Living in the barracks led to wacky hijinks once in a while. Once at DLI, my roommate returned in state which the British politely and colorfully describe as “tired and emotional”. I gave him water, made sure he slept on his side, and positioned a trash can close to his head in case his stomach suddenly decided it was time to evict its troublesome new tenants. The next day, I discreetly helped him clean up the mess and applied copious pine-scented cleaner to cover up the smell. And most importantly, I never said a word about it to anyone. The next time he went out for the weekend, he assured me he would scrupulously obey all rules and regulations, just like everyone else in the Army.
Another time, the guys in the room below mine decided to have loud parties to the wee hours of the morning most weekends. My roommate at the time had to wake up early to do funeral details on the weekends, so I felt the behavior was out of bounds, all the more so since those barracks had a minimal noise policy. I went down there once and simply said it’s 2 AM. A day or two later, I was woken up by a few First Sergeants who were looking for an underage girl who had gone missing recently. At first, I wondered why such a search would be checking the barracks. Then I remembered that there were a lot of young people at those late-night parties, including some who looked like they were still in high school. Why, a more cynical man might even have suspected that there had been underage drinking!
Alas, the parties continued. So, the next time I went down, I barged in the room and unplugged what I thought was the stereo but turned out to be a lamp. Well, there was some shouting and shoving from him, but when things calmed down, I tried using logic. I said the bar on base closes at midnight, the bars off base close at 1 AM, it’s almost 2 AM now, enough. Well, the host claimed to be friends with the MPs, I suppose to convince me not to call and promised to wrap things up. 45 minutes later, the party was still going full blast, so I called the MPs and said:
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This is not an emergency. The guys in the room below me are having a loud party.
Just flash your lights and siren and they’ll skedaddle.
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Reverse psychology works well on police. The offenders were permanently silenced.
The last major incident happened in December of 2019. In the prior few months, several guys with extra loud anti-mufflers moved in and woke me many times in the morning as I tried to sleep after the night shift. One night after hearing many obnoxiously loud engine noises, I lost my patience and went looking for the offender. When I found them, I informed them of the policy and told them to go to bed. One of them decided to give me the stink eye, so I looked at him and asked rhetorically, “what war were you in?” He let a pathetic whine and shoved me into a car. We grappled for a bit and then I fell.
When I got up, he was about 20 feet away and giving me a death stare. His very stupid friend said his name and after they both left, I was able to track him down from his unit’s roster. Unfortunately, he had recently left the Army and so his unit was unable to punish him. I made a report to the MPs, waited a month, and when I asked what happened, the MP gave me a stack of forms to fill out if I wanted to know the outcome of the investigation. I sensed he knew about my hatred of paperwork and did that to repel me.
I feel compelled to add that if he struggled to overpower a tipsy 5’4 guy, hand-to-hand combat is not the field for him, though I suspect he will end up learning that the hard way from a less merciful opponent. Given his appearance and reaction, I think it’s safe to say his military career was as short as it was undistinguished.
People who want to get violent with me usually go for it, and I got used it a while ago. I got in a fight on the train in Chicago once. When the doors opened, I saw a guy barking like a dog. A smarter man would have gone to another car. I chose the road less travelled. I told him to be quiet to no avail, and after enduring his antics for a few minutes, I got up and took a swing at him. I missed but I did get him into a headlock and sat down. He punched me a few times in the ribs until another passenger put his arm behind his back. Someone called the police and when the train stopped, the doors opened, and I let him go. As soon as I released him, he punched me in the eye and ran away. I ended doing a comedy show while looking like the mayhem guy from AllState.
Anyway, back to the barracks. Well, it got mighty quiet after that night, so another victory. When we were grappling, I was tempted to go berserk, but didn’t because I didn’t want to get yanked off mission or make trouble for my unit. My company had recently chosen the pirate theme I designed for its logo, and I was still in a good mood about that at the time.
The Army Good Conduct Medal is not a big deal for most soldiers, but for me it was. I kept it on my desk as part of my motivational shrine. It was a reminder of all the times I was tempted to punch someone into the fourth dimension and didn’t. The other parts of the shrine were my Eagle Scout medal, a few fortune cookie messages, and a mini Army Bible open to my favorite verse, Psalm 18:37, which reads:
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I pursue my enemies and I catch them; I do not stop until I destroy them.
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