Escape from the Club!
~ A military story
Back in 2003 (gosh, has it really been thirteen years?), I was deployed to South Korea for military games. They packed us into a plane, and off we went. We landed around midnight (naturally, I mean you never arrived at your destination during normal person hours). They bused us to Tent City, and we rushed to form an unspoken assembly line to unload all of our bags.
Once the logistics were taken care of, we were assigned tents, and off to bed we went to be at work by 0800 (I honestly don't remember being tired or pissed about not getting enough sleep. Maybe that was because I was 22, and at that age I could live off of Pepsi, candy bars, and 2 hours of sleep).
The next morning I was up and ready with the two other gals I'd be working with. We made it to our squadron in time to play war, but this isn't the point of this story. I just had to give you all an idea of the setting. Things were not totally made of work, work, work. After your 12 hour shift was up, you could do whatever you wanted. The shops and enlisted club still ran like normal.
Come Friday, my new found gal-pals and I decided to hang out at the enlisted club. We had little knowledge of the “normal” side of the base. We were basically tourists when we weren't working. The three of us sat at a table, drank, and enjoyed the music. It was a nice break from our flak vests, helmets, and MREs.
...That was until the club closed for the night.
“EVERYONE OUT! OUT! OUT!” The managers spouted war cries instead of stating a standard “We will be closing in five minutes!” over the intercom. We were introduced to the club busting SPs. To this day I will never understand why they had the SPs (and their K9 companions) “announce” that the club was closing for the night. Was it part of the war games? Was it how they always did it? I will never know. Suffice to say, it was a very unique way of closing up shop for the night.
Confused, dazed, and utterly Whisky Tango Foxtrot, we looked at each other and followed the running crowd out the door. We made it to parking lot and, for whatever reason I have long forgotten, we hung out and chatted while the base taxis picked the regulars up. Once the place was deserted, we shrugged and decided to wait for the next cab.
And wait.
A battered pick up truck with janitorial equipment in the back pulled up to the curb. The two Airmen in the cab peered at us with quizzical expressions. We probably screamed “We aren't from around here!” I mean, we were just standing there in the chilly winter air, hardly feeling the cold.
“Hey, you guys...eh. Just to let you know the taxis stop running at 1130,” the driver said. We glanced at each other. Tent City was miles and miles away. “You guys aren't from Tent City are you?”
We nodded.
“Oh man. That is a walk. We're not supposed to take passengers, but get in the back and put that tarp over yourselves. We'll drop you off!” He didn't need to explain further. Our introduction to that base's SPs was enough motivation to not ask questions.
So we climbed the back of the truck in our bewildered, slightly drunken stupors and laid among the buckets, mops, and bottles of cleaner. We held the tarp over us with an iron grip.
A part of us laughed at our predicament, and the other part was terrified the two Airmen would get pulled over. Thankfully no such thing happened, and we were dropped off at Tent City without incident.
I will never forget the kindness of those two Airmen! We would have had a three hour walk in the middle of the night ahead of us.
Back in 2003 (gosh, has it really been thirteen years?), I was deployed to South Korea for military games. They packed us into a plane, and off we went. We landed around midnight (naturally, I mean you never arrived at your destination during normal person hours). They bused us to Tent City, and we rushed to form an unspoken assembly line to unload all of our bags.
An example of a standard Tent City.
The image is in public domain and can be found here
Once the logistics were taken care of, we were assigned tents, and off to bed we went to be at work by 0800 (I honestly don't remember being tired or pissed about not getting enough sleep. Maybe that was because I was 22, and at that age I could live off of Pepsi, candy bars, and 2 hours of sleep).
The next morning I was up and ready with the two other gals I'd be working with. We made it to our squadron in time to play war, but this isn't the point of this story. I just had to give you all an idea of the setting. Things were not totally made of work, work, work. After your 12 hour shift was up, you could do whatever you wanted. The shops and enlisted club still ran like normal.
Come Friday, my new found gal-pals and I decided to hang out at the enlisted club. We had little knowledge of the “normal” side of the base. We were basically tourists when we weren't working. The three of us sat at a table, drank, and enjoyed the music. It was a nice break from our flak vests, helmets, and MREs.
...That was until the club closed for the night.
“EVERYONE OUT! OUT! OUT!” The managers spouted war cries instead of stating a standard “We will be closing in five minutes!” over the intercom. We were introduced to the club busting SPs. To this day I will never understand why they had the SPs (and their K9 companions) “announce” that the club was closing for the night. Was it part of the war games? Was it how they always did it? I will never know. Suffice to say, it was a very unique way of closing up shop for the night.
Confused, dazed, and utterly Whisky Tango Foxtrot, we looked at each other and followed the running crowd out the door. We made it to parking lot and, for whatever reason I have long forgotten, we hung out and chatted while the base taxis picked the regulars up. Once the place was deserted, we shrugged and decided to wait for the next cab.
And wait.
A battered pick up truck with janitorial equipment in the back pulled up to the curb. The two Airmen in the cab peered at us with quizzical expressions. We probably screamed “We aren't from around here!” I mean, we were just standing there in the chilly winter air, hardly feeling the cold.
“Hey, you guys...eh. Just to let you know the taxis stop running at 1130,” the driver said. We glanced at each other. Tent City was miles and miles away. “You guys aren't from Tent City are you?”
We nodded.
“Oh man. That is a walk. We're not supposed to take passengers, but get in the back and put that tarp over yourselves. We'll drop you off!” He didn't need to explain further. Our introduction to that base's SPs was enough motivation to not ask questions.
So we climbed the back of the truck in our bewildered, slightly drunken stupors and laid among the buckets, mops, and bottles of cleaner. We held the tarp over us with an iron grip.
A part of us laughed at our predicament, and the other part was terrified the two Airmen would get pulled over. Thankfully no such thing happened, and we were dropped off at Tent City without incident.
I will never forget the kindness of those two Airmen! We would have had a three hour walk in the middle of the night ahead of us.
