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Tales from a small town

Short stories about life in a small town. Non-fiction. Great reading.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Baptism by fire

There's this guy I used to work with who was very humble, almost to the point of being mousey. His wife bosses him around; she spends all of his overtime money on buiding materials for their home improvement projects and jewelery for her. She used to work there too, so we know how she is. She retired early, moving his retirement date back by almost 10 years.

Their house is beautiful, though. They're probably the only blue-collar couple on the "Better Homes Tour," in our community. (The Better Homes Tour is the best of the best homes in our community. They have a house that would make Bob Vila jealous.)

They should have a home that nice. This guy will work on his vacation days, as a way to manuipulate the system so he can get more overtime than he should. (The company will ask if you want to work overtime, in order of overtime hours-asked: people with low hours-asked first. You're charged for the hours that you're asked to work, not the hours you actually work; therefore, if you're technically on vacation, you can't be charged for hours asked. That's how desperate this guy is for overtime!) This way, he's getting vacation pay, his normal hourly pay for working, plus he's guaranteed to be low hours for the next day's overtime - and since he's getting double-pay on his vacation day, he considers that a vacation!

That's how smart this guy is, but you'd never know it working next to him, because he doesn't talk alot unless you get to know him first. Now, I know why.

I worked next to him enough for him to start opening up to me. One day, we were talking, and he was telling me for the first time about his Viet Nam experiences. Whew! No wonder this guy doesn't talk much!

He said his "introduction" to Viet Nam was a one-of-a-kind experience. They were flying into Da Nang at night, fresh out of boot camp. When they got close to their runway, they noticed quite a few white flashes, far away on the ground. The ground under them was exploding in bright shades of white and orange. The intercom on the plane came on: "The base we were taking you to is under rocket attack; since the runway has been shot out, we'll be diverting to a nearby base." They're flying a little longer, and the same thing: white flashes off in the distance, massive turbulance, and white and orange flashes on the ground below. The intercom comes on with the same exact message.

They're flying a little while longer, and they notice the same thing. The entire area was under a rocket attack. The intercom comes on, this time with a different story: "The base we're taking you to is under rocket attack. We're running dangerously low on fuel. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, and tighten them up. We'll be cutting all power to the aircraft so the heat-seeking missiles will hopefully avoid us. All electric will be cut so the enemy can't see any of our lights to avoid any ground fire. We'll go into a freefall over the runway, then turn everything on right before contact with the ground. Welcome to Viet Nam."

He said the captain cut all power, and the feeling of freefall was violent, everybody puked, all at the same time. They did just what the captain said. When the plane came to a stop, they were told to do a "duck-and-roll," when exiting the plane, as there were enemy troops all around the area, hosing it down with machine gun fire.

That was Tom's introduction to Viet Nam. You'd never expect such experiences from such a pussy-whipped, hen-pecked man. I guess that goes to show you, you never know!

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