August 13, 2013

Feeble Attempts in Humiliation

This space for rent
For those of you who for some reason simply don't know.....I was considered "ornery" as a child. I still have a bit of a mischievous streak in me and the transition from "ornery" to "mischievous" has taken quite some time.

Back at my first duty station when I was in the Air Force, almost 20 years ago, I was fortunate to live at McChord AFB. I say "fortunate" because I worked at Ft. Lewis, which is normally where I should have been garrisoned. The folks at McChord were doing us a favor, but they weren't going to do too much for this group of Airmen that didn't belong to them.

We lived in the worst dorms they had on base. They were pretty much at the far end of the flightline, away from the cafeteria, base shopping, and most all of the recreation. What we did have close by though was a bar. Back in the day our dorm was occupied by the engineers and they had used their skills to build a rather decent private bar. It was called DB Cooper's Hideaway until the base took it over. They couldn't have a building named after a felon so it was just shortened to the Hideaway. The bar was closer than a stone's throw from our dorm. It was more like an stone's underhand lob. Needless to say it was quite popular, even for the folks that lived off-base because if when they got stupid they could just bother the junior enlisted for a place to crash or a ride home. Of course some folks did end up sleeping on the ground (sometimes nekkid) in the grass between the two buildings.

I won't name names to protect the guilty.....

Dude...where's my ox?One day, just after a big intra-base competition which we were graciously invited to participate, most of us went to the Hideaway to celebrate. While we were partying outside one of the girls from the dorm....a regular barracks whore who had a butter face did her usual bit of cozying up to the new guys, or at least new to her...... She was showing off her body with a skin-tight running outfit that left nothing to the imagination. She was also trying to show off a new cartouche necklace. Evidently she had just got back from an exercise in Egypt and she was explaining how the cartouche spelled out her name in hieroglyphics.

Of course, me being the ornery/mischievous fellow that I am, I asked her is she could read hieroglyphs. When she said she couldn't I asked something to the effect of, " How do you know that is what it reads? It could simply say, this space for rent." I thought I was being clever, getting in an appropriate jab. Needless to say this didn't go over very well. She conspired with some of my co-workers to get back at me. I managed to hide out for a while in the bar but when I came back outside several guys jumped me.

They threw me to the ground and a couple of guys grabbed my legs while two more got my arms. One guy pretty much kneeled on my forehead, painfully ensuring I wasn't going to move too much. When I started shouting bloody murder they just poured a pitcher of beer into my mouth from a chest-high height. I wasn't going anywhere.....

Instruments of my humiliation
While I was restrained, the barracks ho knelt down beside me and whipped out a can of shaving cream and a disposable razor. She proceeded to shave one of my legs. She was going to get the other but I somehow managed to break free by convincing my "captors" I was either tired or had just given up.


I think once I broke free they were tired of the whole affair and even though the ho wanted to get the other leg they just weren't up for the effort. Why fight one of your own when a) there is beer to be drunk and b) only one leg shaved is funnier (and more noticeable) than two legs shaved.

It took forever for that hair to grow back....

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