When we last took a brief break from our continuing adventures of one man’s hilarious journey through the trials and tribulations of a stint in the United States Navy, I was raising my hand and taking an oath on only a couple of hours sleep. Perhaps that was my first mistake. Making a four year commitment where the end result may have been getting my ass shot at on practically no sleep; fueled only by gas station coffee and a sandwich that had some weird beta test version of Miracle Whip on it.
Alas, we fast forward to about a month or so later. The day had arrived where I was to be picked up by Rat Bastard and taken to the MEPS station. My parents dropped me off at the recruiting center about thirty miles away from the house and I get into Rat Bastard’s car for what I presume is going to be another ride to the hotel where they house all of the people getting processed in the next morning. However, Rat Bastard apparently had other scores to make to meet his quota. There would be a slight change in plans.
Much to my surprise, Rat Bastard was not going to be joining me on the drive to the MEPS again. He had more sheep to go herd up. Instead, I was dropped off at the house of another person that was leaving for the Navy that lived relatively close to the recruiting station. Which meant I got to sit with a family of complete strangers as they bared witness to one of the miracles of life. The birth of a litter of puppies from one of the dogs that they owned. I can only make educated guesses that they owned more than one dog, no direct affirmations.
First of all, the trailer that the brood lived in had that smell like the inside of a bowling ball’s thumbhole. Perhaps it was the dog giving birth. Judging by the décor of the domicile, I can imagine that the odor that was seeping through my nasal passages had been there long before Biscuit’s water broke. So I get to have an internal debate with myself over the odor of this house and the potentiality of if it will latch itself to any articles of clothing I am wearing, much like the “B.O.” episode of Seinfeld.
So there I am, mulling over whether I have done the right thing with this life changing decision, and I am staring right at people adding more newspaper under a dog so the afterbirth doesn’t soak through the carpet. You’d think at that point I would have walked right out of the trailer and caught the first payphone to have my family pick me up. However, I was full of piss, vinegar and I had at the time signed what I thought was a legally binding contract. I honestly thought the police would come and get me if I didn’t go to the processing station. Serious doubts abounding here. Rat Bastard had long since made himself a ghost, leaving me to be dropped off at the hotel by complete strangers. You’d think I would have reread the fine print of my contract. However, once the family designated that it was time to drop I and one of their own off at the hotel, I was more consumed by the words “free buffet” than anything else.
You know, I should have just stayed in the car and reread the contract. Then again, I wouldn’t have these wonderful little stories to amuse you all with. Next time, I’ll go more into the brief bit of time at the hotel and the return to the processing station. Thank you all for reading and if you like, please be sure to spread this stuff around on Facebook and Twitter and the like. See you next time!