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July 17, 2002
you're not safe in this house
On my way back in the main gate, the officer in the guardhouse motioned for me to come over. He had an oddly serious expression, considering I'd seen nothing the whole time I was outside.
"Did you know," he observed offhandedly, "that no one told the guys in the guard towers that you were going out to fix the light?"
No doubt the notification went to Alabama, and would work its way back to Saudi in a few weeks. I shrugged.
"Good thing they radioed in to confirm."
"Sh'yeah," I laughed, "like the Iraqis would send one guy in broad daylight to infiltrate the base with a shiny silver ladder."
The officer failed to see the humor in this. That's when I realized he hadn't actually finished that last sentence.
"Radioed in to confirm. . .?" I prompted.
"Before opening fire."
The death glare was still useless. I contented myself with saying, "I really fucking hate you people."
He raised an eyebrow. I frowned, then remembered after about two minutes to add "sir" at the end of that sentence. And didn't.
"Have you ever considered," he said, "military, not a good career choice for you?"
"No. Ya think?"
Finally he laughed. Then he most certainly did not reach into a cooler and hand me a beer. For a start, the entire country was one big, dry county. For another, this was the main gate guardhouse. That would be insane. Which is why he motioned for me to stay out of sight while I was drinking it.
Posted by Aaron at July 17, 2002 07:12 AM
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