driver would. He would also toss out mail and Stars and Stripes newspapers. He did manage to show up for the AFN interview though.

We raided many a farmers field and/or grove, and I remember watching some guys from 3rd Cav run wild in a couple of German farmer's fields. As well as traded off whatever we could for beer and snacks from local kids (for some reason they loved those cheap Skilcraft pens and pencils).

It got so bad one time we pooled our money together and then got "lost" and wandered into a village, hit the stores and took showers in someone's front yard. That was the straw that broke the First Sergeant's back and he started showing up at least once a day. Usually in the am to hand out c rats for breakfast and lunch with a promise of hot chow for the evening meal.

He told us to meet him nlt 1700hrs for hot chow....we got there, set up and hot chow showed up at 0300hrs. Then he had a fit because he could not get anyone other than the guys on guard duty to eat it.

I was always amazed just how much a single chicken was worth.............both in Europe and the Far East. I can't remember how many generations they would get paid for.

3rd Cav did get the shaft though, one of their platoons was asked to drive through a farmers field, he filed a claim and even gave up the unit and which vehicles drove through the field. I heard it got ugly.....for the guys that drove out into the field.
Sounds like you had a wonderful first sergeant. :clownshoes:

We never gleaned anything from the fields withhold the farmer being in on it. Never had any issues with them being to specific about unit when they put in their claim. If they had we would have gone somewhere else on the next maneuver.

Then there was "Brochen Annie", a little old lady with a station wagon (capable of making it through mud and obstacles that would have trapped a jeep like the Le Brea Tar pits) who sold food and drinks.

And.....lest we forget.....the adventurous German girls who'd come out and flirt with us.

Overall I found the Germans to be very nice, friendly, and tolerant......once you got more than (let's say) 20-30 miles away from a military installation*.
Along the East-West border they were downright fantastic. I recall running out of smokes when on OP India and a local kid ran in to town with money I passed him through the fence and he brought me back a back....and the change. Wouldn't take anything for running the errand.
A buddy of mine actually managed to get "intimate" through the chain link fence with a local girl.... :rofl:

Oh he was a piece of work for sure, but he got his in the end. Field Grade article 15 for a DWI. Someone called the front gate after an SNCO call at the Post club, claimed some moron in a Renault R5 (Le Car) ran him over.

I did a few years in Germany at Lee Barracks just before I retired, my wife was stationed at Lindsey Air Station (Hospital). We had a fantastic time there, met some great people.

Seen the same thing happen while on Guard and even caught three of the guards with girls in the guard shack, I was pulling Battalion SDNCO.
“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.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jan 11, 2016 9:48 pm

Stercutus wrote:
shrapnel wrote:I'm a phlebotomist in a hospital now.

(5 am, on a perfectly lucid patient)

"Hi, sir, we know you don't want to be bothered this early and we are very sorry but this is a very important antibiotic level test and the doctors really really ne-"

"Every single morning since I've been here, people from the lab come down here and every single morning I tell them they can do whatever they want AFTER 6:30, but before then it's MY TIME. If you folks come down here and bother me again tomorrow I'll follow you back to your lab and slit your throats."

:shock:

"OK then."

*rapid exit*
I'd would report whoever the hell that was. Don't care who they think they are. You are just begging to breed workplace violence.
Laager wrote:
Viper shtf wrote:Why a Pinto? That's the real question here.

It's not Lil........it is her Mom..........we have been at odds since day one.

A friend gave it to me, and I was bored......so I tore the engine down, cleaned it up, replaced some parts, hoses and fan belts. Everything else was in good condition, except for the paint job.

Then I was bored, and put it back in the workshop and replaced the breaks and some seals, bearings and shocks.

Mostly I was hiding.........

Pretty soon it will go to my cousins oldest Granddaughter, once she gets her driver's license............and I will have to find something else to occupy my time and keep me out of the house.
She must have really pissed you off to go to all that trouble.

Lil's Mom came to visit and well has never left (yet), although occasionally she will go to Vegas or home to the PI, then complain about her lack of money and come back to visit.

While I always knew what I was getting into when I married an Asian, I was sort of praying that either she would kick off, I would kick off or she might actually like me. So far it has not worked out that way.

Pretty much sums up the way my life works.

My cousin, his wife, Lil and her Mom were extra special "nice" to me starting around October. I could do no wrong.

That's pretty much when the other shoe fell.......I should have known it was going to be a major shafting.

I went to give the Pinto away and the girl complained about the paint job and did not even say thank you. I pointed out that she had 1800 dollars to put towards a car and that would more than cover the cost of a professional paint job. Less than 1/4 that came from her and the rest from her Grandparents and parents. I also pointed out it was a farking free car.

I ended up taking it back and driving it home. Ungrateful little shit never said thank you, just complained that the paint was faded. A few days later I gave it to Cons granddaughter.....My cousin did not even blink or say anything, when I left. Neither did Lil.

Situational awareness level was extremely low.


Christmas - Lil gives me a used Ruger Redhawk in .357mag with the 5.5 inch barrel. Nobody says anything about me already having one of them.


Situational awareness level still low. Life is looking real good. In fact I'm feeling darn good.

Drive to Vegas for a week........my cousin James, his wife Sue, Bec, Lil and one each granddaughter (ours, the mean one).

Lil mentions my dream of owning a Barrett 50 BMG.........asks if I think I might see one in a gun store in Las Vegas.......says if I do give her a call......she is known as the Bank of Lil.

First thought.......heck yea......that's like asking if you can find slot machines, hookers and booze in Las Vegas....2nd thought.......Hmmmmmmm.............why did my gut start twitching.......feels like Murphy has me dialed in.......

Situational awareness level goes way, way up.

Got to Vegas.......things went to crap at Lil's Sister's apartment.......I did not even get to take my shoes off in the entry way. Like Admiral Ackbar's famous line "It's a trap!"...It was......

I was shafted before I even thought about agreeing to go to Vegas........and I told her what she could do with the Barrett when I got back in the Van and headed to Nellis TLF.

I believe the term I used was snookered........the 50 BMG had way to many strings attached so I am still a no go at that station.
“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.

feanor
*
Posts: 80
Joined: Mon Sep 21, 2015 2:58 am

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by feanor » Wed Jan 13, 2016 5:02 pm

shrapnel wrote:Caution, sadness ahead.





Today's room that wasn't marked but should have been* contained a woman and a tiny baby. A very tiny baby. Why was the baby not in the NICU? Why wasn't the baby under a warming lamp, on account of it being so tiny? Why was the mother holding this little baby who surely was too delicate to be touched? And why was its face so blue?

I figured it out eventually.






*this has been a common theme, but it's usually infectious patients, not stillbirths. If there's a grieving mother in the room, the nurses are supposed to put a little magnet on the patient's door so you know to not come in all cheerful and smiling.
Ah shit, that'd fuck up your day for sure.
One morningon my way to work I walk by an old man holding the entrance door open for paramedics and with a broken voice filled to the brim with despair tells them "she's dead". Hearing that and knowing that he's probably not long for this world either because of it messed up my day and dead babies cut far deeper than old folks dying.

User avatar
Mad Mike
* * *
Posts: 525
Joined: Fri Feb 04, 2011 4:33 pm
Favorite Zombie Movies: the walking dead & world war Z

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Wed Jan 13, 2016 6:23 pm

shrapnel wrote:Caution, sadness ahead.





Today's room that wasn't marked but should have been* contained a woman and a tiny baby. A very tiny baby. Why was the baby not in the NICU? Why wasn't the baby under a warming lamp, on account of it being so tiny? Why was the mother holding this little baby who surely was too delicate to be touched? And why was its face so blue?

I figured it out eventually.






*this has been a common theme, but it's usually infectious patients, not stillbirths. If there's a grieving mother in the room, the nurses are supposed to put a little magnet on the patient's door so you know to not come in all cheerful and smiling.
Years ago I worked security at a hospital. Making the rounds thru the geriactic ward was bad - so many close to death.

But the pederactic ward was simply awful. Kids who only had days or weeks left - that broke my heart. Still does 40 years later.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jan 13, 2016 11:56 pm

Many years ago there was a car wreck out front of where I used to work and we were the first to arrive. I've seen some bad stuff out in the world, but that poor lady and her child tore me up.

She had been pregnant and had given birth either during the accident or right afterwards. The boyfriend or husband had been rushing them to the nearest hospital and lost control, crashing the car into a concrete light pole.

The woman was dying, and yet she held her baby and kept asking me if the baby was going to be okay and telling me the baby was cold.

I took off my shirt and swaddled the baby up in it with its face sticking out a bit, then I placed the baby onto the woman's chest, and then sat next to her and helped her pat/rub her baby's back.

The women finally bled out. She had lost way to much blood and was bleeding internally, so much it was coming out of multiple orifices.

I sat there for a very long time holding the woman's hand and rubbing the back of the baby, until the EMT's pushed me out of the way.

Honestly I wanted to beat the boyfriend/husband to death with my crowbar......he did nothing except stand around like it was an everyday occurrence.

I just walked away, back to my office where I shut down my computer, locked my desk, locked my office door, grabbed my PPE and got on my bike and road off. I did not even tell the boss I was leaving. I just left.

I am not sure how long I was gone, but eventually I rode home from the north end of the island. Got home, talked to Lil a bit (she already had heard about what happened) and then I went out to the shed to clean my bike up. Lil came out, brought some beer and sat out there with me the whole time.

I still want to beat the husband's farking rear end.
“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.

feanor
*
Posts: 80
Joined: Mon Sep 21, 2015 2:58 am

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by feanor » Thu Jan 14, 2016 11:04 am

Laager wrote:
Honestly I wanted to beat the boyfriend/husband to death with my crowbar......he did nothing except stand around like it was an everyday occurrence.
Having been frantic enough to lose control seems to me that he cared, the standing around I hope was just him dying inside rendering him unable to act.
Shit can over load, as a combat veteran you must've seen that before.
Not saying he didn't deserve it but if I were in his shoes being beaten to death would be sweet relief at that moment.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Jan 14, 2016 5:25 pm

feanor wrote:
Laager wrote:
Honestly I wanted to beat the boyfriend/husband to death with my crowbar......he did nothing except stand around like it was an everyday occurrence.
Having been frantic enough to lose control seems to me that he cared, the standing around I hope was just him dying inside rendering him unable to act.
Shit can over load, as a combat veteran you must've seen that before.
Not saying he didn't deserve it but if I were in his shoes being beaten to death would be sweet relief at that moment.

You are 100% correct, but it still makes me want to slap the snot out of him.
“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.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jan 25, 2016 9:02 pm

I used to spend a lot of time at Camp Casey, and at the time they had two Armored Battalions stationed in Dragon Valley. I believe they were the 1/72 and 2/72nd Armor (known as the Crusaders), they used the same series of tank as the South Koreans the U.S. had M48A5s and the South Koreans had some series of M48.

Anyway we used to cut through the 1/72nd's motor pool on our way to eat at a Korean resturant that they had up in Dragon Valley. It's where the South Korean KATUSAs had a small base, the food was good, the company was lacking for the most part.

Anyway their motor pool had a small river that ran right down the right side of the compound and they had a set of stairs known as the stair way to heaven...there were 115 steps and we had to run them on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the rest of the week was just a five mile run....to the front gate and back to the barracks. So no one wanted to go up the stairs then down the other side and through Dragon Valley when you could just cut through the motor pool.

So here we go walking through the Motor pool, along the fence line when Davis pokes me and says "hey isn't that our Battalion Commander?"

Me: In that jeep?

Davis: I think it's him.

Green: Certainly looks like him.

Williams: Well that's his driver for sure.

as we kept walking towards the motor pool gate.

Then Williams says hey it looks like they are going to cut through the river.......

Davis: It's to deep to ford in a jeep.

Green: Morris isn't stupid enough to do that.....(Morris was the Battalion Commander's jeep driver)

We keep pressing on towards the gate.....

Green: Hey they are stuck........

Davis: I think they are waving at us......

Williams: What do you think they want?

So we all stopped and looked through the chain link fence towards the jeep that was starting to float down river.......the driver and his two passengers were waving and yelling at us.

Green: Hey Priest what do you think we should do?

Me: Well I'm going to wave and then go get a plate of Bulgogi, a bottle of soju, I don't know what you guys are going to do.

We all waved and then pressed on with the mission......get some food, have a few drinks and then press on towards the downtown area.

And that is just what we did...............

However early on Saturday morning.......the CQR comes down to the hooch and wakes me up. Says the Company Commander and 1SG want to see me.

So I get up, head for the shower building, take care of the three S's, pull out a decent uniform and head up to see them.

Evidently I was supposed to skip the three S's and go there immediately. I did point out that the 1SG had said that no one had better show up to see him without looking squared away....or as he said 4.0 and ready to go.

Someone in my platoon (Padilla) had shown up once without shaving and well it did not go well.

So the 1SG tells me the Company Command wanted to talk to me, so he goes and knocks on the door, enters the office and then after a few minutes the Company Clerk comes out and tells me to go ahead and proceed in.

So I knock three times, loudly and wait for them to tell me to enter.

They did and I did......


The Company Commander starts off with:

So PFC what were you doing on Friday evening?

Me: I was on pass.

CC: So where did you go?

Me: Off Post.

The Company Commander looks over at the 1SG who then starts in as well. Now there are four people in the office. The Company Commander, the 1SG and the Company Clerk and of course me.

1SG: How did you get there?

Me: Walked.

1SG: From here to the there?

Me: Yes. 1SG.

CC: Did you happen to go by the 1/72nd's motor pool?

Me: Yes. Sir

CC: Did you see anything?

Me: Yes. Sir

1SG: Now we are getting somewhere......what did you see?

Me: Tanks.

CC: Tanks? Tanks? Is that all you saw?

Me: No. Sir

CC: What else did you see?

Me: Soldiers.

I could see the Company Clerk, and he was having a hard time not laughing.........

1SG: Did you see anything out of the ordinary?

Me: No. Sir

CC: So you did not see a jeep floating in the river?

Me: Yes. Sir

CC: Yes you saw a jeep floating down stream?

Me: Yes. Sir

CC: 1SG is he always like this?

1SG: Yes he is........

CC: Is he screwing around or is he just stupid?

1SG: I've had him tested and they said he was normal.

CC: Well have him tested again....because there is something wrong with him.

CC: Do you know why you are here?

Me: Yes Sir.

CC: Why are you here?

Me: Sir, because the CQR told me to report to you and the 1SG.

CC: SOB!!!! Were you or were you not in the Crusader's motor pool yesterday, and did you see a jeep floating down river?

Me: Yes sir.

CC: 1SG, I want you to take PFC Priest to the Post hospital and have him checked out, then I want to see the medical report on my desk by first thing Monday morning.

1SG: Yes sir, right away sir.

CC: PFC Priest you are dismissed.......

and away we went.......straight to the post hospital.

The Company clerk ended up having to spend the day with me and told me that the Battalion Commander and his jeep had floated down river, crashed into the bridge that lead up into Dragon Valley and had said that they had called out to four soldiers who he was sure were in his Battalion, specifically me. And that the soldiers had just waved at them and walked off, evidently they did not even bother to tell the 1/72nd's motor pool's gate guard that there were soldiers in distress.

Turns out that the Battalion Commander and his buddy had just left the Officer club and were drunk. Missed or dodged a DWI, because they were not driving, but the driver took an article 15 for them.

I told the Company Clerk, that they were not in distress until they decided to try to ford the river and they looked fine drifting downstream........



Last edited by Laager on Sat Jan 30, 2016 4:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
“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.

User avatar
Stercutus
* * * * *
Posts: 13591
Joined: Wed Feb 10, 2010 8:16 pm
Location: Time Out

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Fri Jan 29, 2016 10:15 pm

I have a battalion commander story too. Sort of.... you'll see...

So in the late 90s I am bright intelligence officer assigned as a BN S-2 to a Paladin Field Artillery Battalion. Or better known as the "Night Battle Captain". An impressive job title let me tell you.

As was normal for those days we were given a rotation to the National Training Center at Ft. Irwin, California fighting out with the no longer existent in real life Soviet hordes. As the intel whacker I had to follow the scout fight and make sure I knew where the bad guy artillery was and that kind of thing. Then I had to stay up and help fight the battles too. Sleep was a highly treasured prize in very short supply.

We fought a rather amazing battle one day near the middle of the rotation only losing 70% brigade before the enemy succumbed to our will. That was recorded as a win. Such was the way back in the day.

Somehow in the middle of the laser engagements, atwess cartridges heat of battle type thing the Battalion commander led the command group right through some notional persistent chemical getting his vehicle and got the command group good and slimed. So after the battle they all have go to the decontamination site and get decon.

A few hours later I see the command group rolling back to the TOC and I decide to rack out for a few hours. About two hours after that an Observer Controller (OC) is pulling on my sleeping bag asking me where the battalion commander is. I tell him that the BC was with the command group and and they came back a few hours ago.

He gives me the "OC look" that says; "I know you think that but I know it ain't true".

I mutter and groan myself awake and head inside the TOC and find that none of the command group are in the TOC, just the rather portly (and lazy) S3 NCOIC. He tells me everyone in the command group went to bed as soon as they got back. He tried to find the BC but he wasn't in his rack and could not find his vehicle in the dark.

I am having trouble putting it together.

The OC tells me that if I can't find the battalion commander in the next 30 minutes they are going to halt training for safety reasons. For the entire Brigade. Now I am kind of worried. The commander was a big geek and not likely to go off by himself and cause a problem. They know he is MIA but they are being tight lipped about it. I send someone to go find the S3 and the commanders vehicle so at least I won't get fired by myself. I try to raise the CDR and then the XO on the net. The CDR does not respond and the OC's don't want to talk to the XO. The XO has no clue where the commander is either and is very annoyed that I am bothering him. I don't want to air our laundry out over the FM net and ask him to call me but he tells me he is busy and outs me.

About this time I notice that there are now eight OC's standing in the TOC including the OC team leader and he looks pretty hot and bothered. He seems to think I am lying to him about where the commander is asks me if I know where China Lake is?

Like a good S2 I know my terrain and tell him that China Lake is the weapon testing range about 100kms to the North West.

He asks me "Is it about 100 kms? or is it exactly 100kms?"

I don't know so I get the map out and look, sure enough it is near exactly 100kms away.

He says; "That's a clue deuce"

I am think there is no fucking way that the commander drove an entire grid square outside the box. Then the secure line rings in and it is the battalion commander. If I thought the OCs were hot he is scorching. In fact he he is screaming so loud and I can't even understand what he is saying. During a lull I ask him where he is and he tells me he is at the Brigade TOC.

I tell the OC's I found him but they seem remarkably unimpressed. They have a brief conference among themselves and then say "Well where the fuck is his vehicle?"

So that is what he was screaming about.

Seems the BC had jumped in the Brigade Commanders vehicle from the decon point and gone to the AAR. He told his driver to come to the Brigade HQs and pick him up when he was done with the decon. The driver called the BDE TOC, got the grid and then picked up his GPS and followed the little arrows with the gird square ID only being slightly off.

In the little room where they track all the vehicles at NTC he was a bright dot headed North away from the friendly forces, the enemy forces, everyone. Right into the impact area in China Lake. Once he crossed the safety line the OC's had sent a safety vehicle out after him. The safety vehicle broke down on the way and never made it. They then sent a helicopter, which also suffered mechanical issues and had to turn around. Then the OC's started getting worried and came and got me.

The second helicopter and found the Specialist sitting quietly in his vehicle exactly 100 kms away. They got on the loud speaker and told him that he needed to follow them back to the Training Center. I saw some good footage of him giving the bird the bird. He told us later he thought they were enemy trying to trick him. Yeah.
You go 'round and around it
You go over and under
I go through

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Jan 30, 2016 4:47 pm

I should point out that the tests came back normal and that Monday morning went pretty much the same way......except they called in the Battalion Doctor to give them a review of the report.
“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.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Jan 30, 2016 11:35 pm

SAEP wrote:And then (when you're in the Green Machine in an unnamed Southeast Asia country) there's the whole question of VD.

Now, for those without an appreciation of military history, the US Army in WWII was famous for its VD training films. This was pre-antibiotic days, so cures were hard to come by. The training films left remarkably little to the imagination when it came to showing entertaining sights like syphilitic chancres and rotting dicks, and would fairly regularly cause GIs to pass out. But at least they gave folks some idea of what the stakes were. Come the '60s and SE Asia, the chances of infection were probably at least as high, but troops were generally ignorant, at least the first time. Penicillin was a wonderful thing.

Well, even then antibiotic resistance was beginning to rear its ugly head, and there were rumors of the existence of a strain of syphilis called the "Black Syph". According to rumors (mostly, but only mostly, disbelieved) diagnosis with the Black Syph would get you declared KIA and shipped off to a secret base on a desert island for the rest of your miserable life, with your next of kin getting a "regret to inform you" telegraph and a sealed coffin with ballast inside.

Of course, none of that was true, as far as I know. Certainly the dispensaries gave a shots to a few of the guys in my unit. To add insult to injury, the flight-line dispensary at Chu Lai had a penicillin shot specialist, a civilian named Tammi. This was one of those absolutely adorable young Vietnamese women: petite, soft flawless skin, long silken black hair, and looked like she was about 16. How she got the job I never knew. But she was apparently good at it.

Hooch maids were hired from the civilian population: women who would clean the hooches we lived in, polish boots and clean and press uniforms. They were mostly RVN widows, and a few of them would turn tricks on the side. The one who did this in our cluster of hooches was called Wendy. I never availed myself of her services (I really don't like getting needles stuck in by butt.)

So one day, a bunch of us were shooting the breeze, and SP4 Clausen was asked a question. Now, Clausen was a good guy, although not a genius by any means, and about 19 (I was 22, the oldest of the junior enlisted by a large margin). The question was,

"Hey Clausen, I heard you had Wendy."
"Yup."
"You know she's got the clap, right?"
"Oh yeah - that's why I had her give me a blowjob". This accompanied by what I can only describe as an insufferably smug, shit-eating grin.

Despite the fact that "facepalm" had not yet entered the vocabulary, the gesture was certainly in use. I used it.

"Oh Christ, Clausen, tell me you didn't!"

Have you ever seen a shit-eating grin slide slowly off a guy's face, replaced with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's gone and screwed the pooch? It's really quite unforgettable.

And sure enough, 3 days later, he was off to see Tammi.


I have a picture of my cousin (he came to visit me in Korea) on two week leave up at Camp Casey. They used to have a huge sign as you left the post that listed the Top Ten place to get VD in the ville.

It tooks us almost two weeks to find each place and have a drink there.....but we never did find the number one place. Maybe I'll post a picture of the sign and my cousin James standing in front of it.
“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.

User avatar
Mad Mike
* * *
Posts: 525
Joined: Fri Feb 04, 2011 4:33 pm
Favorite Zombie Movies: the walking dead & world war Z

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Sun Jan 31, 2016 12:03 am

Laager wrote:
SAEP wrote:And then (when you're in the Green Machine in an unnamed Southeast Asia country) there's the whole question of VD.

Now, for those without an appreciation of military history, the US Army in WWII was famous for its VD training films. This was pre-antibiotic days, so cures were hard to come by. The training films left remarkably little to the imagination when it came to showing entertaining sights like syphilitic chancres and rotting dicks, and would fairly regularly cause GIs to pass out. But at least they gave folks some idea of what the stakes were. Come the '60s and SE Asia, the chances of infection were probably at least as high, but troops were generally ignorant, at least the first time. Penicillin was a wonderful thing.

Well, even then antibiotic resistance was beginning to rear its ugly head, and there were rumors of the existence of a strain of syphilis called the "Black Syph". According to rumors (mostly, but only mostly, disbelieved) diagnosis with the Black Syph would get you declared KIA and shipped off to a secret base on a desert island for the rest of your miserable life, with your next of kin getting a "regret to inform you" telegraph and a sealed coffin with ballast inside.

Of course, none of that was true, as far as I know. Certainly the dispensaries gave a shots to a few of the guys in my unit. To add insult to injury, the flight-line dispensary at Chu Lai had a penicillin shot specialist, a civilian named Tammi. This was one of those absolutely adorable young Vietnamese women: petite, soft flawless skin, long silken black hair, and looked like she was about 16. How she got the job I never knew. But she was apparently good at it.

Hooch maids were hired from the civilian population: women who would clean the hooches we lived in, polish boots and clean and press uniforms. They were mostly RVN widows, and a few of them would turn tricks on the side. The one who did this in our cluster of hooches was called Wendy. I never availed myself of her services (I really don't like getting needles stuck in by butt.)

So one day, a bunch of us were shooting the breeze, and SP4 Clausen was asked a question. Now, Clausen was a good guy, although not a genius by any means, and about 19 (I was 22, the oldest of the junior enlisted by a large margin). The question was,

"Hey Clausen, I heard you had Wendy."
"Yup."
"You know she's got the clap, right?"
"Oh yeah - that's why I had her give me a blowjob". This accompanied by what I can only describe as an insufferably smug, shit-eating grin.

Despite the fact that "facepalm" had not yet entered the vocabulary, the gesture was certainly in use. I used it.

"Oh Christ, Clausen, tell me you didn't!"

Have you ever seen a shit-eating grin slide slowly off a guy's face, replaced with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's gone and screwed the pooch? It's really quite unforgettable.

And sure enough, 3 days later, he was off to see Tammi.


I have a picture of my cousin (he came to visit me in Korea) on two week leave up at Camp Casey. They used to have a huge sign as you left the post that listed the Top Ten place to get VD in the ville.

It tooks us almost two weeks to find each place and have a drink there.....but we never did find the number one place. Maybe I'll post a picture of the sign and my cousin James standing in front of it.
I'd like to see the pic, so..... :clap:

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sun Jan 31, 2016 9:23 pm

Mad Mike wrote:
Laager wrote:
SAEP wrote:And then (when you're in the Green Machine in an unnamed Southeast Asia country) there's the whole question of VD.

Now, for those without an appreciation of military history, the US Army in WWII was famous for its VD training films. This was pre-antibiotic days, so cures were hard to come by. The training films left remarkably little to the imagination when it came to showing entertaining sights like syphilitic chancres and rotting dicks, and would fairly regularly cause GIs to pass out. But at least they gave folks some idea of what the stakes were. Come the '60s and SE Asia, the chances of infection were probably at least as high, but troops were generally ignorant, at least the first time. Penicillin was a wonderful thing.

Well, even then antibiotic resistance was beginning to rear its ugly head, and there were rumors of the existence of a strain of syphilis called the "Black Syph". According to rumors (mostly, but only mostly, disbelieved) diagnosis with the Black Syph would get you declared KIA and shipped off to a secret base on a desert island for the rest of your miserable life, with your next of kin getting a "regret to inform you" telegraph and a sealed coffin with ballast inside.

Of course, none of that was true, as far as I know. Certainly the dispensaries gave a shots to a few of the guys in my unit. To add insult to injury, the flight-line dispensary at Chu Lai had a penicillin shot specialist, a civilian named Tammi. This was one of those absolutely adorable young Vietnamese women: petite, soft flawless skin, long silken black hair, and looked like she was about 16. How she got the job I never knew. But she was apparently good at it.

Hooch maids were hired from the civilian population: women who would clean the hooches we lived in, polish boots and clean and press uniforms. They were mostly RVN widows, and a few of them would turn tricks on the side. The one who did this in our cluster of hooches was called Wendy. I never availed myself of her services (I really don't like getting needles stuck in by butt.)

So one day, a bunch of us were shooting the breeze, and SP4 Clausen was asked a question. Now, Clausen was a good guy, although not a genius by any means, and about 19 (I was 22, the oldest of the junior enlisted by a large margin). The question was,

"Hey Clausen, I heard you had Wendy."
"Yup."
"You know she's got the clap, right?"
"Oh yeah - that's why I had her give me a blowjob". This accompanied by what I can only describe as an insufferably smug, shit-eating grin.

Despite the fact that "facepalm" had not yet entered the vocabulary, the gesture was certainly in use. I used it.

"Oh Christ, Clausen, tell me you didn't!"

Have you ever seen a shit-eating grin slide slowly off a guy's face, replaced with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's gone and screwed the pooch? It's really quite unforgettable.

And sure enough, 3 days later, he was off to see Tammi.


I have a picture of my cousin (he came to visit me in Korea) on two week leave up at Camp Casey. They used to have a huge sign as you left the post that listed the Top Ten place to get VD in the ville.

It took us almost two weeks to find each place and have a drink there.....but we never did find the number one place. Maybe I'll post a picture of the sign and my cousin James standing in front of it.
I'd like to see the pic, so..... :clap:

I'll see if I can find it, if I don't have a copy I know he does.........
“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.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sun Feb 07, 2016 3:03 pm

Well I found the picture, but can not figure out how to post it and my cousin said he would not post it on his facebook account......something about his wife possibly cutting something off.

I did point out that they were not married, but he said it shows a remarkable lack of common sense........not sure why since we only bought drinks at each place.
“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.

LowKey
* * * * *
Posts: 4648
Joined: Tue Feb 03, 2009 9:32 am
Favorite Zombie Movies: Night of the Dead (original and remake)
Dawn of the Dead (original and remake)
Land of the Dead
Diary of the Dead
28 Days
28 Weeks
Resident Evil
Shawn of the Dead
Night of the Comet (cheese squared!)
Dead Alive (cheese cubed!!)
Location: In the Middle East, for my sins.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by LowKey » Sun Feb 07, 2016 3:20 pm

Laager wrote:Well I found the picture, but can not figure out how to post it and my cousin said he would not post it on his facebook account......something about his wife possibly cutting something off.

I did point out that they were not married, but he said it shows a remarkable lack of common sense........not sure why since we only bought drinks at each place.
Trust him, he's correct.
I get slapped for things that happened before my wife was born, let alone for stuff that may have happened before we met. :lol:
“Political tags – such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth – are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire.” Robert A. Heinlein

User avatar
sheddi
ZS Global Moderator
ZS Global Moderator
Posts: 3428
Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2007 6:33 am
Favorite Zombie Movies: 28 Days Later
Shaun of the Dead
Location: Hampshire, England

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by sheddi » Sun Feb 07, 2016 4:07 pm

Here is laager's photo for everyone's enjoyment and information :D

Image
Be Pure!
Be Vigilant!
Behave!


Member
ZSC:010 - UK Chapter
My EDC / GHB (needs updating)
Foundation licence holder - Mike-Six-mumble-mumble-mumble.

Laager
* * * *
Posts: 840
Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sun Feb 07, 2016 4:44 pm

sheddi thank you for posting that for me.


Now for the rest of the story........my cousin (pictured) James and I spent just about two weeks hitting every single place on both signs.....except for one place.

One that we could never ever find, no matter how hard we searched the ville.

It was number one on the Top Ten VD source.......Street Girls.........we thought it was a bar. In fact Sergeant Banks had to take us down to an alley where the "street girls" worked just before James and I left for Seoul or Gimpo International Airport. He went back to Cubi Point and I then went back up to the DMZ after a brief stop at Camp Casey.
“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.

User avatar
12_Gauge_Chimp
ZS Lifetime Member
ZS Lifetime Member
Posts: 6846
Joined: Thu Apr 09, 2009 4:21 pm
Location: Middle of nowhere, West Texas
Contact:

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by 12_Gauge_Chimp » Sun Feb 07, 2016 6:35 pm

Just out of curiosity, why were the places on the first sign (up at the very top left corner of the pic ) permanently off limits?

I can understand the temporary places being off limits for the reasons listed on the sign, but why were hospitals, auto repair places and the others listed permanently off limits ?

Post Reply

Return to “Survival Experiences”