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| Stacks and stacks of 'em. |
I had begun that morning in Basic Training by being stupid, eating a full, greasy breakfast before running a mile in the hot sun. Now, I was at the head of the chow line, determined to eat lightly. I figured that if I was first, I could take my time and maybe keep my meal down this time.
My nemesis, Drill Sergeant Diaz, picked me out immediately. He came over and looked straight into my eyes.
"I need me a college boy, Marder.. You one a them?" he drawled..
Like the fool I was, I answered, "Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"Then, when y'all are finished filling your face, report to the Mess Sergeant."
"Yes, Drill Sergeant," I repeated. Damn!
The mess hall was a brightly lit, air conditioned building. Just breathing the cold air was a pleasure. You stood in line at attention, two inches from the guy in front of you and got your food on plastic compartmentalized trays.But, if you were foolish enough to take more than you could eat, a Drill Sergeant made sure you finished every last bite... not a pleasant dining experience. Once done, you dumped your tray on a stack of empties and double timed the entire mile back to the barracks.
When I made to leave,, Drill Sergeant Diaz put out his arm to stop me."Trooper, where the hell do you think y'all are going? You got a job to do."
He steered me to the kitchen door
." Report to the Mess Sergeant on the double."
Inside the kitchen were dozens of guys just like me, dressed in new green fatigues. Some were peeling potatoes, some tending large steaming kettles, most walking around with stringy mops,washing the
red brick floor. Within seconds, a huge black soldier in a spotless white uniform with stripes on his collar came over to me.
"Who the hell are you, and what ARE you doing in MY kitchen?" he boomed.
I couldn't get the words out fast enough.
"Private Marder reports for duty, Sergeant."
" College boy, you are MINE for the rest of today."
I expected him to have some kind of clerical job for me.
"Get your smart college boy self over to the closet, grab a mop and bucket and start cleaning up my kitchen."
So this was KP. And I was in a world of hurt.
Cursing under my breath, I got the required mop, soaked it in a soapy bucket, and started to work. Back and forth, up one aisle, down the next. For what seemed like forever, I scrubbed the already shining floor. The next time I looked at the clock on the wall, it was only an hour later. As soon as I stopped mopping, a private dressed in cooks' whites came over.
"You left mop strings on my floor", he demanded.
"Get down on your hands and knees and get up every one a those strings."
It would have been futile to argue that my mop was falling apart. Seemed like part of some stupid game.
The next few hours crawled by. I mopped and mopped. Dinner came and we actually got a 20 minute break to eat. Incredibly,there was no chow line, no Drill Sergeants to scream at us, just a peaceful dinner. Maybe things were picking up. I ate my dinner, then headed back to the kitchen.
But as hard as I looked for my faithful mop, it was nowhere to be found. Now what ?
Every lowly KP had a mop and was going through the motions of cleaning the floor.
I was caught with nothing to do. One of the cooks motioned to me and led me
outside on the loading dock.
"Y'all get a brush and hose. I'm gonna take a break, while you and that other dude over
there gonna swamp out those dumpsters. Now, where the hell did that Collins go?"
Better and better. It was now 5:00, the fierce Missouri sun was still beating down and this joker wanted me to climb into an empty, filthy dumpster and clean out grease and scum that had been left behind. Reluctantly I grabbed a hose and started spraying into the nearest dumpster.
"Hey!" I heard from inside the big metal container..
"I'm in here man, this here is my dumpster. That one's yours."
I looked inside and saw I short, freckled kid with "Collins "on his fatigue shirt and a beet red sunburned face sitting on a metal milk crate at the bottom.
This dumpster had been washed clean, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. Looking around, I saw that the cook had disappeared. Collins patiently explained to me that we had hit the jackpot.
"All he cares about is if we clean the dumpsters. How many times doesn't matter, cause he can come out and keeping checking on us. I got this here dumpster clean, so I guess now I'll help you with yours."
As we began to spray, the second dumpster ,Collins started whistling.
"What could you be so happy about ?" I asked.
"We're gonna kill the rest of the day. This dumpster's still smelly , but cool. And we got water, man, water!"
To illustrate he sprayed himself, and grinned like a fool.
"We got it made!," he crowed, soaking me as well.
For the next hour, Collins and I scrubbed out the second dumpster. Like clockwork, the cook came out for a smoke, quickly glanced at our work and went back inside.
We jabbered back and forth,, and invented our version o f the new hit Otis Reading song.
At the top of our voices we sang:
"Sittin' by the mess hall bay
Watchin'; the dumpsters roll away"
Sittin' by the mess hall bay,
Wastin' time..."
Even though we worked as slowly as we could, the job was finally done.
The cook came out one final time and told us to get back inside.
The fun was over, and there still a few hour left.
The" smoker cook", who turned out to be lowly E-2 private, was actually curious about what my MOS, or training was going to be.
When I admitted to him that I was going to be a cook, he actually smiled.
"OK, Cookie, I gotta' nother job for you and your buddy."
We followed him to a storeroom where there were dozens wooden pallets stacked with bags of potatoes and onions. A vegetable Fort Knox !
"Take all the time you need, but get them sacks off them pallets and onto the shelves on the wall,"he told us.
Turned out, each sack was about 50 pounds . Working together, we dragged them across the floor and heaved them onto the shelves.
Red faced and streaming sweat, we worked for about an hour and then stopped for a break.
Looking at me carefully, Collins said, "You're one them college boys, ain't you?
What the hell? "Ok, I said, so what?" I challenged.
"Shouldn't you still be in class 'stead of being in the Army?"
It was as if a whole pallet of potatoes had hit me at once..
I was supposed to be walking across a stage in DeKalb today, accepting my degree.
"I graduated today...I mean I should have...oh, no."
That's why the Drill Sergeant was looking for me. He knew and he put me on KP.
"Man, that really sucks. I'm sorry," Collins whispered
"Freakin' Army," we both said., lifting yet another potato sack.
Funny story "Cookie"
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