Ooops. MY Bad, America. OR How I almost started a war with EgyptSubmitted by Cracked_out_cali at 2005-12-01 02:36:46 EST
Rating: 1.81 on 43 ratings (43 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
For every one fun or exciting day I have at work, there are countless others that suck Big Blue Baboon Ass.
Take off, fly 14 hours, land. Unload whatever crap we were carrying. Take off, fly another 14 hours, land. Repeat.
The other crew members don’t mind it so much. Why would they though? They are old, have been doing this for many years and are happy sitting on their ass for hours on end.
Not this guy though. I go out of my fucking mind on those 30-hour missions. Here is a bit of an analogy;
Imagine a family going cross country in a 1978 station wagon. The parents are up front, talking about God knows what. Then you have the 7-year-old son in the back, climbing over seats, making faces at the other drivers through the back window and constantly saying “I’m soooo booooored!” Yeah, I’m that 7-year-old. And believe me, the other crew members treat me as such.
We are in Africa, and for God knows why, training the Egyptian Army how to jump out of planes.
(Hmmm... hope this isn’t Classified information...)
I’m laying in the crew bunk, drawing on the wall, trying to keep my mind occupied.
“Fuck, I’m soooo booooored!”
The co-pilot says “Hey Rook, why don’t you come up here, and we’ll play...”
“Fuck you, Captain. I am NOT going to play “Name that cloud formation” again. That shit gets REAL old, REAL quick.”
“Well, you could...”
I stop paying attention as I hear a commotion downstairs. Next to the crew bunk is a tiny window that looks out into the cargo compartment. I take a peak.
“Well fuck me sideways. Never thought I would see THAT”, I say to myself.
Approximately 30 Egyptian soldiers, singing, and playing what appears to be ‘Patty Cake’. No, seriously... Patty Cake.
Look, I am VERY open minded. I understand different cultures do things differently than us... but, dude... this was 30 grown ass men playing Patty Cake. However this was only able to keep me entertained for about a minute.
Then, leave it up to my fucked up head to think of something to finally cheer me up. At the expense of others, of course. I put on my headset and start talking to the loadmaster downstairs.
“Hey Load, switch to channel 3. Don’t worry why, just do it. Okay, you there? Listen, in a couple of minutes, I’m gonna come down the stairs in a panic. Hey you, don’t worry why, just play along, okay?”
I walk over to the pilots, who are talking about patios or some shit.
“Hey Captain, I need you to bring engines 1 and 4's thrust down to 0% for like 10 seconds.”
“Because...um... I asked you to?”
“Your crazy. Go back and read your comics, or doodle in your coloring book.”
(See? I TOLD you they treat me like a 7-year-old)
“Look, just do it real quick. And when we get back to Germany, we can go to the Red Light District, and it’ll be on me.”
He brings back the throttle and the plane starts to shake quite a bit, and we start dropping.
“Okay, that’s good”, I tell him.
It’s go time.
I turn on the cargo compartment’s fire alarm, then leap downstairs, not even hitting a single step. I’m welcomed by red lights flashing and sirens going off. Oh, and some VERY worried looking Egyptians.
“FUCK! WE’RE GOING DOWN!!!”
I run to the storage closet and pull out two parachutes. I toss one to the load master, and quickly slip mine on, all along screaming;
“AAAARRRRGGHHHH! WE'RE CRASHING!!!!”
I’m pretty sure they didn’t understand what I was saying, but they sure picked up on my body language. After hooking up the ‘chute, I sprint past all of them to the back where the troop drop doors are. I look back and they are frantically scrambling about. Some shouting, some praying, and some stuck in their seats, not sure what to do.
I couldn’t keep a straight face anymore. I exploded with laughter. The loadmaster was laughing as well, but noticeably trying to hide it. A couple of the Egyptians actually found it funny too. I start walking back towards the front of the plane. I’m nearly back to the steps when I hear some VERY angry Egyptianese being shouted at me. One of the soldiers had taken it pretty damn serious. He was almost as tall as me, 6'2, maybe 6'3. He approaches and pushes me with all his might. I slam against the bathroom door.
“Dude, what the fuck’s your problem?” I say, knowing full and well he didn’t understand.
Before I knew it, the assault rifle that was slung around his shoulder was pointed at me. I’ll admit it, I was pretty scared. But one of the most important things I learned, growing up in East Los Angeles was to never show how scared you really are. I unzip my flight suit, revealing the holstered pistol that we are issued. As I reach for it, a guy (whom I assumed to be the leader of this group) grabbed him. A short conversation was exchanged, and he reluctantly gives his weapon to his commander. I follow suit by putting away mine.
I go back upstairs, and turn off the alarm.
“What’s going on down there?”, one of the pilots ask
“Oh, nothing, sir”
I walk back over to the crew bunk, and peak out the little window once again. He’s giving me the coldest stare down I’ve ever received.
But fuck me, I just can’t leave good enough alone.
I pull out my pistol, point it at my temple, then at him, as if telling him “Your ass is mine.” He reached over and grabbed his ‘Patty Cake Partner’s’ rifle, stands up, and aims it at me.
“Oh, shit!” I mumble as I leap away from the window. I holster my pistol once more, and go take a seat behind the co-pilot.
“How much longer do we have?”
I sit there, staring out the window. A few seconds later, I point out to the distance,
“There’s a couple of Altocumulus’ at 3 o’clock and some Cirrus above us”