I'm an Aerial Porter. 2T2X1. Air Transportation. I move cargo and people. That's my job. A lot of people like to argue about which job in the Air Force and in the whole military is the hardest and most important. There are so many jobs and so many important pieces needed to get the mission done, but when you look at the definition and mottos of the Air Force, major commands, and most major Air Force bases, most of them will have something to do with, 'Provide rapid cargo and personnel airlift movements to anywhere around the world at any time.' That's me. My job IS the Air Force. Every other job in the Air Force is just in support of what I need to do. Other jobs in the Air Force exist only to make sure that I can do mine. They fix planes, fuel them, work on electronics, feed us, give us towels at the gym and fuck up our pay just so us Aerial Porters can do the real mission. We do it every day. Everyone else just fixes things, does training, or checks IDs at the front gate. All important and needed, but their impact isn't nearly as important or needed as much as mine. My job is the reason most bases even exist. We don't fix things or spend too much time training. We hit the ground running, learn our job quickly, and do it every day, every hour, with no holiday break, up until the end of our career. It is the most important job in the Air Force, and that's why I hate it so much.
My job is the only one in the Air Force that doesn't run on it's own time schedule. We run on everyone else's. Air crews can do whatever the fuck they want. Every excuse they have to not work or fly is always taken as gospel. Even if an aircrew is late to their own plane, no one gives a shit, but if someone from my job is late to a plane, you better get ready to talk to the commander. Mechanics or anybody that fixes anything will often give an estimate of when they will get done, but if they break that estimate, no one cares. It happens more often than not and it's just accepted. And all the people that don't work on a flightline have set hours and normally work 8-430 with weekends and holidays off. At 430, they're done. The National Anthem plays and then they jump in their car like Fred Flintstone after hearing the whistle. If 430 rolls around, no matter what they are doing, they will just finish it tomorrow. Unless it's Friday afternoon, then they will probably be done at 3 and you will have to wait until Monday at 9 to see them since they are allowed to go to the gym during work hours first thing Monday morning.
You can't postpone anything in my job. Everything is done right away and we never close. In other jobs, most people know the hours they work and when they will be busy and when they can take a lunch. Our 'lunch breaks' happen whenever we get 10 minutes between two flights. It's nothing you can plan for either. Planes come in early and late all the time and half the time we never know what's on them, and stuff that is suppose to go on them always changes. We need lots of people ready to go 24 hours a day because we never know what to expect. We're like firemen, but we put fires out all day, every day.
I hate my job because we are too important, too busy, over worked, under appreciated, and we never close. Even if a giant storm is happening, instead of closing down the flightline, we only get MORE busy because now people don't have power in their homes or they're flooded and they need the Air Force's help...courtesy of my job. But one thing great about my job is everything that everything is real. Not training. When someone in the Army or Marines is at their home base, all they do is train. They train for the job they will be doing once they deploy. They are home for a year or so and then they deploy for 6, 8, or 12 months. Although they deploy a lot, overall they will still be home slightly more than they will be away. Which means throughout most of an Army and Marine's career, over half of it will be spent training. That training will help them once deployed, but what difference are they making on a daily basis when they are not deployed? They are making themselves better and becoming more knowledgeable, but who else are they helping? Every day in my job I send cargo all around the world. Every type of cargo you can think of. From food, electronics, work supplies, bombs, vehicles, water...whatever people need, I'll get it to them. I do that at my home station and when I deploy. It never stops. And I don't put fake cargo or plastic people on wooden planes for a year in preparation for an upcoming deployment just for practice. Every day, either home or deployed, I do real world shit that effects people on almost every continent of the world. There aren't many people in the military doing another job that can say that.
Since I work on the flightline, one of the most unique things I get to witness every day are people arriving and leaving their Afghan deployment. The air industry, whether it's commercial or military, is always an emotional place. Every day you see people who are happy, sad, worried, excited, relieved, and anxious. I have only been here about 3 weeks now, but when I go out to a plane that just arrived with new troops, they immediately make me feel like an Afghanistan Veteran. I look into the eyes of all the young soldiers. Most of them seem lost and a bit worried. They stare back at me as though they are trying to figure out through my own eyes how Afghanistan really is. They are hoping my eyes don't seem depressed or tired. They want me to smile and make a joke. But when I go on a plane I am completely serious. I am probably hard for them to read. I don't want to be someone's first impression of Afghanistan anyway. I don't want them to stare deep into my eyes and feel the pain that comes with having to sleep on a top bunk.
But one positive thing all new people see right away when I get on their plane, is that I'm not wearing my kevlar vest or helmet. We are required to wear all that when you land in country but you can take it off once you arrive. One of my biggest concerns before I got here was how often we actually had to wear that stuff. I thought I would have to wear my 50 pound vest and helmet all day every day while doing physical labor for 12 hours a day out in the elements. I was so worried and dreading it a lot. You have no idea how relieved I was once I landed here and didn't see anyone wearing that shit. It was like the liberation of France. A joy swept through my body which I haven't felt since the first time I heard Kelly Clarkson sing. It was glorious. Mainly because my helmet is about two sizes too big for me and it makes me look like a fucking goober.
At the start of my 3rd week, on the night before Christmas Eve, we were all told that we would have to wear our vest and helmet for a few days. For the previous 6 years in a row, this base had been attacked on Christmas and they were expecting the same this year as well. Right away I thought of a couple things. 1-Those terrorist fucks. They WOULD attack us on the most important holiday. And 2-If you're a terrorist, it's not good terrorism to keep attacking on the same day and giving your enemy time to prepare for it. That's Terrorism 101 type shit. All young towel-heads learn that rule in school right before long division. I can only assume then that the future terrorists living near the Bagram mountains were out sick the day they taught that rule in school because a mortar landed on base for the 7th Christmas in a row.
So there I was, sleeping, minding my own damn business, when the base alarm started going off just after the sun rose. The voice over the loud speaker said that a mortar had been detected and to put on your vest and helmet. I didn't hear any type of explosion, but waking up in Afghanistan to a loud speaker telling you to put a helmet on is a little bit scary. So I did what most people did in my building...hid underneath the covers. My inner 4 year old child instinct took over and I knew that if you were ever in trouble or being attacked by a monster, mortar, older brother....whatever, by simply putting covers over your head you would immediately be out of harm's way. There isn't a closest monster anywhere in the world that can penetrate through a young man's blanket once it's over his head.
About 15 minutes passed and the same alarm went off again. I still didn't hear any bombs or anything. I called my work to check in and see what was going on. They told me it was nothing and that it was just a false alarm and maybe just an alarm test. They weren't even sure. Ya. Ok. Who the fuck does an attack alarm test in Afghanistan without warning on a day we are actually expecting an attack? That's like having someone with dark skin and a mustache bring in a fake gun to do a metal detector test at airport security on a September 11th without telling anyone. Or simply, it's like a black person smiling and waving at a police officer. Some shit you just don't do.
The base alarm went off again. 'Incoming! Incoming!' I haven't heard that before so I started to get worried. And two seconds later, 'Poof!' It sounded like Wiley E Coyote hitting the ground after falling over a cliff. We were attacked. A mortar landed on base. I don't know where it landed and it didn't sound TOO big or that close, but a rocket shot off by a terrorist was just projected in my general direction. It's the closest I've ever come to war or combat. I've never even heard a gun shot go off that wasn't for training purposes. So it's a bit crazy knowing that someone not that far from you may have just been blown up while walking to work.
A couple minutes later I heard an ambulance. The small explosion didn't really startle or effect me too much because I just figured that it was probably nothing and a small mortar just landed in a pile of sand. But when I heard an ambulance I thought, shit, someone got hit. I really hope they're ok. But I don't know. No information was ever released about the attack. If someone died we would have heard about it and I probably would be one of the people putting their casket on the plane, but thankfully that never happened. Business went on as usual. No one seemed scared or worried. Most people were just making jokes and talking about where they were when they heard the explosion. No one went running out to investigate the explosion in hopes of killing terrorists. We all just did the Air Force Self Defense Method and hid underneath our blankets until the bad noises went away.
The attack started to change my view of this deployment. To me before, this was just another flightline on a base filled with men in uniform. That's all I've been accustomed to in my nearly 12 years of service. Other than some small dirty men speaking a gargling type language cleaning the toilets without a brush....or gloves, nothing here seemed that out of the ordinary. But that explosion let me know that I was really in Afghanistan, a country filled with people that hate Americans. And those pretty snowfilled mountains that surround this whole base are now seen by me as vantage points for people that want to hurt us. It's hard to find the beauty in those mountains anymore.
Eventually we will all get to leave here and seeing those same mountains through an aircraft window in the distance will end up being the most glorious site in the world. A group of guys I work with here already got to experience that. Although people come and go from here every day, some of my fellow Aerial Porter co-workers rotate out of here on average every 2 months. Seeing people go home is common, but it's never easy. We had a little ceremony for a group of guys leaving right on the flightline as they were boarding. We brought out a lot of work vehicles and parked them in formation behind the plane. With their hydrolics system, we were able to kneel our large 60K flatbed loaders which made them look as if they were bowing. A sort of final salute to the group that served their 6 months here. As people were saying their last good byes and taking pictures, I started to feel a little emotional. I don't know why. I barely knew any of them. I just met them a week or two ago and couldn't ever remember their names, but I still started to get a little choked up. I think I was just really happy for them. It's like seeing an innocent man finally being released from prison to go see his wife and kids. Prison, like Afghanistan...never should have been there in the first place and was bitter the whole time, but all of that is forgotten because today he became a free man. Time to enjoy it and start living again.
One civilian I work with here said that it was the first time he saw one of the guys smile. He was in Bagram for 6 months and it took until he boarded a plane out of here, but he finally smiled. I could see the happiness in their faces. It's the sort of happiness you don't get to see often. The kind of happiness that people who have never served will ever get to see. A happiness and joy with a huge sense of accomplishment and that all your hard work is about to be rewarded with a shitload of beer. Hmm. Wait...no, I didn't get choked up because I was happy for them. I almost started crying because I was thinking about all the beer they would be having soon! Those basturds! They're going to drink it all and there won't be any left for us in 6 months when we return! Baltimore is going to be a dry city!! Noooo!! ....Which brings me to my next genius idea...every military service member who has spent at least 6 months in Afghanistan should be issued a Get Out of Jail Free card that is redeemable only within the first 2 weeks of returning from a deployment. Because after 6 months in Afghanistan, you've earned the right to fuck some shit up. 'Officer, I am very sorry about the fire that started in my hotel room. After dumping whiskey on that girl, I didn't think she would light a match and start smoking. Who knew 50 dollar whores were so flammable??"
One of the questions I get asked the most here by people who have been here awhile, which is number 2 behind, "Have you ever even DONE this before??' is, 'So how do you like it here so far?' The short answer that always comes first to my mind is, 'Well I haven't tried shooting myself with my own gun yet so I guess it's alright.' I don't know how to answer that question. Maybe it's just rhetorical and I'm not suppose to answer because it's so obvious. I'm in Afghanistan for 6 months. I work my ass off for 12 hours a day and get one day off a week where I can get a haircut and buy soap and my living space is so small that a midget would laugh at these accommodations. 'How do I like it here so far?' Fuck you asshole! THAT'S how much I like it! But that's what they WANT me to say. They want me to hate it and to be miserable because they are. They just want me to share in their misery. That, or you get the other kind of people who want to help you out and make you feel better. Those, 'Look on the bright side...' motherfuckers. Or those, 'Could be worse...' assholes that make comparisons about how much worse the Army and Marines have it. Ok look, I didn't join the Army or Marines because my average grade in school was above a D. Not by much, but I was smart enough to walk into the right recruiter's office because I could distinguish and understand the difference in the conjoined letters of 'A-i-r F-o-r-c-e' and 'A-r-m-y.' And it would be cool to say you're a Marine, but after you retire you may have a hard time finding a new job. I haven't looked in the classifieds or the Want Ads lately, but I don't remember seeing many listings seeking well trained infantrymen.
Though the Army and Marines have a much more dangerous job because they are a lot of times outside of the friendly confines of a 20 foot tall concrete wall with barbed wire and machine gun mounts...they at least get to see some new shit once in awhile. Not so much in the Air Force. Especially here. The similarities between an Afghanistan Air Force deployment and imprisonment are haunting. Prisoners and deployers both always have to be in a uniform. We are not allowed to wear normal clothes. Not even on our days off. Which means we are suppose to shave on our days off too. Prisoners don't have to shave. Score 1 for incarceration.
Like prisoners, we are trapped behind huge guarded walls and can never leave. Not like the fucks deployed to Kuwait, Qatar, and the UAE who can go off base and shop and see a real city every weekend if they want. We both share tiny rooms with people. But prisoners only have 2 people to a room. The rooms here are the same size as prison cells but there's 3 to 4 people in a room. Prisoners have a lot more space. They have room to sit in chairs and do push ups. Push ups! I barely have enough room to do toe raises in my room. Score another point for prisoners.
There's no females allowed in the male dorms here. In fact, there's no touching allowed with anyone. You could get court martialed just for making out with someone in the dark behind a porto potty. There's no women in male prisons, but if they want to have sex with each other, no one would get in trouble for that. So ANOTHER point for prisoners! Well, I think I'll only award half a point this time for prisoners because usually when any sex is going on in prison, only half the people involved are actually enjoying it.
Like prison, we eat the same slop every day. Since my job is so busy and we don't get lunch breaks to go to the dining hall, food is brought to us. Which SOUNDS cool, but it's not. We are all given the food from the dining facility that nobody wanted. They actually serve some decent stuff there if you get to go inside, but we only get the worst food of the day. And 90 percent of the time...chicken and rice. Chicken and rice is ok the first 5 times you eat it, but the next 50 days in a row of it, followed by the next 4 months of it...starts to get a little old. Being able to actually have a lunch break and eat food away from the building you work at and to eat it in real chairs with backs to them is a wonderful thing. I have been here a month now and I've only eaten away from work in a normal chair 3 times. And it's weird. I don't know how to act anymore. I don't know where to put my hands or how to lean back in comfort while taking a sip of soda. I don't know how to enjoy a meal and spend longer than 45 seconds trying to eat it. I'm so used to sitting at a bench at work to eat and as soon as my paper plate hits the table, someone walks in to tell me a plane just landed. Happens every...fucking...time. No planes will be scheduled to arrive for a half hour, but as soon as my plate is put down on the table with food on it or as soon as my ass cheeks rest on a porto potty toilet, a plane will suddenly land. It's one thing to eat your food in a hurry, but having to rush a shit is just unethical.
One thing you learn quickly when you are deployed is to appreciate the little things. It could be something as simple as normal milk that isn't powdered or from a goat, or just reading a magazine that was actually published within the last two years. You will read anything when you are deployed. There's lots of magazines always laying around, but they are always magazines you wouldn't normally be interested in on even knew existed. I think most were sent from care packages from someone who kept stealing magazines from an unlicensed dentist's waiting room and then sent them to Afghanistan. I don't care too much about the latest advancements in carpentry, but at least the advertisements in magazines about woodwork give me something different to look at for a few seconds.
And speaking of advertisements...I was looking at an 'In Style' magazine the other day, because I'm in Afghanistan and that is perfectly acceptable here, and there were 43 pages of ads before the first real article. 43! The whole magazine was at least 75 percent advertisements. Most of the women magazines I read here are predominantly just advertisements. Though even men's magazines are close to 50 percent with ads. I never realized it before until now. I've always dreamed of being a writer, but I guess if you actually wanted your work to be seen, you'd be better off trying to get into advertising. All you need is a half naked chick, an ocean for a background, and a French sounding word somewhere on the page and you're golden.
I've also noticed that there's more half naked chicks in women magazines than in men's magazines. And there's more half naked men in men magazines than in women's. It doesn't make sense. I don't know which ones are more heterosexual to be caught reading. I think a lot of guys read men's magazines to feel macho and to get more insight on how to become a better man. But 'self help', counting carbs, fashion, doing cardio, how to act better in a social environment...it all sounds like a recipe on how to be a better gay. So all you so called 'manly men' can keep jerking off to pictures of sweaty dudes in Men's Health with articles edited by guys raised on Castro Street in San Francisco, and I will continue reading my Cosmopolitan magazines and know how to please a women while baking an onion dip inside a fresh loaf of sourdough bread.
