The Liquor Talking

131 days until turkey season!

Being the lowest-ranking Staff Sergeant on the flight, it meant that I was given the very dregs of the flight for my crew. During my first meeting with my new crew, I estimated that among the 6 of them, they had a combined IQ of perhaps potato peels.

I soon found out that my initial assessment had been far too generous. But, I seemed to have a talent for taking dumb, rebellious airmen and finding the best way to motivate them. Within a few months, I had a crew that could hold their own against any other crew in just about any venue.

So it was that every 8 months or so, the flight chief would announce another crew shakeup and I’d again wind up with the 6 worst airmen on the flight. Heck, I even wound up getting idiots and assholes from other flights. Nevertheless, within a few months, I’d have them whipped into shape and performing their duties without my getting yelled at.

I shouldn’t take all the credit though. Throughout it all, I managed to hang on to a first-rate assistant crew chief, in the form of Tyrone Williams. In all my life, I have never once met someone who could say so much without uttering a word. If one of our ne’rdowells said or did something stupid, Ty could instantly convey the depth and breadth of their folly with but a glance. The airmen divided their time equally between not getting beat up by me and not getting “a look” from Sgt Williams.

As the result of yet another crew shakeup, we found ourselves having to feed and care for “Stork.” His real name escapes me, I’m probably suppressing it, but he was a young man who fit his nickname to a T. He was our crew “nerd.”

What a lot or people didn’t know was that Stork had a bachelor’s degree in Applied Mathematics. The Air Force, in its infinite wisdom decided to make him a cop and send him to the Montana missile field. No doubt, there was a lot of complex, mathematical calculating to be done. He must have done it on his own time.

Anyway, he was shy and when he got excited or nervous would speak in a weird, stammer that almost sounded like another language. For entertainment, the guys would get him all worked up about something and have some sport with his “speaking in tongues.” One of my first standing orders as a crew chief was that Amn Stork was not to use the radio unless everyone else was dead or otherwise incapacitated.

So it was that one glorious spring morning, I learned that our new Ops Officer, Capt Charlene Saunders was coming out with our designated squadron Chaplain, Lt Meerks. Having dealt with neither before, I gathered the crew and briefed them on the upcoming visits. Mainly that no one was to speak to either one unless directly addressed. Lord only knows what our idiots would come up with.

Being the closest site to base, they stopped at my site first. Upon processing on to the site, Capt Saunders disappeared to the back, leaving me alone with the Chaplain. He was a nice enough fellow and we made inconsequential small talk while we waited for Capt Saunders to return.

I looked up and saw Stork standing at the office door. I buzzed him in and seeing the Chaplain, came to attention and muttered something. He was obviously distressed. I asked him what was wrong, to which he would only shake his head. The Chaplain asked him and I thought for a second he would reach critical mass and explode.

Just then, I saw Capt Saunders at the door and buzzed her in. I then demanded (in my “you are in danger” tone) that Stork spill it. Not realizing that Capt Saunders had just entered, he blurted out; “There’s some black chick, pissing in the sink in the utility room!”

As you can guess, Capt Saunders was the “black chick.” Stork had gotten up (he was on the night crew)to use the facilities and get a drink. Having finished his business in the site’s only bathroom, he was going to the kitchen to get a drink. Upon passing the door to the utility room, he noticed that the door was closed and it sounded like the water was running. He opened the door to find Capt Saunders with her pants around her ankles, relieving herself in the sink.

Stork took one look at Capt Saunders and fainted dead away.

I finally revived him with an ammonia capsule from the first aid kit. He spent the next few minutes babbling incoherently, before dashing back to the sleeping quarters. Needless to say, the Captain’s visit was somewhat awkward. It was however blissfully brief, with the Chaplain suggesting they leave to visit another site.

After rolling out the gate, Capt Saunders got out and walked over to the gate phone. “Not a word! Not one ******* word about this to anyone! You understand me, Sergeant?”

I tried. I really, really tried, but by the time they’d arrived at the next site, pretty much the entire missile wing knew of the incident. To my knowledge, Capt Saunders never again visited the missile field when our flight was on duty.

At her going away party, she was presented with a makeshift sink to which a toilet seat had been affixed.

That’s it for today. Have a fantastic Tuesday. Tune in tomorrow for Reader Mail! There’s still time to get your pearls in front of the swine by posting comments about this blog to the FaceBook site about it People Who Love elimtevir.com, or by sending your email(s) to: .