The Midnight Hour

Originally appeared in whole or in part in the New York Times on March 13th, 2006 - link.

• Be advised, this was an adaptation of one of my first blog entries detailing a day in my life in a timeline format. This version is the original that I sent to the NYT for publication. The version that appeared in the Times had a few edits, including combining Part 1 and Part 2 into one post, removing my joke about trebuchets and Canada, and changing the title. While this will not be new information for those who followed my blog from the beginning, I hope some who have joined since then will find it entertaining. It also may be interesting for Frontlines readers to note what the Times determined “unnecessary” to print.

My average day is actually pretty predictable when I’m not out on an operation. The days prior to and immediately following an op can also vary quite a bit. However, being a creature of habit I try to stick to the routine I have found. It seems the more I repeat my endless iterations of eating, sleeping, working, and exercising, the faster the calendar pages flip. I’ll walk you through half my day in this installment, with the much-anticipated conclusion later to come.

I generally wake up at 0600. If I worked extremely late the night before I may sleep in to 0700 or so, but I usually start my morning by fumbling with my sleeping bag zipper in a futile effort to free myself of the green sarcophagus that kept me so warm through the night. This goes on for about 30 seconds or so until either I get lucky and it unzips as planned or I just slide myself out of it in a fit of frustration. After that I walk the 200 meters to the shower and then return to my trailer to get dressed to an iTunes playlist of my choosing. Next, it’s time for chow, so I walk 300 meters in the opposite direction to the “Little Vegas” chow hall at the edge of Camp Grizzly. There I dine on a traditional American breakfast of eggs, biscuits, pork, and fruit juice. The eggs are a tricky subject, because as of yet I have been unable to convince the chow hall workers that I only want a small portion of eggs. It appears you will either get 18 ounces of eggs or you will get none at all. This is not up for discussion, and any protest you make during the serving of your eggs will only illicit another 18-ounce scoop from the now quickly depleting vat in front of you.

After finishing breakfast and discarding 15 ounces of eggs into the trash I return to my humble abode to take care of whatever business I might have before the day begins. This might include dropping off or picking up laundry, making a pot of coffee, or cleaning my living space. Regardless of which way fate takes me during this time, at 0830 I have traversed another 400 meters on foot to arrive at work. There I will work until 1300, when the chow rush has subsided at the chow hall. My roommate, boss, and I will then begin the long 700 meter pilgrimage to eat our mid-day meal. This is when I try to stock up on supplies offered at the chow hall. I immediately target the Crystal Light peach tea powder mix, and stuff at least three into my cargo pocket. If we happen to go to the other chow hall on base I’ll head for the non-refrigerated liquid coffee creamer packets and stuff a handful of those into my cargo pocket. I have learned to be careful after that, though, as kneeling down can burst one of the creamers. You might think it sounds delightful to have your leg smell like sweet, French vanilla, but I can assure you that you’re incorrect. Last, but not least, I procure a pineapple…a whole pineapple. This is really more for morale than consumption. It was recently discovered that the pineapples offered at the chow hall are not only for decoration, but are free for the taking. We’re hoarding a stash of them back at work, with a monster pineapple party planned sometime in the near future. If that doesn’t work out perhaps we can build a unit-sponsored trebuchet and host a pineapple-chucking contest on a desolate portion of the base. Speaking of such, the trebuchet is a long-overlooked instrument of war that could have devastating effects on the insurgency here. Imagine if the Canadians encroached on us and started hossing pineapples into upstate New York. Yeah…talk about scary.