TCNI II - An Air Force Tale

(Per a suggestion from Megan Scoppa I will piece together an Air Force tale for the second entry in this month’s blogging adventure.)

Once a upon a time I was in the military - the United States Air Force to be exact.

I joined the Air Force (AF) in November of 2001 when I was 17 years old - yes, my Dad had to sign for me. I spent four years in the AF, from August of 2002 to August of 2006. Basic training was at Lackland AF Base, San Antonio, Texas. My technical school was at Shepard AF Base, Wichita Falls, Texas. My first and last base I was stationed at was Seymour Johnson AF Base, Goldsboro, NC - not by choice mind you, I applied to be first stationed in England, Italy, or Germany (guess the Universe had different plans). I spent my entire enlistment as a weapons troop on F-15E Strike Eagles. I loaded bombs, missiles, countermeasures, and ammo (into the 20mm gun on board) on this jet. Along with loading the jets, weapons troops also maintained the weapons components on the jets; bomb releasing units, missile launchers, pylons, the gun system, etcetera and so forth.

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I was assigned to the same squadron for 3.5 years while a weapons troop at Shady J (Seymour Johnson’s nickname). From the first day of technical school, which was after basic training, I knew the military wasn’t my cup of tea, and I would not be reenlisting. I also made this extremely clear to all those who asked if I would be “reuping” for another term. I’m now going to tell you the tale of what happens when you leave Shady J for the last time - whether it is because you are getting out of the AF, or if it because you are leaving to be stationed elsewhere.

It was a hot muggy June night in Coastal Plains of North Carolina.

I was on swing shift (2nd shift / 1500-2300).

It was nearing the 2300 hour mark, and we were gathering our tools for the night to turn back into the tool area. It was a clear night where every star could be seen above the fleet of aircraft sleeping on the flightline. I was as giddy as a school child who was sitting next to their crush on the school bus. I was giddy, because it was my last night of this horrid shit. I was finally finished with the AF - I had survived. When you’re getting out of the AF or leaving a duty station, it’s AF tradition to be treated like absolute shit your last night/day in. It’s the other airman’s way of saying, “Hey, we love you, we’re gonna miss you, and good luck.”

I was left with all the tools to check in. Usually we all check in our own tools, but it being my last night, they left them all in the truck for me to carry inside and turn in. I did so reluctantly. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t want to get out of there so terribly bad. We airman do some pretty nasty stuff when someone departs from the squadron, and I knew it was coming. My senses were a bit heightened, but I also knew there was nothing I could do about it, and knew it was a rite one must pass through as well.

As I placed both feet on the hanger floor at the bottom of the stairs from the lockers, where we kept our personal items, they hit me from both sides.

Two of my fellow airman tackled me to the ground.

I was then hog tied with zip ties.  

I was taken outside and thrown into a small pit about a foot deep, four feet long, and two feet wide.

Upon me was poured curdled milk… rotten relish… molded leftovers… and whatever else they cooked up for my departure.

They then let me soak for a bit as I squirmed trying to get free.

They did under estimate my long hair, and as I slung it around it doused them in the mess as well.

Oh, I should have mentioned that this hole was directly in front of a fire hydrant.

After my soaking in the mess the fire hydrant was then released upon me.

It. Was. Cold.

I was then pulled from the pit, and cut loose.

We all had a good laugh - especially me.

The military has a lot of traditions - a lot. Every branch, every different “career field”, every different base, every different squadron has their own traditions. Traditions can be good and/or bad. They can be bad for the obvious reasons. They can stifle growth. Traditions can mask underlying problems. They can keep advancement from occurring. Traditions can be bad in a lot of ways - this is true. Traditions can also be good in a few way as well - they can foster a sense of belonging, they can give humans a taste of a past they knew not, and they can be fun. The rite of passage to which I went through when leaving Shady J was harmless, and it showed that the other airman I served with actually cared for me. You see, there were those very few airman who didn’t get this treatment, and those were the ones which no one cared to see go. It showed that they cared in the sick twisted way of tying you up, dumping rotten food all over you, and then rinsing you off in the fire hydrant pit.

The AF wasn’t my cup of tea - no, it indeed was not, but there are those few moments that leak from my memory from time to time that make me grin. The leaving rite of passage was one that is a positive spot for me. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of tomfoolery had, and a lot of airman just being genuinely human. I’ll never forget that night. I’ll never forget my time in. Most of all,  I’ll never forget those men.

Day II Complete,

Haley

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