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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Stercutus
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Sun Aug 21, 2016 4:26 am

A typical night.

I found some young lady who was a little more than twice the legal limit. She had pulled up into a gas station and made it partly back on to the road before her vehicle came to a rest on the curb and in the bushes with her fast asleep at the wheel, transmission in drive. Her GPS is sitting in her lap saying "turn left, turn left" in a nice gentle tone.

Unfortunately she has to go to jail for the drinking and sort of driving thing. So I take her in and to do the paperwork and about half way there we see young man running up the highway at 2AM wearing some tightie whities and nothing else.

Drunk girl looks out the window and says; "Is he just wearing underwear?"
Me "yep"
DG "Are we going to stop?"
Me "Nope."
DG: "Don't you think you should?"
Me "Do you want him in the backseat of the car with you?"
DG: "...."

I do call it in. Apparently the young man had been to a party where he had been ejected for suspicion of taking something that did not belong to him. He decided in a most logical way to then return to the party sans clothes to show everyone that he could not have taken the items.

So another officer gave him a ride home and explained to him that not wearing clothes in winter is unhealthy and unsafe. Tells him he needs to stay home.

The problem with some drunks is that they don't know when to stay put. So he puts on his bathing suit and goes to Walmart. This is pretty ordinary behavior for 3AM. So I get a call to go to Walmart, man causing disturbance in shorts, no shirt. Figure has to be the same guy. He had tried to buy some things but didn't bring his wallet. Wanted Walmart to let him give an IOU. I roll up and he is tearing ass across a field, no shoes. I could not think of any sane reason to run after him.

So I go about my business. About an hour later I am driving through a nearby grocery store parking lot about 2 miles away I see our young man passed out on a bench out front. It's 4AM and the party is now officially over for our hero. I go ahead and put the cuffs on him and then wake him up. He is a little irate. He tells me the "lady cop" was cool and took him home. I asked him if he was still at home? He said he had to go to Walmart and got tired on the way home. I understand and then lie and tell him I will take him to a nice warm place where he can get some sleep. The drunk tank is not nice or warm. Warmer than the parking lot maybe, but just barely.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Shiloh » Mon Aug 22, 2016 11:08 am

So I just remembered a call we got when I was working as a security officer at my last college. Warning: It's a long one... (also blatantly copypasta from where I posted it on reddit)

Background: I went to a little community college two years back that had an paid internship program for criminal justice students such as myself. Essentially it was just a security guard position. I applied and got accepted, elected to work weekend nights from 2100-0600 (yes, I'm an idiot.) The school also contracted out to the local PD to have an officer up there from 1800 to around 0200.

I worked with some great officers during my two years there. One of them, while he was a fantastic guy and I loved hanging out with him, was apparently cursed. EVERY night he worked something strange/awful/hilarious would happen. And it just so happened he always worked fridays. We'll call him "Sgt. B"

So I roll into the office that night to get my gear and he's there already. We start bullshitting as usual. I go on my rounds and keep an ear on the radio.

We made it till 0100 until the first call came in (it was a pretty sleepy campus). Thankfully it was actually a good one. Someone heard meowing coming from under a storage shed and we went to check it out. Just a little kitten, hiding under the floorboards, and momma wasn't around. We got her out and "dawwwwed" for a bit before animal control took her.*

So that's done. We're back in the office just hanging out. 0150, ten minutes before he's supposed to leave, Sgt. B starts getting his stuff to go home and he jokes about the cat being the most exciting thing he's dealt with that day. THAT'S when the radio goes off. Shit.

"Unit 19, dispatch."

"Dispatch, 19. Go ahead."

"Reports of...umm...reports of a horse loose on campus near the arts center...with a...a...naked man riding it..."

Pause. "Roger that, we'll check it out."

I'm trying to figure out if I should laugh or cry at this point, and Sgt. B looks like he's about to do the latter. Hop in his car and drive the 500 yards over towards the parking lot of the arts building. Suuuure enough, there's a horse. With a guy on top of it. With no clothes. Balls and ass flapping in the wind uggghhhhh.

He's just prancing around in circles and the horse doesn't seem too bothered despite the guy singing loudly, and terribly I might add, Bohemian Rhapsody. I'm just flabbergasted at this point and the Sgt looks about the same. But we approach and start chatting with the guy who's clearly lost his marbles. We didn't smell any alcohol, and after a few minutes managed to get him to climb down where he just stands there, hugging this poor horse like it's a life buoy in a sea of his insanity.

It takes us damn near fifteen minutes to get a name out of him, since apparently he didn't think to stick his ID up his asscrack before leaving home. At some point another officer shows up but has to stay in his car for a minute because he's laughing so hard.

Turns out the guy was supposed to be on meds for some psych condition but hadn't taken them, and also ran a boarding home for horses. He wasn't acting violent at all or /too/ unstable, so we made the call to just have his wife take him home for the night and get the horse back to the barn. Guy gets a ride home (after giving him a pair of pants), horse gets loaded up into a trailer and that's that.

Sgt. B and I get back in his car, by now it's almost 0400 and he's hating life.

Sgt B: "I've got to be up at seven for day shift, what the fuck."

Me: "Dude, you're cursed, I swear to god. Did you piss off a gypsy or something?"

Sgt B: "I ain't ever arrested one, so I don't think so. But holy shit this is getting stupid."

Me: "Y'know what? your new name is Officer Shitmagnet."

Sgt B: "...I won't even argue with that."

*Said kitty was actually adopted by Sgt B a week later. We're hoping it's somehow turned his god-awful luck around but I seriously doubt it.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Mon Aug 22, 2016 11:18 am

Shiloh wrote:So I just remembered a call we got when I was working as a security officer at my last college. Warning: It's a long one... (also blatantly copypasta from where I posted it on reddit)

Background: I went to a little community college two years back that had an paid internship program for criminal justice students such as myself. Essentially it was just a security guard position. I applied and got accepted, elected to work weekend nights from 2100-0600 (yes, I'm an idiot.) The school also contracted out to the local PD to have an officer up there from 1800 to around 0200.

I worked with some great officers during my two years there. One of them, while he was a fantastic guy and I loved hanging out with him, was apparently cursed. EVERY night he worked something strange/awful/hilarious would happen. And it just so happened he always worked fridays. We'll call him "Sgt. B"

So I roll into the office that night to get my gear and he's there already. We start bullshitting as usual. I go on my rounds and keep an ear on the radio.

We made it till 0100 until the first call came in (it was a pretty sleepy campus). Thankfully it was actually a good one. Someone heard meowing coming from under a storage shed and we went to check it out. Just a little kitten, hiding under the floorboards, and momma wasn't around. We got her out and "dawwwwed" for a bit before animal control took her.*

So that's done. We're back in the office just hanging out. 0150, ten minutes before he's supposed to leave, Sgt. B starts getting his stuff to go home and he jokes about the cat being the most exciting thing he's dealt with that day. THAT'S when the radio goes off. Shit.

"Unit 19, dispatch."

"Dispatch, 19. Go ahead."

"Reports of...umm...reports of a horse loose on campus near the arts center...with a...a...naked man riding it..."

Pause. "Roger that, we'll check it out."

I'm trying to figure out if I should laugh or cry at this point, and Sgt. B looks like he's about to do the latter. Hop in his car and drive the 500 yards over towards the parking lot of the arts building. Suuuure enough, there's a horse. With a guy on top of it. With no clothes. Balls and ass flapping in the wind uggghhhhh.

He's just prancing around in circles and the horse doesn't seem too bothered despite the guy singing loudly, and terribly I might add, Bohemian Rhapsody. I'm just flabbergasted at this point and the Sgt looks about the same. But we approach and start chatting with the guy who's clearly lost his marbles. We didn't smell any alcohol, and after a few minutes managed to get him to climb down where he just stands there, hugging this poor horse like it's a life buoy in a sea of his insanity.

It takes us damn near fifteen minutes to get a name out of him, since apparently he didn't think to stick his ID up his asscrack before leaving home. At some point another officer shows up but has to stay in his car for a minute because he's laughing so hard.

Turns out the guy was supposed to be on meds for some psych condition but hadn't taken them, and also ran a boarding home for horses. He wasn't acting violent at all or /too/ unstable, so we made the call to just have his wife take him home for the night and get the horse back to the barn. Guy gets a ride home (after giving him a pair of pants), horse gets loaded up into a trailer and that's that.

Sgt. B and I get back in his car, by now it's almost 0400 and he's hating life.

Sgt B: "I've got to be up at seven for day shift, what the fuck."

Me: "Dude, you're cursed, I swear to god. Did you piss off a gypsy or something?"

Sgt B: "I ain't ever arrested one, so I don't think so. But holy shit this is getting stupid."

Me: "Y'know what? your new name is Officer Shitmagnet."

Sgt B: "...I won't even argue with that."

*Said kitty was actually adopted by Sgt B a week later. We're hoping it's somehow turned his god-awful luck around but I seriously doubt it.

Hopefully his luck didn't rub off on you! :clap:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Tue Aug 23, 2016 11:24 pm

REFORGER....what can I say other than it was a monumental waste of time and resources, well at least I always thought it was, 30 days or so of running around the West Germany country side (destroying property either by accident or on purpose) followed by a two week stand down to clean gear and wait for a flight home.

We had a Sergeant (we had a lot of soldiers that like to get drunk and do stupid stuff) that would get drunk during stand downs (the period right after we finished wandering around the countryside and were just waiting for our ride home. Usually this involved GP Large tents with cots with separate shower tents or trailers or open bay rooms with metal bunks and open gym style showers that were actually located in the building.

Anyway Sergeant Cragun (E-5) used to get ripped at the beer tent (REFORGER) or the Unit's bar run by the First Sergeant out of the Company's slush fund. Of the two the beer tent was the better choice since usually you could get semi lost inside it and avoid the prying and judgmental eyes of Senior Enlisted.K

Cragun used to have this problem of getting ripped and then somewhere in the middle of the night getting up and pissing on the cot next to him. Of course he always claimed it was by accident, but I always figured if he was capable of finding his way back to our GP Large, then locating his cot and managing to get stripped down and in his rack, then how was it he was incapable of finding his way to the latrine.

It got to the point where no one wanted to be in the same tent as he was, oddly enough if the cots next to him were empty, he somehow managed to find one that had someone in it to piss on. Of course it was never someone of higher rank (usually they had better accommodations that us peons).

Due to various reasons I am not the most sociable person to wake up. Our kids used to poke me with a broom stick they kept just for that purpose and replaced as needed, which was on more than one occasion.

I was also known to sleep with a very, very sharp knife under my pillow as well. I carried at least two knives, one for GP and one for killing. I do not like to eat with the same knife I had to use to kill something with. I have absolutely no desire to taste Long Pork or the other, other white meat.

So as I was unrolling my GI Issue tropical sleeping bag (note that we were in Germany during the winter), Cragun and a few of his cronies were laughing about something and looking at me. So I walked over and asked what was so funny.

Of course nothing was funny, just a joke about females.

Speaking of females, if anyone pisses on my rack they can expect to loose the offending body part immediately. I am talking to you Sergeant Cragun.......trust me you won't be a happy camper if you piss in my rack.

Well the first three nights went well.......the fourth night Cragun had to use the latrine and was encouraged to actually go somewhere else when he bumped into the point of a Gerber Mark II (I have one of the originals from back in the late 60's with the 5 degree offset between the blade and the hilt.

The seventh night did not go as planned.

His cronies came up to me to ask me if I knew where Sergeant Cragun was, I told them the last time I had seen him was at the latrines. Well that is where they found him, in the out house, zipped up in his sleeping bag inside the out house burn barrel.

Evidently he had somehow gotten up (drunk) to use the latrine and took his sleeping bag with him, and somehow managed to fall in and was subsequently stuck in the barrel. I had two of his buddies cut him out, since no one was volunteering to do it.

Being a Staff Sergeant in charge of a section did have it's perks and one of them was the authority to issue lawful orders.

Unfortunately Cragun was unable to return to duty immediately do injuries sustained in his fall (the PA for our Company for some reason seemed to think that his injuries could not have been incurred by his falling into the burn can), and of course the need to get a slew of tests and shots, now I am not sure exactly what the need for a catheter was (although I do seem to recall him pissing on the medic once, but I am sure that, that incident did not have anything to do with his current need of a catheter run up his gun tube).

One good thing was that for some reason this ended the reign of the midnight pisser. He somehow managed to find the latrine from that point on.

However, for some odd reason he no longer wanted to sit, stand or sleep anywhere near me. He would not even get anywhere near me even if he was supposed to be in my stick. He did request a transfer to another Platoon, but no one would take him, he even tried to change companies but the legend of the midnight pisser was common knowledge and no one wanted him in their Company.


“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
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Aug 29, 2016 12:40 pm

Well we just returned from a trip to Greece and then spent some R&R down time in Germany (Weisbaden area) and while I had a good time in Germany (and Greece was sort of ok), I certainly would not want to have to stay there for longer than the 10 days we spent in Greece and the 10 days we spent in Germany. It certainly was not the Germany that Lil and I remembered.

We were on our way to stop at a restaurant when we passed by what used to be a U.S. military Temporary Lodging Facility(TLF), basically it is a hotel for transient military personnel, incoming, outgoing and visiting. I noticed that there were several groups of what appeared to be middle eastern type males standing around on the nearby corners and that there was two guards manning a guard post.

I told Lil to take a look and she just said....Stop it.

But I did talk to Donny and he told me that TLF had been turned over to the Muslims and that the kids and women were in there, I asked him what the guards were for and he said he had no clue, then I asked why the concertina wire was strung on the inside of the fence line. He said he never noticed that before and asked me what I thought.....I said usually it means they want to keep whatever is inside the wire inside when they string it like that....then again what do I know.

Oh well bottom line, is it is good to be back home.

I wanted to add that from what I saw there were a lot of young men of working age standing around on street corners, walking around in groups as large as a baker's dozen during the work week. It looked like they did not really have anything to do other than stand on street corners, walk around the area and well I did notice they had some groups located by the House of Ill Repute. It just seemed like there were a lot of unemployed people and one of the phrases that my Mother likes to use, Idle hands are the Devils playground (or workshop); idle lips are his mouthpiece.

I could be wrong, but I just see a lot of restless young men with nothing to do, and no where to go and think that this will not have a happy ending. But hey what do I know......nothing really other than watching young men do stupid stuff when they were idle....you know Hey watch this, or I thought it was a good idea at the time stuff or it seemed like a good idea at the time....
“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 Stercutus » Mon Aug 29, 2016 1:08 pm

shit burning demonstration
Maybe an aluminum camo pole wrapped with 100 mile hour tape on one end instead? Not that I would know anything about it, just saying it might be less flamey. Kids these days.

:roll:
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You go over and under
I go through

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Mon Aug 29, 2016 1:54 pm

Anyway, back to my crazy fucked up unit in Germany in 1990.

So it is Friday and even though we are an isolated Kanserne we have a little all ranks clubs that allows you to get drunk cheaply within walking distance of the barracks. The local women come in looking for that ticket to the big PX in the US and a man can play pool and relax a little.

This particular weekend one of the soldiers in my platoon had received in the mail the nicest of stamps dipped in LSD from the states. He is just dying to try it out. And because he is such a turd he decides to share it with one of the team leaders in the platoon by spiking his drink. So the SPC Turd gets a good case of the giggles and sits there and laughs and laughs and we are not sure exactly what is going on but something is not right. The team leader whom he had spiked was probably the best one in the platoon at that time. He has about three months left in country and has already sent his family to his next duty station to set up house.

The team leader gets up walks over to one of the pool tables where people are playing pool and grabs a ball off the table. Normally that is an ass whooping offense. The players get a little upset and ask him what he is doing when he takes the ball and hurls it baseball like at someone sitting at the bar beaning him in the back of the head. A melee nearly ensues but the the team leader has wandered off disinterested and we intervene and explain something is wrong.

We snatch him up and throw him in the car of one of the guys with us in an attempt to drive him back to the barracks. It is only two blocks. About half way there he climbs in the front seat and kicks the windshield out of the front of the car. Now we know he is completely buggered but don't know exactly why. He jumps out of the car and runs into the barracks up to our floor (the 3rd). When he gets there to the CQ desk he jumps up on top of it and kicks the phone against the wall breaking it. We follow in hot pursuit and try to grab him but he runs into another room.

The soldier whose room he ran into is hobby model maker. He has dozens of models of tanks and planes on a shelf and the team leader kicks them over and begins jumping up and down on them. It is at this point that we come to realize that whatever is going on with him is well beyond a normal drunken rage and our ability to handle. Since the phone is broken I run down to the next floor to get on another phone to call the MP's out.

While I am gone the other guys decide to try to hold him in the room to minimize the damage he is causing. So they shut it and hold it closed to keep him from escaping. When I return all is quiet in the room. So we open the door and take a look and the room is empty. After checking the wall lockers and other hiding spots we note the open window and look out of it. He has jumped.

It is a good 35 feet to the ground too. A witness from the outside said he had tried to climb down the wall (an impossibility) and had gone about three feet when he slipped and fell. During the fall he broke an ankle and a wrist. He also suffered internal injuries that were to eventually cause him to be medevaced out of the country and back stateside. You see when you fall your organs don't stop when you first make contact with the ground, they keep falling too and can become displaced.

It is almost surreal as the MP's roll up seconds later and try to approach him. As we watch from the window, despite the broken ankle and wrist he tries to fight them. They roll him up and realize how bad he is hurt and then take him to the hospital.

Gosh it wasn't for over a year until I figured out that SPC Turd had spiked his drink. The team leader ended up getting a medical discharge and medical retirement on disability. SPC Turd got out of the Army went home before he got caught and then got into more trouble. He went out drunk driving one night and killed a man in a DUI crash. The court convicted him of negligent homicide and sent him to prison for several years. Last I checked he was a broken down drunk still ruining the lives of those around him.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Aug 29, 2016 4:11 pm

Stercutus wrote:Anyway, back to my crazy fucked up unit in Germany in 1990.

So it is Friday and even though we are an isolated Kanserne we have a little all ranks clubs that allows you to get drunk cheaply within walking distance of the barracks. The local women come in looking for that ticket to the big PX in the US and a man can play pool and relax a little.

This particular weekend one of the soldiers in my platoon had received in the mail the nicest of stamps dipped in LSD from the states. He is just dying to try it out. And because he is such a turd he decides to share it with one of the team leaders in the platoon by spiking his drink. So the SPC Turd gets a good case of the giggles and sits there and laughs and laughs and we are not sure exactly what is going on but something is not right. The team leader whom he had spiked was probably the best one in the platoon at that time. He has about three months left in country and has already sent his family to his next duty station to set up house.

The team leader gets up walks over to one of the pool tables where people are playing pool and grabs a ball off the table. Normally that is an ass whooping offense. The players get a little upset and ask him what he is doing when he takes the ball and hurls it baseball like at someone sitting at the bar beaning him in the back of the head. A melee nearly ensues but the the team leader has wandered off disinterested and we intervene and explain something is wrong.

We snatch him up and throw him in the car of one of the guys with us in an attempt to drive him back to the barracks. It is only two blocks. About half way there he climbs in the front seat and kicks the windshield out of the front of the car. Now we know he is completely buggered but don't know exactly why. He jumps out of the car and runs into the barracks up to our floor (the 3rd). When he gets there to the CQ desk he jumps up on top of it and kicks the phone against the wall breaking it. We follow in hot pursuit and try to grab him but he runs into another room.

The soldier whose room he ran into is hobby model maker. He has dozens of models of tanks and planes on a shelf and the team leader kicks them over and begins jumping up and down on them. It is at this point that we come to realize that whatever is going on with him is well beyond a normal drunken rage and our ability to handle. Since the phone is broken I run down to the next floor to get on another phone to call the MP's out.

While I am gone the other guys decide to try to hold him in the room to minimize the damage he is causing. So they shut it and hold it closed to keep him from escaping. When I return all is quiet in the room. So we open the door and take a look and the room is empty. After checking the wall lockers and other hiding spots we note the open window and look out of it. He has jumped.

It is a good 35 feet to the ground too. A witness from the outside said he had tried to climb down the wall (an impossibility) and had gone about three feet when he slipped and fell. During the fall he broke an ankle and a wrist. He also suffered internal injuries that were to eventually cause him to be medevaced out of the country and back stateside. You see when you fall your organs don't stop when you first make contact with the ground, they keep falling too and can become displaced.

It is almost surreal as the MP's roll up seconds later and try to approach him. As we watch from the window, despite the broken ankle and wrist he tries to fight them. They roll him up and realize how bad he is hurt and then take him to the hospital.

Gosh it wasn't for over a year until I figured out that SPC Turd had spiked his drink. The team leader ended up getting a medical discharge and medical retirement on disability. SPC Turd got out of the Army went home before he got caught and then got into more trouble. He went out drunk driving one night and killed a man in a DUI crash. The court convicted him of negligent homicide and sent him to prison for several years. Last I checked he was a broken down drunk still ruining the lives of those around him.

Same thing happened to a few of the NCO'S and Officer's in a couple of my units. One Captain used to make the guys doing additional duties (UCMJ) make the coffee for his office as well as the other Officer only coffee pot and the NCO coffee pot as well. I never learned the fine art of drinking coffee, but like the man said "I may be crazy, but I am not stupid"....no way would I drink from something someone else made, especially someone that just received an Article 15 or First Sergeant punishment.

Not only that but there were to many people with grudges who were only waiting for the chance to mess someone up.

Heck even I knew who and where to go to purchase any type of drug and I was a Senior NCO and in Korea we used to get the bar girls to go to the local drug store to purchase controlled substances. Without a script.

I never drank from something I did not open, or something that I had lost control of..........especially when I was in a straight leg unit.
“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 Shiloh » Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:08 pm

I'll hopefully have some entertaining stories to share in the coming weeks/months, as I just became the most hated individual at my university, AKA parking enforcement officer. :lol:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Sep 22, 2016 7:23 pm

CQR: Hey Staff Sergeant Priest, there is someone at the CQ desk that wants to talk to you.

Me: A civilian?

CQR: Yea, how did you know?

Me: Please escort him in. (easy, only civilians were stopped by the CQ or CQR, any active duty looking for someone would be pointed in the right direction)

CQR: It's a female.

Me: Okay then, please escort her in, and do me a favor stand by the office door until further notice.

CQR: Roger that.

It turned out to be Mrs. Nelson.

Me: Mrs. Nelson what can I do for you?

Her: Can you shut the door first?

Me: Unfortunately not, I am not allowed to shut the office door if a female is present. (not true, but I had heard some rumors concerning Mrs. Nelson and the rumors were not good ones and turned out to be true. So I had absolutely no desire to be in a room with the door closed with Mrs. Nelson.)

So Mrs. Nelson scooted the chair up close to my desk (I was in the 2nd Platoon's NCO room and was the Platoon Sergeant) then leaned in close and told me that she had a problem and needed my assistance.

Mrs. Nelson: Well somehow I ended up with the clap.

Me: (after a long pause) Well I do not know what I can do to help you. Other than direct you to the Medics.

Mrs. Nelson: I've already been to the Hospital and that has been taken care of, what I need you to do is help me tell my husband. He does not know that I have the clap.

Me: Hmmmmmm, I am not sure exactly what it is that you want me to do, but I do not feel that it is my place to tell your husband that he may or may not have the clap. I'm guessing that he is not the one that gave you the clap?

Mrs: Nelson: Uhhhh, no he wasn't the one that gave me the clap. I'm not sure who it was.

Me: Ma'am, that is way to much not needed to know information. I'd suggest sitting down with PFC Nelson and just telling him. In fact I know for a fact that he was released early from duty and should be on his way home by now.

Mrs. Nelson: Okay, I will let you know what happens. Thank you.

She tried to give a hug.......but I managed to evade it and herded her towards the door.

After she left, I sat down at the desk and thought to myself that tonight at the Nelson's it was going to get real interesting......not just because Mrs. Nelson had an STD that she did not get from her husband, but that PFC Nelson had come in about three hours earlier to tell me that he had just left the medics and that the PA had told him he needed to go to the Post Hospital, because he had an STD.

One that he had not gotten from his wife...........

Unfortunately Mrs. Nelson did come back the next day to let me know how it went............
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Sep 28, 2016 7:06 pm

Many, many years ago we (the U.S. Army) was tasked with guarding the Sinai Penisula (it was a six month tour of duty and was sometime around 1982).

Anyway I think this was the first time we were issued DCUs (Desert Camouflage Uniforms), of course we did not get to keep them, they were issued to us for use in that AO and once we left we had to turn them in. Just like the old Tiger Stripes BDUs and Jungle uniforms and reissued the old Nam Jungle uniforms (the morons in charge finally figured out that the standard BDUs were way to hot to wear in the Jungle (Grenada)), they would issue them and make us turn them back in, but I think the Army was starting to issue the BDUs (at least to the people in Basic).

Anyway it was a six month tour of duty......boring as all get out. Anyway one night while on guard duty I got bored and walked out a bit and stamped in the sand a huge sign.

The first one was a large SOS and then the next night I stamped in a large HELP!! the next night I worked my rear end off and stamped in 13th Régiment étranger and then a few days later a helicopter flew over and then turned around and landed.

I did not know anything about it, because I was in a GP Large trying to get some sleep before guard mount.

The entire company was called to a formation, and the Division Commander wanted to know who the moron was that stamped out a huge SOS and HELP!! and 13th Penal Régiment étranger sign in the desert. I guess he got bored since no one stepped up, eventually he left in his helicopter and then a runner came down from the Battalion Commander requesting that I get my "goat smelling ass" to the Battalion HQ ASAP.

Unfortunately the Battalion Sergeant Major was not as dumb as the Division Commander and his staff.....he checked the guard roster and saw my name.......as he put it he knows I did it, I know I did it and yet he can not prove I did it. So every "swinging dick" on the guard roster "would take it in the ass" unless someone stepped up.

I stepped up........took the hit, after all I did it and was caught fair and square. No way was I going to let the Platoon take the hit.

Everyday for two weeks the Battalion Sergeant Major's Jeep (and driver) would drive out into the desert and leave a guidon out there for me to retrieve, never in the same direction. Full combat load out.....including my Alice pack (large) march out pick up the guidon and then return. At least he did not make me wear MOPP gear....although it was strapped on my Alice pack.

Oh and there was a time limit as well........so if I farted around, the guidon moved farther out and the two weeks would become 15 days, or longer.

It was either that or take an Article 15.

I would like to point out that I was not real sure what he meant by "take it up the ass" but was not willing to find out since it sounded painful.
Last edited by Laager on Mon Oct 03, 2016 12:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Sep 28, 2016 7:25 pm

I don't remember what it was that we did, but one time our Platoon Leader and Platoon Sergeant decided that we had to go everywhere in "Combat Mode".

Now "Combat Mode" meant that they wanted us to go everywhere in full web gear (minus the ruck)everywhere we went whenever we were on duty on in the Company Area.

If we went to the latrine, we had to be wearing our LBE and carrying our weapon. Showering was a bit of a hassle, until we posted a guard at the door, so we could leave our LBE and weapons outside the shower.

At the time we were at Camp Casey supposedly on R&R from the DMZ.

Anyway after about a week or so, the Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major showed up and wanted to talk to the Company. It was after duty ours (about 1800 or so) and my Platoon did not have anyone on Pass.

We showed up in out underwear wearing our LBE.

I was glad that I was still into the green issue boxers.........some of the briefs and boxers the other guys were wearing was something I would not have wanted to get shot in.......sort of like the wear clean underwear before you go out and die that my Mother used to tell me.

It was the first time and unfortunately not the last time I saw a grown man wearing a what I found out to be a thong and some type of speedo underwear....that they bought off post in TDC (Dongducheon South Korea also sometimes spelled Tongduchŏn or TDC).
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Mon Oct 03, 2016 1:33 pm

It was the first time and unfortunately not the last time I saw a grown man wearing a what I found out to be a thong and some type of speedo underwear....that they bought off post in TDC (Dongducheon South Korea also sometimes spelled Tongduchŏn or TDC).
that was not a mental image I needed.


but it reminded me of the time the battalion CSM collected a bunch of guys and sent them to his office (I was not chosen, so this is a second hand story).
the group of about 100 waited around and were taken into his office in groups of 10. once in the office they were told to drop their pants. my friend respectfully refused, and the CSM demanded to know why.
the response - "cause I am not wearing any thing under them".
the couple of people wearing issued underwear were dismissed, the rest got an ass chewing about uniform goes to the skin.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Tue Oct 04, 2016 5:06 pm

emclean wrote:
It was the first time and unfortunately not the last time I saw a grown man wearing a what I found out to be a thong and some type of speedo underwear....that they bought off post in TDC (Dongducheon South Korea also sometimes spelled Tongduchŏn or TDC).
that was not a mental image I needed.


but it reminded me of the time the battalion CSM collected a bunch of guys and sent them to his office (I was not chosen, so this is a second hand story).
the group of about 100 waited around and were taken into his office in groups of 10. once in the office they were told to drop their pants. my friend respectfully refused, and the CSM demanded to know why.
the response - "cause I am not wearing any thing under them".
the couple of people wearing issued underwear were dismissed, the rest got an ass chewing about uniform goes to the skin.


They used to do the same thing to us........but well let's just say that someone took "combat underwear" to a whole new level. He said he did it on purpose (something about being treated in a demeaning manner by higher) and well.....

My thought was underwear was dead weight when you spent 23 days at a time or longer in the jungle and I'd rather carry extra food or ammo than clean skivvies.

Anyway PFC Green decided to wear a single pair of skivvies for an inordinate amount of time.....a length of time that they were not designed to exceed.

I think it goes or went something like this:

Wearing of underwear in the field:
Front is to front (normal)
Back to the front
Inside out front to the front
Inside out back to the front

Time to change to a new pair.

Rumor had it you could get at least four days wearing them like that....of course that was single day wear, it could be pushed and of course it depended on just how long you wore them that way.

PFC Green took a single pair to the field, 21 days later when we were extracted he was still wearing them. After spending 45 days behind the wire he was still wearing the same pair.

I had to take Green to the Company medic because according to the Section Sergeant there was a "foul order emanating from his crotch area". I would have asked the Section Sergeant how he knew, but well all you really had to do was stand next to him in formation and you could smell him. Granted it was a lot worse when he had his trousers down.

Guess he ended up with some kind of crotch fungus or something down in that area. Wet boots and wet underwear (or clothing) is not something you want to be in for long periods of time when in a hot and muggy environment.

After that "incident" the First Sergeant started checking compliance to AR 670-1 down to the skin. Of course it got worse for the NCO's, not only did they have to check to make sure we were paying attention to keeping our feet dry and clean, now they had to check our underwear to make sure we were nice and fresh.

We did point out that AR 670-1, Wear and Appearance of Army Uniforms and Insignia had in its title the word Wear. Which we took to mean if you were wearing said piece of U.S. Army Uniform.

I used that for when I had to wear my dress uniform, I always left off the ribbons......because it said something like when you wear....it never said you had to wear them.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Ghostdog914 » Wed Jan 04, 2017 8:47 pm

As I have three jobs I'll go with my primary. I do criminal/internal investigations for an agency. At one of the sites I cover, a gentleman conversed with the almighty and they decided he should castrate himself. With a spork. He sawed open a tear, reached in, and tore his testicles out then tossed them in the toilet. They were fished out, placed in a bio hazard bag, and disposed of by medical. I know it sounds unbelievable but it happened. And they look and feel like raw chicken.

Job #2, I work part time at a local municipality as a patrolman. I was in my car writing a ticket at a bar when I heard a sound at my window. I look and thought the face grabbing critter from Aliens had latched on my window. As it turns out a 58 year old bar fly had decided I needed a close up of her nether regions

Job #3, I do auto body for a guy on Saturdays. I was tasked with removing the interior of a Mitsubishi Eclipse. Under the driver's seat I discovered a strand of anal beads. I gloved up and tried to remove them but they were stuck to the carpet.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Barnabus » Wed Jan 11, 2017 6:59 pm

emclean wrote:
It was the first time and unfortunately not the last time I saw a grown man wearing a what I found out to be a thong and some type of speedo underwear....that they bought off post in TDC (Dongducheon South Korea also sometimes spelled Tongduchŏn or TDC).
that was not a mental image I needed.


but it reminded me of the time the battalion CSM collected a bunch of guys and sent them to his office (I was not chosen, so this is a second hand story).
the group of about 100 waited around and were taken into his office in groups of 10. once in the office they were told to drop their pants. my friend respectfully refused, and the CSM demanded to know why.
the response - "cause I am not wearing any thing under them".
the couple of people wearing issued underwear were dismissed, the rest got an ass chewing about uniform goes to the skin.
Why? was he bored? Did he routinely ask the men in to drop pants for him?
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Hiroshima_Morphine » Thu Jan 12, 2017 12:43 pm

Laager wrote:Many, many years ago we (the U.S. Army) was tasked with guarding the Sinai Penisula (it was a six month tour of duty and was sometime around 1982).

Anyway I think this was the first time we were issued DCUs (Desert Camouflage Uniforms), of course we did not get to keep them, they were issued to us for use in that AO and once we left we had to turn them in. Just like the old Tiger Stripes BDUs and Jungle uniforms and reissued the old Nam Jungle uniforms (the morons in charge finally figured out that the standard BDUs were way to hot to wear in the Jungle (Grenada)), they would issue them and make us turn them back in, but I think the Army was starting to issue the BDUs (at least to the people in Basic).

Anyway it was a six month tour of duty......boring as all get out. Anyway one night while on guard duty I got bored and walked out a bit and stamped in the sand a huge sign.

The first one was a large SOS and then the next night I stamped in a large HELP!! the next night I worked my rear end off and stamped in 13th Régiment étranger and then a few days later a helicopter flew over and then turned around and landed.

I did not know anything about it, because I was in a GP Large trying to get some sleep before guard mount.

The entire company was called to a formation, and the Division Commander wanted to know who the moron was that stamped out a huge SOS and HELP!! and 13th Penal Régiment étranger sign in the desert. I guess he got bored since no one stepped up, eventually he left in his helicopter and then a runner came down from the Battalion Commander requesting that I get my "goat smelling ass" to the Battalion HQ ASAP.

Unfortunately the Battalion Sergeant Major was not as dumb as the Division Commander and his staff.....he checked the guard roster and saw my name.......as he put it he knows I did it, I know I did it and yet he can not prove I did it. So every "swinging dick" on the guard roster "would take it in the ass" unless someone stepped up.

I stepped up........took the hit, after all I did it and was caught fair and square. No way was I going to let the Platoon take the hit.

Everyday for two weeks the Battalion Sergeant Major's Jeep (and driver) would drive out into the desert and leave a guidon out there for me to retrieve, never in the same direction. Full combat load out.....including my Alice pack (large) march out pick up the guidon and then return. At least he did not make me wear MOPP gear....although it was strapped on my Alice pack.

Oh and there was a time limit as well........so if I farted around, the guidon moved farther out and the two weeks would become 15 days, or longer.

It was either that or take an Article 15.

I would like to point out that I was not real sure what he meant by "take it up the ass" but was not willing to find out since it sounded painful.
Hey, but at least you weren't bored for a couple of weeks.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Tue Jan 17, 2017 1:32 am

Hiroshima_Morphine wrote:[
Hey, but at least you weren't bored for a couple of weeks.[/quote]


That's true.....it also made darn sure I knew my map reading and compass skill were a go at that station. We had a pretty high loss rate for people getting lost. I'm pretty sure we found them all. We lost a Platoon Sergeant, but found him at the bottom of a cliff, with his pants down. Guess he could not read a map.

Then later on we were assigned to a Cav unit.....3/3rd ACR I troop (we were pushing for F Troop but they shoved us on I Troop), the unit drove off and somehow we lost a Staff Sergeant. Found him the next evening. I always wondered why he didn't just follow the tracks.

We were lost in Germany for almost 30 days or so, our new LT decided that he should have the only map since he was a ring knocker and knew everything. Eventually the higher ups had enough and we were found...so to speak.

We were out on patrol with a new LT and Platoon Sergeant (E-6) and I was assigned to an LP/OP we lost commo with them and so I went back to find them. Found them set up backwards (something I always think of is the M18 Claymore mine "Front toward enemy") they had their back to the enemy, so I had to go in and talk to them. They weren't happy with me and send me back to the LP/OP with green eggs and ham, two each. Bastards kept the John Wayne bars and the crackers.

Lil always likes to quote "Proverbs 16:27-29 Idle hands are the devil's workshop", guess I get bored a lot.

Back in July I was told that we needed a fish pond....now we live in the middle of a farking desert.....fish ponds are an oxymoron. I managed to put it off till October and was out there on evening digging up a perfectly good desert when some of the assorted grandchildren came by.....unfortunately as a labor pool they are somewhat lacking, due to size/age.

Them: Hey Pops what are you doing?
Me: What's it look like?
Them: Digging a hole.
Me: Darn right I am.
Them: Why, did you make Rollo (Lil) mad?
Me: Probably.
Them: What's it going to be?
Me: It's a foxhole
Them: For foxes?
Me: No, I don't want to mess with them. It is also known as a defensive fighting position (DFP).
Them: (the oldest one) Oh yea Mom says you got bit on the butt.
Me: No I did not get bit on the butt, it was on my calf.
Them: Sure you did.
I've been thinking about moving lately, but I am afraid if I do move, they will find us.
About five minutes later Lil came out and told me to leave the kids alone and take a break from digging the fish pond. She also mentioned that the fish pond was not going to dig itself. Since I was leaning on my shovel when she came out.

Fish pond my rear end......it's more like a fish lake or a underground command post.

Thankfully that darn thing is on hold...we took off for the PI in November and just returned. So far no mention of the fish pond. Except there is a big hole in the yard. I am starting to think that this is one of those dig a hole and then fill it back in things.....
Last edited by Laager on Wed Jan 18, 2017 11:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Tue Jan 17, 2017 8:02 am

next time (and there will be a next time) just think of it as an excuse to rent a toy. a backhoe might be fun to run for a couple of days.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by sheddi » Tue Jan 17, 2017 2:51 pm

Laager wrote:We were lost in Germany for almost 30 days or so, our new LT decided that he should have the only map since he was a ring knocker and knew everything. Eventually the higher ups had enough and we were found...so to speak.
I was wondering how on earth you can get lost in Germany, the most populous country on Western Europe, then saw that the new LT had the map. That explains it.

Was it even a map of Germany?
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jan 18, 2017 11:02 pm

sheddi wrote:
Laager wrote:We were lost in Germany for almost 30 days or so, our new LT decided that he should have the only map since he was a ring knocker and knew everything. Eventually the higher ups had enough and we were found...so to speak.
I was wondering how on earth you can get lost in Germany, the most populous country on Western Europe, then saw that the new LT had the map. That explains it.

Was it even a map of Germany?

Oh it most certainly was and thankfully we managed to stay in West Germany, the prevailing thought was that because it was only a map of West Germany the LT thought there was no other surrounding countries and did not want to fall off the face of the earth....although the LT was not a happy camper and neither was the acting Platoon Sergeant (E-6 instead of an E-7). We ended up getting all of our rear ends chewed out for allowing the LT to take our maps. But when the Platoon Sergeant backs up the LT and he is supposed to be the NCO that "guides" butter bars we just gave them up and sat back to watch the show.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jan 18, 2017 11:08 pm

emclean wrote:next time (and there will be a next time) just think of it as an excuse to rent a toy. a backhoe might be fun to run for a couple of days.
Well it seems that the last time I rented a ditch witch I went a tad bit over board with the ditches, underground sprinkler system, not that we have any grass growing in the yard it is all natural desert growth. So why does it need an underground sprinkler system? Lil said she wanted one.

According to the instructions I got from my boss it was only a small fish pond....started out about 4X4X3. Then came the change orders.....those darn things are the death knoll of contracting.

I really think it is nothing more than make work......since there does not seem to be any mention of fixing up the area immediately around said hole in the ground. I asked her if she was going to go for something along the lines of a Japanese koi pond or maybe something with some benches. She keeps telling me she hasn't figured it out yet and will let me know after she talks it over with Bec.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Jan 19, 2017 7:49 am

Well I may have spoken to soon on the Fish Pond deal.......or something way worse.

Lil told me that she was going to take an earlier flight to her next class, so she could stop in and visit some of her relatives around the DC area. No big deal, she just flies in early, spends some time with them, then starts work on Monday and is back on Friday all paid for by Uncle Sam when the price of the longer ticket is cheaper than the price of the shorter one. Free room and board right up till Monday, although she does take them out to eat so that free board isn't really free.

She then tells me that we have a dinner date in El Paso with Bec's boss and his wife, Bec will be there and her boss is bringing one of his relatives as well. So a table for six.

Again no big deal, I like Roberto, he is a former U.S. Navy Medic, who did six years as a Marine Corp medic. Then got out and went to college, became a Doctor and makes some serious cash. I can't really remember exactly how old he is but I think he is around 57 or 58, his wife is a trophy wife she is in her early to mid 30's and a major pain in the rear end.

Bobby or sometimes I like to call him Boberto drives a beat up Jeep, usually can be found wearing a beat up cowboy hat and Mexican style boots, with wrangler jeans. His wife on the other hand wears nothing but expensive designer clothing and accessories and if rumor is correct usually only wears them once, drives a top of the line Mercedes and always looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. I don't think she is a bad person, just someone who thinks that because she landed a Doctor she is special, but what I do like is she constantly gives him a headache about his clothing and of course the type of people he associates with...namely people like me.

A few years ago she decided he needed a new vehicle to replace the 1983 Jeep he purchased just before he got out of the service. She asked him what kind of Mercedes Benz he liked and he said a G class so she went down and order one sight unseen and had a cow when it showed up. I can't be sure since I do not know anyone other than Bobby who owns one, but he almost caused her to stroke out when he took it off road to check out its off road capabilities.

It is certainly a nice ride, but man does it draw way to much attention at least imho.

Anyway we all went out to a really nice fou fou place, and I sat across from Bobby with Lil sitting across from his wife and the Bec sat across from his cousin Daniel.

Now I have what has been called an annoying habit of showing up early, walking around the building checking the exits and then going inside to verify where the exits actually are. I prefer to all it once burned, twice shy.

So here we are Bobby and I are drinking some Shock Top along with Daniel and the women are sipping wine. When his wife Isabella (no you may not call me Izzy, its Isabella) asks me why I check the exits and entrances.

Lil gives me the look, so I just say well I had a bad experience once when I was in the Army.

So Isabella says oh that's to bad, was anyone hurt?

I said well yes, but not to bad.

She then asks were you in a shoot out or something?

I said no, it was more of a hand to hand melee type fight.

Lil tried to change the subject while giving me the look, but Isabella was not going for it.

Where were you and who were you fighting.

Oh we were in the Philippines, fighting Filipinas.

So then she asks were they some kind of enemy soldiers or something? Then starts to take a sip of wine.

I reply, well no not really, they were more along the line of really angry hookers.

She spit the wine out all over Lil. Right across the table. Just sprayed it right out, Bobby swears some came out of her nose, but well I missed that. I do not think that it helped one bit when everyone around us started starring. Evidently that behavior is just not seen in a fou fou restaurant.

I managed to keep my mouth shut right up till she said something about being so mortified.

I messed up real bad, I mean really bad......cause I was trying to help Lil with the wine spray and well when she said that I started laughing. I mean come on who uses a word like mortified in a sentence now days?????

It didn't help when Bobby said, yea those girls can get real mean, real quick. Which set Isabella off on a rant. So I kept laughing....and Bobby was laughing and so was Daniel, right up until the ladies came back from the ladies room.

Immediately afterwards I started noticing a distinct chill in the air and the ride to the airport was exceptionally chilly.

My Kapampangan is rusty since Lil usually speaks Tagalog, so I am not quite sure of exactly what was said, but what I did catch was not good.

Not that she was mean or anything, she was shall we say her almost normal self, she just explained that at the current moment she did not want to discuss what is now known as the Restaurant Incident of 2017, until she returned from her work trip and when I gave her a goodbye kiss and hug (I usually use the hug to grab one of her butt cheeks) she said that if I grabbed her @ss, I was going to loose a hand. I still managed to throw in an I love you and have a safe flight. She rarely uses cuss words.

And I had to stop to get something more substantial to eat on the way home as well. Of course Bec was quiet all the way home, well almost since she called home to tell everyone what happened. But other than that she just looked at me.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by sheddi » Thu Jan 19, 2017 12:48 pm

Laager wrote:... what is now known as the Restaurant Incident of 2017
As an avid follower of this thread I guessed it was going to involved Filipina hookers :)

And 2017 is still young. It could yet turn out to be merely The First Restaurant Incident of 2017 :lol:
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