(Please go to the right and click on Dec 18 to see the very beginning of The Adventures of Sergeant Topbunk)
July 4th, 2013 Bagram, Afghanistan. It’s time. Everyone destined to be on the Freedom Bird home that day already changed their Facebook status to, “Leaving on a jetplane” and that makes it totally official. We're going home. So there I was at the passenger terminal starring at the clock and couldn’t believe that I was going to be on the next plane outta there, and the only thing going through my mind was, “What the hell does leaving on a jetplane even mean?“ Like, I know what it MEANS, but jet…AND plane?? It’s redundant and sounds stupid. I can only assume that Elton John wrote that lyric because it flowed well and he didn’t want to think of another syllable or didn’t want to stress the word “plane” like, “…plaaaane” when sung. That would have made more sense. But he took the easy way out by adding a variation of the word “plane” to go in front. That’s just lazy Elton. Take that peniscock out of your mouth and put some effort into it next time.
7 months. I was in Afghanistan for 7 months. 7 months of the same shit. I forgot what “normal” was. I forgot what working less than 75 hours a week was like. I forgot what a holiday was. I forgot what most normal food and beer tasted like. I forgot how to tie shoes that didn’t have laces long enough to wrap around your leg. I forgot how to sleep without jetplane engine noise in the background. I mean planes. Damnit Elton! I forgot how to be proficient at my own job because I was always stuck fixing someone else’s mistakes. I even forgot how to do a load of laundry. But I did do one smart thing. I turned in one last bag of laundry to get cleaned the day before I left Bagram so it will be sitting there waiting for me on a shelf when I go back there again 6 months from now. Wouldn’t that be funny if I actually DID have to go back to Bagram, and so soon? I show up and there’s my clean laundry just sitting there waiting for me on a shelf in the laundry tent. If that actually came true and I WAS back in Bagram 6 months later, seeing those clothes again would probably be the one thing to get me off the brink of suicide. I now know to never overpack for a deployment so I wouldn’t even bother bringing ANY bags next time, and having some clean underwear when I arrived would be heaven. I’d slide them on like new warm fuzzy sleepers on Christmas morning. Mmmm, mmmm, MMMM!
My replacements arrived a week before I left. Seeing them was probably the number 1 thing I was looking forward to since I got to Afghanistan. It was the first time I finally felt like I would be going home soon. My whole mood changed. Instead of being angry and distraught, I was happy and didn’t give a fuck about anything anymore. Before, I was ready to snap every time I heard someone eating chips or open a soda can. Have you ever heard someone open a soda can in a quite empty room? It pierces your ear like a gun shot. It echoes. It reaches a decibel that no other man-made object can reach. And then it’s followed up by a guy constantly reaching into a bag of chips. I don’t know what’s more annoying; the 10 seconds some fuck-wad spends reaching into a bag trying to find the perfect chip, or the crunching of a guy who can’t close his mouth when eating. But you know what? Who cares?! I’m going home! I won’t have to deal with that shit anymore! But sure, I’ll probably still end up flipping out and punching people in the face just for farting, shuffling cards, or having dumb ass conversations on Skype about their dog shitting on a carpet back home, but I’ll do it all with a smile on my face in the style of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho.
I saw my replacements sitting in a big group outside and I anxiously walked over to them. It was weird seeing them because to me they were like a rescue team who weren’t happy to rescue you. I know they probably had a hell of a time getting to Afghanistan and just being there now probably just sunk in on them, but to me, they were all angels I wanted to hug. I walked over to the whole group with a big smile on my face and started talking. I barely talked to anyone my whole 7 months in Afghanistan, but there I was being the Welcome Wagon to a group of guys who just entered the early stages of severe depression. I’m sure I was the only smiling face they’ve seen since arriving at Bagram, but it didn't last long. Throughout most of my time in Bagram, I only had one other roommate in my tiny room. I only had the horror of being in a 4 person room for a short while, and then I got to move to a 5 Star resort where I was able to use the top AND bottom bunk all to myself! Sweet Jesus!! I even had two whole lockers for my things! There was so much space for activities! My head kept spinning from all the activities I could do in there! You wouldn’t find anyone else in the world happier than me to have a 7x4 foot living space all to himself. But every single day I would fear that someone else would move into my room while I was gone, and every day I came home from work I would always have a huge sigh of relief to see that no one did. Me and my roommate purposely kept our sides of the room extra dirty with shit everywhere and on top of our extra bed in hopes that if one person DID eventually move in, that they would choose the other person’s top bunk to sleep in. Well, one week to go, with my replacements finally here…it happened. I just got two more roommates.
Fuck. Here we go again. 4 to a room. The only good thing this time though is that I wasn’t on the top bunk. I was actually told to move out of my room and go into a tent to make room for the new guys. These new guys were only going to be in Afghanistan for 4 months and I was there for 7, so they can suck my left nut. I EARNED that mother fucking room and bottom bunk. I was there long enough to see half the people in my building arrive to Bagram and leave before me. Do you know how depressing that is?? And now they want me to sleep in a fucking TENT my last week?? I was there over a month longer than anyone else. I was in Afghanistan for literally every single season, from Fall to the Summer. The fact that I went that long without ever getting injured or in serious trouble or caught jerking off is nothing short of a miracle, and now they want me to move into a hot ass tent in July?? There aren’t even bathrooms in a tent. You have to get in uniform and walk to a porto potty just to take a piss. I had an actual real toilet near my room where I slept. I didn’t want to change that. It’s bad enough I have to use porto potties for 12 hours a day while at work, but when I get off, I really don’t want to have to deal with any more toilet paper I just lined around the seat in a porto potty being whisked away when a slight breeze enters. It never fails. You try to be all nice and neat by putting toilet paper gently on the seat, and if it’s not the wind from outside, the slight wind your body makes just from sitting down is enough to blow that paper in the toilet bowl and you’re left wondering why your thigh is cold and wet. I’ve been through it a 1000 times. I really need to start bringing in my own personal soft and fluffy toilet seat cover every time I go in a porto potty. Everyone would laugh and make jokes when they see me carrying around a purple flowery toilet seat cover all the time, but deep down they would all be secretly jealous they aren’t man enough to do it themselves.
After seeing my replacements, the next great feeling came the moment after I turned in my gun. You have no idea how much it sucks to carry a large automatic weapon around with you for 7 months straight. It’s not just carrying it, but the responsibility. You can’t lose it. You can’t forget it. Not even for a minute. You can’t accidently shoot a round off. You have to guard it, clean it, and care for it. It’s like carrying around a baby…a baby that can kill you. So handing that gun over was such a relief. I made it through another part of the deployment without fucking up. And now I can give my shoulders a break from not having to lug that thing around anymore. It was so annoying. Carrying a gun around every day in Afghanistan is more annoying than getting behind a family who are about to order at a fast food restaurant and the parents didn’t even ask their kids what they wanted yet even though they’re already standing at the counter. They had 5 minutes in line to figure it out and the kids are going to want the same fucking thing they always get, but no, they will still make you wait. And the worst part is after they order. You get behind that same family at the soda fountain area and all hell is broken loose. There’s straws and lids fucking everywhere and the kids are hitting each soda button while a cascade of Mountain Dew is shooting out everywhere like it’s the god damn Bellagio. From now on, if I ever see a family in line right in front of me, I’m just going to head back home and eat some saltine crackers.
Walking around Afghanistan without a gun is fucking weird. It feels good, but you also feel like you are missing something. And everyone looks at you wondering where the hell your weapon is at. “I don’t have it! I’m going home bitcheeessss!!” After carrying one for 7 months and giving it up, you feel a lot lighter without it too. I felt like going for a run and then go shopping and not having to worry about bumping into someone’s ass with my gun. Because do you know how annoying it is to carry a gun in Afghanistan for 7 months? It’s more annoying than finding Honey Mustard Sauce in your to-go bag for your McNuggets after leaving the drive-thru when you specifically asked for HOT Mustard. McDonald's Hot Mustard sauce is the greatest thing known to man. Why the hell would someone ever choose Honey Mustard over it?! Carrying a gun in Afghanistan every day is more annoying than that douche who would always choose to play as Oddjob in GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Everyone else in the game is the same height, and then there’s a little Asian fucker shooting you in the leg all the time which takes away just as much damage as everyone else. It’s not fair! Half the time you can’t even see him! Why is he even an option?! Fuck!! You know how annoying carrying a gun in Afghanistan is? It’s more annoying than those people that give you gym and work out updates on Facebook every day. You’re going to the gym. Cool. You just got back from the gym. Cool. I can now relax because the nautilus machine didn’t kill you. You just ran 5 miles. Cool. You use to be super fat, and now you’re just pretty fat. Once you stop making posts about it then I’ll finally know you got yourself in shape. Out of shape people need to make gym posts because they just want everyone to know, “Hey, I’m working on it.” Cross-Fit people need to make posts about their work outs because they just want people to know, “Hey, I’m gay, and proud of it!"
You know who doesn’t make posts about going to the gym…people who have actually been in good shape their whole life…and me. Why the hell would I ever go to the gym? I got better things to do. Like, NOT going to the gym. I don’t even care if there are TV’s at the gym. I watch enough SportsCenter at home and only care about CNN if Robin Meade is on. Which reminds me…Robin still hasn’t answered any of my fan-mail. It kinda worries me. I know she’s had to have seen it. I drew so many hearts on that large manila envelope and used up a butt load of stickers on it. I even sprayed some of my good cologne on the letter. A 1987 Brut. Great year. Even every “i” and lowercase “j” was dotted with a heart. But I don’t know. Maybe the portrait I made of her using only toe and fingernail clippings was a bit much. I didn’t even bother cleaning my hands or finger nails the past year and a half just so I’d have enough clippings to mimic her beautiful cascading chocolaty brown hair with my freshly cut brown follicles. But I guess some women just can’t appreciate good art. Ah well. I’m still proud of it. And now every time I leave the bathroom after taking a dump without washing my hands…I will always think of my sweet Robin.
-The End...bitches.
Love,
Sgt.Topbunk
