Mom sez...

My mom commented on my 'blog! I can't even figure out how to put pictures where I want them and my mom, from the generation before computers, posts a comment on my 'blog! How cool is that? Except she pretty much told me to quit my bitchin. More on that in a minute.

About the smoke plume - ya just gotta love those and the rattling of the windows that causes them. The one in the picture below was friendly fire. Whenever we collect up a good pile of unexploded ordnance, our demo guys take it out to a range and blow it up. These days, they really are pretty good about letting us know when they're going to do it, but for a while there, it was a surprise that left you wondering. Anyway, that's pretty cool... check it out at the end of this post.

So back to mom. She didn't actually use the word "bitchin'" but she suggested to me that I "try to get past it." All I tried to point out in support of my dear friend Laurie,(I have to say that since I report directly to her) was that the minute we "get past it," the next "it" pops up in its place. Venting about this insanity on our blogs is actually a pretty healthy way of dealing with it.

However, I know we're on the verge of everything falling into place. Just like the Continuous Improvement gurus say about any newly formed group - we've formed and stormed, now it's time to "norm" and perform. We chip away at that stone every day, and before long, we'll have it. The storming will be behind us and we'll be performing like the performers we really are. (how cheeseball is that?) What I don't get is why it takes so long... as though we'd never done this before.

But back to thinking positive. I know we're close. If we can keep from killing each other until we get there, we'll start clicking like we know how. And it's just that kind of performance that got us handpicked to come here... the first Air Force unit to take on this kind of responsibility on an Army mission, ever. So much for the rewards of being good at what you do!

What really kills me about my mom typing this (aside from her techno-aversion) is that I've always considered myself a terminal optimist... positive to the end... the master of "getting past it."

So get off my back mom! I was simply trying to explain to the folks back home the exponentially complex cascade of obstacles that result from a seemingly simple objective around here.

Here's a fer instance: a guy wants to plug in his electric razor so it's charged up in the morning. It's one of those with the little switch on it for international travel, so it doesn't require a transformer or anything to plug into the local 230 volt power supply. That should be easy enough. So he digs his power cord out of his shaving kit... the kit he lives out of since he has to walk a football field or two to get to a bathroom... and plugs the razor end into the razor, double checking to make sure the switch is set to "220" rather than "110." Simple enough so far. This guy's only an outlet away from charging up that razor, getting a good night's sleep, and showing up freshly shorn, rarin' to go to work in the morning.

He takes the other end of the cord and begins searching his room for an outlet. He's in luck, there's one right by his bed, but as he approaches it, he sees pretty quickly that his little two pronged American power cord won't plug into the giant three-holed outlet.

"No problem," he says to himself, remembering that attitude is everything, determined to stay positive, "I'll just stop by the PX tomorrow on the way home from work and pick up an adapter. I can probably get one more shave out of this thing anyway." And he climbs in his rack for a good night's sleep.

Next day after work, he waits only 20 minutes at the bus stop for the base shuttle to get him over to the PX. He wanders the aisle in search of what he knows will be a commonly sought after item to no avail. Undaunted, he flags down a PX employee and explains what he's looking for.

"Yeah, we've had them on back order as long as I can remember," the employee tells him, "I think they have those at the Bazaar right next door though."

"Cool, thanks," our ever-smiling airman replies as he heads out the door of the PX. As he approaches the Bazaar, he thinks to himself what a great day it is and how this whole "being sent to [unspecified country]" really ain't so bad. As he walks up to the door of the Bazaar, he sees that it's only open until 16:00. Only slightly discouraged, he figures, no problem, I'll stop over tomorrow on my day off... I can sneak by one day without shaving since it's my day off anyway.

The next day he sleeps in since it's his day off. His roommate, however, still has to work and wakes him up as he leaves. Making lemonade out of the lemon that is not getting to sleep in, our airman decides to head over to the gym so he puts on his PT gear, locks his room door behind him, and heads out. The cool morning air doesn't smell as much like burning garbage as it usually does and he smiles at the rising sun thinking once again that it's a good day!

He gets his workout in and heads for the showers where, to his pleasant surprise, he finds hot water in spite of following the rush of people who got ready for work ahead of him. He gets wet, turns the water off to soap up (and save water) and thinks to himself about how pleasant life really is. When he reaches to turn the water back on, he gets a jolt from the faucet that almost knocks him down. Thinking he's only imagined it, he gingerly tries again. No shock this time-way cool. He turns the water on and is again happy that it's warm. As he steps under it to rinse off, the hot water runs out and what's left has apparently flowed to the bathroom from glacial melt. (yeah, I know how improbable that is, but that's what it felt like - this is my story dammit.) Nevertheless, he finishes his shower and walks out into the sunshine, a bit shrunken, but clean and fresh. Now our airman KNOWS it will be a great day.

He heads back to his room to change into fresh PT gear, grab his wallet, and catch a bus back to the Bazaar. After only 30 minutes at the bus stop, he's riding in comfort to the shopping center. He gets off the bus, waves hello and flashes a smile to some friends he's made, shows his ID to the guards at the door of the Bazaar, and heads inside. It only takes him a minute to find a table full of adapters and he happily forks over the two bucks US to make one his own. He blissfully pictures himself shaving with a fully charged razor the next morning, thinking of how proud he will be to come to work after a day's rest, ready to go.

On his way out of the shopping center he decides to take advantage of the relatively short lines and get a haircut while he's in the area. Now he KNOWS he'll be squared away for work tomorrow.

As he waits for the bus, he strikes up a conversation with, and only after rendering a sharp salute to, an Army lieutenant about life in general. He thinks it's odd that the Lt wants to know who his first sergeant is until, out of the blue, the Lt asks our airman if the Air Force PT uniform isn't considered a real uniform. The airman, suddenly adding formality to his casual, but respectful banter, says that "yes sir, it is a real uniform."

"I thought so," says the Lt. "so being unshaven isn't an option, or do you have some kind of waiver?"

"No sir, I don't, but my razor needs charged so I came over to get an adapter on my day off." He holds up the adapter as if he needed proof of this. "We just got here and we're still getting settled in, but I'll shave as soon as I get my razor charged." he continued.

"Maybe you can borrow a disposable from someone in the meantime," the Lt replies as he climbs into his truck and drives away.

Just then the bus pulls up, so our airman shrugs his shoulders, climbs on and sits down. On the way back to his room, he decides that this isn't something to get him down and thinks about how to spend the rest of his day off. He'll pick up laundry, check his email, sweep out his room, read a book... it's going to be a good day.

As evening comes and the airman and his roommate discuss the events of the day our airman checks to see that his razor is still charging when a knock comes at the door. He answers and is greeted by the dorm chief who tells them, "Sorry guys, I've been trying to get ahold of you all day, but you have to move to the trailer park."

"OK, cool," they reply in unison and our airman begins to close the door. The dorm chief is still standing there though and finishes his sentence.

"...tonight. You have to move tonight. Sorry guys, we just found out today."

"Well... ok, we can do that, after all, we've been living out of bags for 2 months now, it's not like we can't just pack everything back up and haul it over there. Is there a truck somewhere that's hauling people's bags?" they reply, not letting any of this faze them.

"Uh, yeah, there's a deuce and a half making runs. It should be back soon. See you in the morning," dorm chief says before moving on to the next room.

The two airmen begin re-packing all of their gear back into the bags they unpacked for the first time in months only a few days ago. They play some tunes on a boombox and tease each other to keep their spirits up while dealing with just another detail as they take one step closer to settling in in [unspecified country]. In less than an hour they have everything packed up and the room fairly clean for the next occupants. They've set up the beds and assembled the wall lockers, but figure that's no big deal since they expect their new room to have these amenities in place as well. They carry their stuff out to the end of the building where the deuce and a half has just returned - things are looking up.

The airmen throw their gear on the back of the truck and then help their temporary neighbors load their stuff up as well. When all the bags laying oustide are on the truck, they make a pass up and down the sidwalk to make sure no one else is ready to go. When they're sure, they head up to the trailer park to unload their gear. By now, our airman is already thinking of how nice life will be once he's settled into his new home. The moves will be done for a while. He'll plug that razor in, still manage to get 4 or 5 hours of sleep, and greet a brand new day at work.

When they get out of the truck, they see an NCO approaching, and assuming this person will tell them which room they're to occupy, they happily approach the NCO, who barks at them, "You can't park that truck there."

"OK sir, we just brought peoples' stuff up here who have to move tonight. Where would you like us to park it? And do you know our new room assignments?" our airman replies as cheerily as he can after being barked at at 22:00 knowing he has no place to sleep.

"No one HAD to MOVE tonight. What are you talking about? You had to be TOLD tonight so you would have time to move before the target date." The NCO replies, as though what our airman told him was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "I don't know anything about room assignments, but you can't park any vehicles up here at night."

"We won't park it here sir, we just need to unload our stuff. Do you know how we can find out what room we're moving to?" Our airman asks politely, but struggling now to maintain such politeness.

"Check with Sgt. so and so... I don't know if they've even made the new room assignments final yet." the NCO barks as he walks away, clearly not willing to give our airman any more info than he already has.

The two airmen meet up with the rest of the guys who threw their gear on the truck and learn that Sgt so and so is in trailer X. A couple of them have already learned where they live and are grabbing their gear off the truck. Our airman and his former roommate find trailer X and get their new number from Sgt so and so, but are told they can't get the key because the current occupants of the trailer haven't moved out yet. They explain what they were told by their former dorm chief. Sgt. so and so lets out a sigh and checks the list for another empty room.

"Take this one for tonight. If I can make it permanent, you can stay there, but I wouldn't unpack until you hear back from me tomorrow. You guys will NOT be roommates after tonight." The sarge tells them.

They grab the keys and head back to the truck. They're happy to see that the truck is gone (so they don't have to worry about moving it) and their gear is still there. It's half in a puddle, but at least it's still there. They grab what they can carry and head off to their temporary trailer. In no time, they're in, sleeping bags unrolled and ready for bed and, bonus, it's still before midnight!

Our airman remembers his razor and digs through his bags to find it, his new adapter, and the cord. He packed them near the top so he could get at them easily and is finally ready to plug the razor in and get to bed. He checks the voltage switch again, checks the razor end of the cord, plugs the other end into the adaptor and looks for an outlet. He's in luck. There's one right next to the dusty nightstand left in the room. He sits the razor on the nightstand and goes to plug in the adaptor and only then realizes that the trailer outlets, while 230 volt, are all round two-prong jobs, and that his square three-prong adaptor won't mate up with them.

"Well ain't that some shit." he muses, still grinning from ear to ear, and decides to go to bed and deal with the razor in the morning. Why should a little thing like that get him down? He knows tomorrow will be a better day! His roommate for tonight, who uses a disposable razor, is already snoring.

Later.
PS-love ya mom!