07 October 2008

It just keeps getting better

So here we are. We sit. We smoke. We go get coffee. Once a day there's a meeting, and the poor soul we designated as the "movement officer" shares some vital piece of military information.

Ummm..the duffle bag that was called the A Bag? Now that's the C bag. And the rucksack? That's the new A bag.

All the team leaders and team sergeants nod, make a note of the change (or perhaps just draw a stick-figure unicorn) in our little Rite In The Rain notebooks. The movement officer continues.

Also, on the packing list, it says four pairs of socks in the C Bag. Two of those have been moved to the B Bag.

A hand goes up. Hey, the question is offered, is there going to be any kind of inspection of these bags at any point? Like, is anybody going to count how many socks my Joes have in each one?

The movement officer glances up from his clipboard.

No. Actually, they're not.

Another hand goes up. I know you said the sharps have to go in the belly of the bird, but are we doing to TSA liquid thing?

The movement officer flips pages. Ummm...yep. Little bottles in the carryon.

An officer mutters. We're hand-carrying rifles but we have to bag liquids?

Seriously, people. I am continually amazed we do not all speak German. My Grandpa went to war on a troopship. Today's Army, given that much time to screw around with Soldiers, would disembark the most confused but best-packed troops in history.

A note: There is an exception to the no-sharps, no liquids over three ounces rules, but I still can't believe anybody publicized it with a straight face, so I'm going to let it go unaddressed.

05 October 2008


It's funny, isn't it, how long six or eight hours can be. When you're in school in late May, or driving across the midwest to get to a family get-together, or watching the clock on a Friday afternoon. A thousand years.

And it's equally funny (yet godawful depressing) how fast six or eight hours can fly by when you're comfortable at home and there's a plane ride in the afternoon.

This part, I will point out, is the worst part of this whole process. I don't care who you are, nobody wants to get on the plane at this point - you just want to dive back under the covers with your significant other and hide.