Happy Valentine’s Day. And Happy President’s Day. They both look the same from this side of the pond. Being here for 4 months, working every day, no days off, the days of the week just blend together. It doesn’t really matter. Back home, looking forward to the weekend, maybe beers on Friday night, sleep in on Saturday, maybe a Sunday brunch, then golf. Yeah. We don’t have that feeling.
But there is a payoff when we get back to the United States. For missing 32 days of weekends, plus at least 6 days of holidays, we will receive exactly 4 days off when we return. Even if you return on a Friday, then you get that Saturday and Sunday, which everybody gets off anyway, and then it’s Monday and Tuesday off. So 4 free leave days off to make up for the 38 missed days off. If you do the upper level math, that’s 9.5 missed days off for each 1 day off received. So somehow in the bigger picture that’s supposed to all work out.
We have a pilot rotation coming up. Now those are fun to watch. First, it’s good to see a new guy, talk, and find out what the hell is going on back in the otherworld. Second, its fun to watch the guy who is going be replaced. His days all of a sudden turn into 48 hr days that can’t go by quickly enough. Planning for the great escape begins, looking up departure flights, and studying exactly when and where landfall can be made in the States. All the gear gets packed up days too early, and any extra crap gets sent back in the mail so it won’t have to be lugged on a flight. You practically have to put an ankle bracelet on them with a LoJack© tracking system to make sure they don’t jump the fence before the new guy is actually here and has had his 48 hours of time zone adjustment.
A fun thing to do is to start rumors like the inbound replacement got hung up in Europe and missed his flight, or got sick and is pushed back by a week or two. It’s sadistically funny, except when it turns out to be true, then it’s just sadistically tragic. People always write and ask when we’re going to get home? Honestly, there’s no way to answer, and we really don’t know until we actually touch down back in the United States.
The food here has really gone to crap. Convoy delays. First we’ll have plenty of cereal, but no milk. Then we’ll have milk but no cereal. The Arba’een pilgrimage to Karbal for the Shiite Muslim population has literally closed down MSR (Military Supply Routes). 10 million people walk, drive, or whatever from all ends of Muslim civilization to end up in Karbala. Our role in paying homage to this celebration is that our menu looks exactly the same as it did the day before, except with just a little bit less. This whole food experience has coincided with the new Obama Administration, and we are investigating the coincidence.
We’ve also been watching the meltdown of the economy back home, and have dutifully been burning candles for the banking executives that might be salary capped at only $500,000 a year, and who might have to fly commercial to the Super Bowl or to Vegas for their conventions. It really breaks us up.
A PVT patrolling the hostile streets here is being paid $1,399.50 per month. And an executive sitting on a private jet, whisking off to luxury destinations is complaining about only getting half a million a year, after being at the helm of a company that he drove into the ground, and then has gone to Capital Hill to beg for taxpayer’s money. You never really hear the Private bitching. He just shoulders his M-16, grabs an MRE and goes on patrol without a thought of what evil awaits him in the dark or how small his bank account is. I wonder how much we would have to pay a bank executive to patrol city streets in the middle of a combat zone?
Peace - J