Taking a few minutes

Today my wife and I took our kids to one of the traveling Vietnam walls. Before we took the kids out there, we tried to impart a little history. We are vets, our family has many veterans, police officers, fire fighters, EMT's, and teachers. It has inspired my own civil service, and makes me appreciate the people around me. I may come off angry, annoyed and sometimes even hateful. At times, I am all of those and more. It is a part of life. It happens. I take my stress out here, "using my words", as my mother calls it. 

This day I celebrate our heroes, and the freedoms they have protected so I can come to this website and rant. I had the opportunity to "earn" an education. I can start a business selling evil greeting cards. I can practice my belief system. For these rights to be protected, and for them to endure, we must take time to pay homage to the people who have gone before us to ensure these rights continue.

So, take this time with me and give thanks, to the teachers who do not get paid near enough, the firefighters, EMT's, and police officers who often find us on the worst day of our lives and have sworn to protect us, and the volunteer military, Marines, Navy, Army, Air Force, Coast Guard and National Guard.

Sarcasm should have been home by now ~ Conclusion

At 7 AM, the ship was moored, and I watched my ride land in all of it's glory. It whisked me off to my ship and we went on about our days, and the birds of paradise flew out my nose. That is what *should  have happened, and would have happened to any one else.

[*Should: Comes with an evil laugh from the universe and a twenty thousand foot tall neon sign blinking a bright red "BLESSED"]

As it happened, I stood on the deck of the ferry and watched the helicopter land and take off as the rest of the fleet pulled in ahead of us. When we finally docked, I went to the French command vessel and they did not know how I was getting home. That was my ships problem, not theirs, even after I explained that their decision that all of the mine sweepers should dock first cost me my ride. Not their problem. So, after going to some of the larger ships I found myself back with Swedes, trying to figure out a way back. They pulled out their liberty van from their storage, and then hired a polish cab driver to drive me the six hours to Gdan`sk.

Cab drivers around the world are some of the most awesome people I have ever had the opportunity to meet. Knowing a good cabby in a foreign country gets you to some of the best places you never knew were there. Being nice to cab drivers is important. Tipping well (usually included and be careful for those who rip you off with a smile), and giving them additional business usually gets you the inside scoop. Normally I pick the elderly cab drivers. they are honest and love to talk about their home towns. This particular cabby was not exactly made of the same stuff as other cab drivers.

The first hour or so was fairly normal, with a lovely ferry ride along the way. Then, the suck happened. I was wearing my coveralls with my name, rank, and military affiliation on them. I was also wearing my command ball cap. As we are driving on a four lane highway, people are passing us every now and then, and looking into the window, and promptly throwing stuff at the van. There are some people in Poland who do not care for the US. It is not like we attacked them or something. However, we did liberate the shit out of them in WW2. Guess helping to stop the extermination of millions pisses people off. So, a couple of hours in, needing to wash the rotten vegetables and other stuff off of the van, needing gas and few other things, we pulled over. I went to the restroom, and removed the patches from my uniform. Then, I traded one of my command ball caps for a gas station cover, and went back to the now clean van. We jumped in, and proceeded on our way to Gdan'sk. Then, the cabby offered me a Coke.

I took the dirt covered can. By dirt covered, I mean the gas station we stopped at must be the only gas station in the world that grows its own Coke. Seriously, there was so much dirt it took awhile to get it to a point where I felt comfortable drinking it. I am not afraid of germs. I grew up on a ranch. I spent many summers cleaning lodges and chicken coops. I have drank from rivers with full knowledge that at some point an animal used the bathroom in it, or died in it. But, dirt from a gas station, in a foreign country, on something I am intending to ingest is where I draw the line, especially since I know some of the chemicals used in World War 2. So, after cleaning and finishing the soda, we are 3 hours into the drive, when I notice the driver is dozing off. Seriously, like major full on sleeping hits. Dude is jerking upright, then dozing off again. He has had three of the drinks and they are not helping, so I try to have a conversation. I am not conversational in Polish. I am not even conversational in English on most days. But, we muddled through........until he pulled over, handed me the map and got out.

And, there I was, driving in Poland, with nothing but a map (in Polish), a sleeping driver (also in Polish), and praying to god (in English) that I wasn't pulled over (by the Polish). Three very tense hours went by, and, finally, I arrived at the edge of the Gdan'sk city limits. I pulled over in front of the sign, nudged the driver awake, and pointed at the sign. The driver gave me a thumbs up, and started to get comfortable again to go back to sleep. I nudged him again, handed him the map, said "Port!", and got out. We swapped places reluctantly, and went to the local naval base. Only after trading another one of my command ball caps, did we learn the ship was not there. We bounced around for a while, traded this and that for information, and finally.....Finally......ended up back at the ship. MY ship. I did not tip the driver. However, I did give him one command ball-cap, my gas station hat, and a bag of Swedish candy cars. I was temporarily detained at the bottom of the pier while a first class petty officer, who had no idea who I was, lectured me on being late to a working party, being out of uniform, and why hadn't I shaved recently, when someone on the working party finally recognized me, and stopped the flow of trash long enough to let me on.

On the quarterdeck, a new lieutenant was so happy to see the strange, unshaven, sloppy dressed person showing a dead sailors ID that he pulled his gun on me (again post 9-11 common sense here). He commanded me to slowly set my rucksack down, and put my hands on the bulk head. Before he was able to call a security alert, the hatch opened, and there was my friend Kilo Papa, who was on watch as well. Inside the hatch was my chain of command, the supply department chain, and a few others all talking with the Captain and his Executive Officer about where the missing sailor was. Kilo Papa leaned his head in shouted that I was there. I grabbed my stuff, and ran inside before the lieutenant could decide whether or not to shoot me.

And that, my friends, is how I died. Thank you for reading this far. I know it was a long time to get here, but we made it. I had to work, as usual, the next day. I happened to have spare patches for my coveralls, and luckily no one contacted my next of kin to alert them to my death. There were a few rumors about possibly getting Kilo Papa to do it, but thankfully, it didn't come to that.

Now, for the first Evil Greeting Card this week.

Cover:

If you only knew...

Inside:

How many times I have let you walk around with your fly down. 

Sarcasm Dies ~ Episode 3

I know my sea bag was in a trash bag. It was in a trash bag sitting on my rack in an empty, clean berthing. Now, it wasn't there. Gone, with my passport, travelers checks, civilian clothes and all of my clean coveralls, underwear and socks. It was a bad moment. Luckily I could brush my teeth, and I had soap. Shaving was out, unless I wanted to use my Leathermen multi-tool (not going to happen). Upon asking about my bag I was told there was a more important issue on the Swedish ship, they were sending a Helicopter to pick me up shortly, and I should* gather my things and get dressed.

[*Should: Indicates a strong dislike, for the rest of my life, for Estonia, and the people of that ship. A long line of profanities is running through my head. I will spare you that.]

 The emergency on the Swedish ship wasn't a huge issue. It took a few minutes to figure out and resolve. My room was awesome. Had to take an emergency escape test. Putting on the cold weather suit like they have on "The Deadliest Catch" and getting to the rafts was fun, if by fun you mean figuring out if the ship goes down you will survive. The food was better and the crew was awesome. Slept in, had a hardy breakfast, and went to talk with the days plans. He had already prepared the schedule for resolving the remaining ships issues, and had arranged a pair of spare coveralls and some assisted washing time for the clothes I had left. He also explained the Estonians thought my bag was trash. 

I bounced around on day three, and when I finished getting the remaining ships on the same page, I returned to make plans to get back home. The Captain explained that I would not be going home today because there was going to be some really rough water that evening, and he didn't want to risk his crews lives or mine just to do a small boat to Helo transfer. And besides, they had beer. That night we had a crew meeting (in Swedish), a moment of silence (in Swedish), a prayer (in Swedish), and then dinner. I talked with some of the crew and asked about how they liked their jobs and other social questions. It was a polite dinner.

The next day, during breakfast, the Comms Officer and I discussed the fact that NATO had declared me dead. I was part of the crew list from the night before and the small boat that was supposed to have been carrying me had overturned, all hands lost. A little bit flabbergasted, he explained they would be in site of the coast line of Poland tomorrow, and I could send an email to my ship to let them know I was still alive.

 [Since this happened, I have been looking for the names of the sailors lost at sea. I have not found them yet, and though I am glad I was not one of them, those lost souls are still some ones child, parent or sibling. They need their moment here as well. Fair seas and following winds]

 I spent day four helping inventory comms gear in the huge containers they kept in the areas that would have normally been parking for cars riding the ferry. Day five, we connected a large suction cup to the window, then to a cell phone then to a laptop, connected to an email server and..... damn you Outlook. I could not remember what any of the email address' were on the ship. I knew an HF frequency to get in contact with them but the Swedish vessel did not have enough antennas to support that. So, I guessed and sent an email to 25 recipients that I hoped would receive it. Later that day we checked the email for any responses, and we had received one email. They were glad to hear I was alive and they would have a helicopter waiting for me at 7:30, shortly after we were supposed to pull in. Finally, I had a ride home.

One more segment of this story and it's all over. 

However, it is Friday which means its Evil Greeting card day!!!!!!
Today's card is for motivation... Well, that is what I call it. 

Front

If at first you don't succeed....

 Inside

You had one job...ONE JOB....just WOW

Sarcasm goes on a fieldtrip! ~ Episode 2

When we ended last time, I was preparing to embark on a boat ride to the docks at Swinoujscie Poland. If you have ever been to Europe in March, you know that it's cold and miserable. The Baltic Sea, especially during this time, is choppy. Add a tropical storm south of that, and you have rough, cold ocean water that doesn't give you a lot of time to recover should something unfortunate happen.

Knowing this, four British sailors and myself climbed into a small boat, and made the hour and a half long trip to the pier where the French minesweeper was waiting for me to arrive. Or, at least they *should have been waiting for me. However, what they were not expecting was a small boat with five unarmed men in black approaching with no notice. They greeted us with the traditional reaction to such an approach: automatic rifles and french profanities. With all the other mine sweepers parked on the pier, we kept our distance, and I was dropped off a mile away from the French ship.

[*Should: Defined as DO NOT APPROACH OR WE WILL SHOOT THE MERDE OUT OF YOU!!!]

This was post 9-11. We should have used some common sense, but the water was really, really rough and even the saltiest sailor would have been feeling ill. I walked down the pier looking like an aquatic hobo. The Brits decided my Sea bag (notice the name says SEA) was not water tight enough for the trip, so they threw it in a trash bag. So, there I was, in a Dry suit, with a trash bag in one hand, and a rucksack in the other. I approached the French ship and showed them my credentials. They asked me to wait. Forty five minutes later several sailors approached. This turned out to be the Captain and his command officers, and the mine sweeper fleet departed. It was late on the first day when I received a technical manual and a rack. Both of which I dove into. I was a little tired. Small boats and rough water take a lot out of you.

This is a conventional rack. When a sailor says they are hitting the rack, this is what they mean. Looks all warm and cozy!

The next day, it begins: the problem on the french ship was a simple fix and required a little training on window/day/night frequencies. In a few minutes, their system was up and messaging the only other ship in the fleet with a working system. I had breakfast (they offered goat curd and... something, but I passed in favor of bananas and biscuits for my stomach), then, it was back on a different helicopter over to what **should have been the base location for hopping back and forth from ship to ship. The Estonian mine sweeper gave me my own room. I quickly put my trash bag enclosed sea bag in my berthing, brushed my teeth, and went to go troubleshoot the Estonian system.

[In post soviet USSR, **should is defined as: We're going to fuck you over, but you don't know it yet.]

 Moments later, the Estonian ship is communicating with no issue. They shuttle me to another ship, where the system was installed in the engine room, where the Windows antiquity-based system promptly over-heated and died. I pulled the equipment, moved the cable, and jumped from that ship to the supply ship (a converted car ferry from Iceland commanded by the Swedish). I obtained replacement parts, and hopped back to the broken ship, then off to another ship, and another. At this point, half the fleet is up and running. It's getting close to dinner time, and the multiple helicopters that have been bouncing me all over were going to call it for the night to do some real mine operations, (I had found out from a group from Germany they were all using me to complete some of their qualifications for the pick up and delivery of personnel), so they promptly dropped me off back at the Estonian ship. At my berthing, I went to get a shower and change. My sea bag was gone.

And here ends Episode 2. I know, I know, I am not dead yet. 

It's coming. As I said in Episode 1, it is a long story.

Sarcasm goes on a field trip! ~ Episode 1

It's called a blessed life, or at least our Mom, She who must not be named, says it is. As a result, I find myself on many little "Adventures". Some of which were actually life threatening. Others actually killed me for a few days. Well, at least on paper I was dead. 

We were working through a NATO Exercise in the Baltic Sea. Our main job was overseeing the preparedness and then tallying the results of the events. Kind of dull, unless you're me. I fix problems. On this particular exercise we received a message from a French mine sweeper who was having some issues with one of their communication systems. My Department then brought the message directly to me and stated he was happy I had volunteered for the job, and that myself and another technician (they didn't often let me have tools, for good reason obviously), were going to depart shortly and *should be back in a couple of days.

[*Should: In this case should was defined as the following - I have no idea how long you will be gone, what you will be doing, or where you are going, but I feel you have trained enough other people that we find you easy to replace. Enjoy your trip.]

I packed for a week, and went to get the technician from the Electrical Technicians shop. I was met by one of my favorite people (the division senior chief for the ET shop) and my best friend (to be called Kilo Papa from here on out). I explained to Kilo Papa what was going on and then turned to Senior, who shook my hand with the following statement, "We're a little busy with maintenance here in the shop, so you're on your own, but this **should be a minor problem from the sound of it."

[**Should defined here as: This is a Comms issue. We don't have time for this nonsense, but you are their golden-boy/man-whore and don't have choice. Don't die, but you're on your own. ]

I retrieved my bags, and went to the flight deck to wait for my ride. This included putting on a dry dive suit, pre-flight safety checks, helmet, comm check, and watching a text book landing. If by textbook you mean a small grasshopper looking helicopter ignoring the crew on the deck trying to land it, then almost hitting antenna's, landing, then rushing me out to the helicopter, then taking off again without following the ground crews instructions, you got it right. This trip was supposed to take me directly to Swinoujscie Poland. However, the pilot informs me that he is going on liberty in Gdynia Poland so instead will be dropping me on a British mine sweeper, and they ***should be expecting me.

[***Should: No, no, they are not expecting me. In fact, I will be dropped on the back of the mine sweeper in rough, freezing cold waters, with only the notice of, "Hey, we got this Yank who needs to go to Swinoujscie. Drop him off will ya? Cheers!"]

At this point I get the feeling deep in the back of my head that says this trip is about to be "Blessed" (capital B intended). As we approach the British mine sweeper they push a winch out the door, and connect a small orange under the arm winch restraint.

This goes across your back and under your arms

The instructions I get are that all I have to do is just hold my arms and legs straight and I will not spin to much. This was bullshit. The freezing wind and rain had me swirling around like a faulty YoYo. The scary part was when the back end of the mine sweeper passed in front of me going down, and then the helicopter swung me over the ship so it picked me up on it's way back up. I quickly untangle myself and wait for my luggage to be dropped on the back of the boat as well. I grab my sea bag and go to find an entry point. One opens in front of me telling me to get inside.

The crew is great. However, they are the bad guys in the exercise, which means in four hours we will be taking a rubber inflatable boat for a ride. I get a whole tour of the boat, some really good food, brush my teeth and move my toiletry bag into the ruck sack, then get my dry suit back on again.

This ends Episode 1!
 It's a long story....Tune in for more adventures...

Oh fuck it, show up to watch me die, I got better though.