The Liquor Talking

<

Shortly after putting on my fourth stripe, I was reassigned back to the missile field at Malmstrom (I loathed base security) and was given my own crew of nitwits to chief. Instead of taking over an existing crew, the flight chief (a Master Sergeant with three weeks to go to retirement) thought it would be amusing to give a new Staff Sergeant the very dregs of the flight.

I wound up in charge of 6 guys who had either disciplinary problems, contempt for authority and or the IQ of summer sausage. I spent a lot of my first few tours doing what used to be called "wall to wall" counseling. I hated writing people up. My way was better and as long as I stopped short of rendering anyone unfit for duty, the higher-ups never really asked the source of the assorted black eyes, contusions and abrasions my troops started sporting. All they really cared about was that my guys suddenly stopped acting like a bunch of knuckleheads. While still far from stellar troops, they quickly became guys you could count on in a pinch.

Since they were all single, lived in the dorms and had to endure chow hall food, my wife felt sorry for them and insisted that I have them out to house for a home-cooked meal every so often. We did lot of barbeques, birthday parties and every holiday dinner would find their feet under my table. After food, we would almost always imbibe and while NCOs weren't supposed to fraternize with their subordinates, I found this tended to make us a closer-knit group and figured it was just better for the mission.

One hard and fast rule though was that if you drank, even one beer, even one shot of liquor, even a glass of wine, you had to have a designated driver (who had not imbibed) or spend the night on the floor of our living room. There was only one time this was challenged.

We'll call him "Bobby." I'd had the crew for about a year now and Bobby was a relatively new addition. He was a pretty good sized kid and had a pretty big ego to go with it. He always managed to stop just short of my having to wail on his ass, which was good because it would have been work.

Anyway, we were having a barbeque to celebrate Saint Swithens Day (it occurred at somewhat frequent, but random intervals) who we were told was the Patron Saint of Ambiguity. It was a good excuse to get rip-roaring drunk in any case. When Bobby made to leave, intercepted him and demanded his keys. He insisted that he was okay to drive, but at the top of my list of Things To Avoid was standing tall before the man, hungover and trying to explain why a troop of mine was busted DUI on his way home from my house. I had to insist and Bobby made it clear that we were gonna throw hands over it.

Knowing I had but one shot to knock his big, dumb ass out, I held my hand out to the side and said "Okay then, look at my thumb." He looked and I hit him right between the eyes. Fortunately for me, he fell over backwards and was out cold. I however split a knuckle on his forehead.

Turns out I had to stand tall before the man anyway. Instead of being at my house getting drunk, Bobby was supposed to be pulling CQ duty in the dorm that night. The next morning, my phone rang and I was ordered to produce Airman numbskull by noon that day. I got cleaned up, put on my service dress uniform and took Bobby to his dorm to do the same. By 0900, we were on the carpet, in front of our commander, listening to him raise hell about dereliction of duty and how he should courts martial both of us.

Not a great addition to a hangover to be for sure. Just as his tirade reached a creshendo, he noticed Bobby's two black eyes and an substantial goose egg centered above his nose. He asked Bobby what happened and much to my horror, Bobby told him, to include the part about looking at my thumb.

Now, and NCO striking an airman is a big-time no-no and I figured my career was over. Our commander leaned back in his chair and said "Let's see if I have this right. You're at Sergeant Tevir's house, drunk and he tried to prevent you from driving drunk." We both render a "yessir." He continues, "But you want to drive drunk anyway and Sergeant Tevir hit you, knocking you out, thereby preventing you from driving drunk as you had intended?" Bobby gives a "yessir." The commander then asks, "Well, did you learn anything?"

"Yessir," came Bobby's reply, "Never look at Sergeant Tevir's thumb."

I swear, I thought the commander was gonna pull a muscle, trying not to laugh. Had I not had a 4-alarm hangover going on, I know I would have. He stared at us for a full 30 seconds, then managed to say "Dismissed." As the door closed behind us, I could here our commander laughing his ass off. Nothing more came of the incident or of Bobby's ditching CQ duties, but for months after, whenever I encountered the commander, he would ask if I'd showed anyone my thumb lately.

In other news, it looks like NASA’s new mission no longer involves space and space exploration. NASA Chief Charles Bolden said in a recent interview that his “foremost” mission as the head of America’s space exploration agency is to improve relations with the Muslim world.

Well, I guess that makes sense in a completely insane and totally disconnected from reality kind of way. I mean what’s next? How’s about you make the IRS’s top priority protection of the Amazon rain forest?

Up to now, I thought Obama was just a misguided fool, but now I have to question if the leader of our nation has both oars in the water. NASA’s mission is now to improve relations with the Muslim world? I wish I could come up with this kind of stuff.

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

Have a great Tuesday. I’m off tomorrow to make up for working today, so tomorrow’s blog will probably be delayed.