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July 17, 2002
The Vocabulary Lesson (II)
I should probably explain some of the terms and concepts mentioned elsewhere on the page.
MRE supposedly stands for Meal, Ready to Eat. A number of other possible explanations exist. The best ones had packages of dehydrated peaches, which in theory could be placed in a dish of water and would expand into something almost, but not totally unlike, peaches. Since we were in the middle of the fucking desert, I never had an opportunity to see if this was true.
Seabees occupy a unique position in the military. Part of the Navy, they're a land-based force who do construction work for the Marines. This is because. . . well, have you ever talked to any of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children? There's a reason their equipment is at the level of an instant camera, just aim and shoot.
This often caused problems procuring materials, which leads to our next vocabulary word, cumshaw. This is best illustrated with a brief dialog:
Seabees: We need concrete.
Marines: You're not in our budget. Talk to the Navy.
Seabees: We need concrete.
Navy: If it's for a Corps project, talk to them.
Seabees: Do you guys have any concrete?
Air Force base guard: Yeah. Why?
Seabees: Merely engaging in conversation, fellow soldier! Say, isn't that Saddam Hussein over there?
Air Force base guard: What? Where? (runs off)
Seabees: All too easy. Hey, they got generators!
Mind you, this did sometimes lead to awkward situations.
Marines: Wow, you guys do good work. But how do you always end up with more material at the end of a project than when you started?
Seabees: . . . the little baby Jesus.
Remember, if the material belongs to the military, and you're in the military, how is that theft? Besides, if they really wanted the stuff, they'd use a higher-gauge wire in the fences.
There are some other weird words and concepts that other services use, like "chain of command", "regulation haircut", "regulation sunglasses", and "flagrant disregard for a superior officer", but I never learned what any of those meant.
Typical Monday at base:
Chief: Okay, Hawkins. I need you to do preventative maintenance on all the bunkers. It's a 16-hour job for a two-man crew, but we're short-handed, so you'll have to do it alone. I don't want to see your ass back in here until Friday.
Me: Dude, that'll take like two hours, tops. I'll be back before lunch.
Chief: Perhaps I was unclear. Your ass, back here, until Friday, not see.
Me: . . . I might have to work through the weekend too, chief
Chief: In that case, make it next Wednesday.
Note to visitors from af.mil: Eheh. I'm kidding. I also state for the record that I have no idea where any shipments of copper pipe, rebar, concrete, electrical generators or Christmas turkeys which may have gone missing during Operations Desert Shield or Desert Storm might have ended up. We loved you guys. Really. Especially when you managed to read the maps right, and actually bombed the enemy.
Posted by Aaron at July 17, 2002 01:17 PM
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