Vaden’s post yesterday reminded me of this particular story.
A long long time ago, back when I was an E-2 at Ft. Bragg, I was in a detachment with a young woman who I will refer to as Specialist Awesome.
Specialist Awesome was pretty much the definition of fearless. It didn’t matter who or what confronted her, she didn’t get flustered, or embarrassed, and she certainly never backed down from a challenge.
So one day my unit had a room inspection. Now this was before the nice new barracks that we received right before the inflatable sheep story.
The barracks that we lived in at the time looked like somebody had purchased a crack house, attacked it with a sledgehammer, and then let things go downhill from there.
One feature of these barracks was random nails sticking out of nearly every wall. I’m guessing at some point a soldier needed to hang something up, and the nails had just never come down. I hung a curtain from a few of these, to make some privacy. Some soldiers used them for hanging pictures, or speakers. Many used them for storage, by stringing shaving kits, or various pieces of equipment off of them.
Well Specialist Awesome, being like many other soldiers, hung stuff on the nails in her room too.
So during the room inspection the Commander and the SGT Major were both in her room, and everything seemed to check out. Just as they were wrapping up, however, the Commander noticed something that Specialist Awesome had hung up on a nail: an economy-sized package of Trojan brand condoms.
A strip of them was hanging out of the side, like some sort of amorous ammo belt.
The Commander got an impish look on his face, and turned to Specialist Awesome.
“So Specialist,” he began with that tone that officers use when they are screwing with an enlisted trooper, “Would you care to explain to the SGT Major and me what those are?” he finished, pointing at the rubbers.
Without a twitch, no trace of a blush, and looking him right in the eye while at the position of attention, Specialist Awesome answered him.
“Sir! Those are condoms. They are a form of barrier contraception. They are so I do not get pregnant when I fuck, SIR!”
Then she cocked one eyebrow at him, as if to say “Is that all you got?”
The Commander, decided that that was indeed all he had, turned bright red, mumbled something about her room passing inspection, and quickly exited the room.
The SGT Major followed him out, giving the distinct appearance of a man trying desperately not to choke to death on his own mustache.
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