I've been trying to fish my toast out of the toaster with my fingers and all this has done is burn them several times.  Being the genius that I am I decide that I should now use my spring loaded Benchmade knife to do this, this should keep me from getting burned but the chance that I'll electrocute myself has now gone up exponentially.  I really like toast and I pretty upset that it's not coming out of the damn machine.  This is obviously a Taliban plot to frustrate me and I resolve at that moment to plan an operation to find and destroy these sick individuals that have conspired and acted to foil my toasty happiness.  

My team NCOIC MSG Famine commences to walk into the chow hall.  The Army now says that I'm supposed to call it a Dining Facility as it's more positive.  What the?  Anyway here comes MSG Famine who observes me with my knife in the toaster,

"Sir, do you really think that's a great idea"?

"What eating toast or putting my knife into the electrical appliance"?  It's biting and insightful questions such as this that have made me the leader that I am.

"Either one Sir, you could just lift that lid and get your toast out" ; and that is why NCOs are the backbone of the army .  Plan to destroy toaster sabotage cell temporarily put on hold.  

"I was just testing you to make sure you could conduct a risk assessment " I reply sheepishly. "Did you come in here for something or just to see if I was dumb enough to kill myself".

" No I came to tell you that the FOO paperwork has been sent back again;  you almost killing yourself was just a bonus".  

"What do you mean the FOO paperwork is sent back"?  FOO is Field Ordering Officer, it's the person that dispenses money for projects.  We call the money; FOO money and we use it to fix or purchase things the ANA may need  in emergency situations.  Our idea of emergency is a little different that the ANA.  They think an emergency is, they want something.  I think an emergency is there's no water in the showers.  A minor difference of opinion. 

We have no FOO money as the entire team has changed over  and we're now trying to go through the process to get the paperwork done to certify and draw the money.  No small task!  We can't fix or buy anything at this point. 

"J4 Corps, says it needs an O5s signature".  This is the logistics guy at FOB WE DON'T CARE, I'll call him Chief Retard,  telling us a LTC needs to sign the papers.  We don't have any LTCs on this FOB and these papers have been going back and forth via email for going on three weeks.  We fill them out and he sends them back telling us that they need some other paragraph or signature on them.   Over the course of three weeks we've done this about twice a week.  Each time a different requirement, which by the way he could have told us the first damn time he sent them back. 

"So any O5 can sign these"?  I ask

"Yes Sir ,he says any O5"  MSG Famine replies.  I can see by the look in his eyes he's just as pissed off as I am maybe even more so; because he's been having to deal with this while I plan operations. 

"Did you tell him that we have no O5s on the FOB"?  As soon as I utter this question I realize how stupid it is and I've now set myself up for MSG Famine's smart ass answer.  MSG Famine and I've known each other for quite a while so we're pretty honest with each other.

"No Sir, I didn't think to tell him that, but thanks for enlightening me.  I'll run back over, call and tell him that and this will all be fixed lickedy split.  Just go back to putting your knife in the toaster Sir".

"Fine, what does he want us to do"  My plan to kill the Taliban Toaster crew has just morphed into OPERATION RAID FOB WE DON"T CARE.  

I'm all in favor of Special Olympics and things like that, but I really don't think they should be sending them to fight in Afghanistan.  Obviously there has been some oversight and Chief Retard has been allowed to come here.  I picture in my mind Chief Retard as a child.  He's walks to the bus stop with his drool bib and hockey helmet on.  Once there the short bus pulls up and he gets on picking a spacious seat next to the window.  He now commences to pick his nose and lick the glass as us normal people drive by.  After his 20 years of elementary and high school he's sent away, not graduated, and joins the Navy.  Where in 30 years or so, he quickly attains the rank of chief.  That's my picture of him.

MSG Famines picture of him I think involves a reticle across his head and a smooth trigger squeeze.

"He says get them signed by an O5".  

There are a herd of LTCs and COLs at FOB Lightning, Chief Retard could have just found one around there and taken care of this.  I realize the folly in this as he is probably tethered to his desk to prevent him from wandering off and getting lost.  Additionally, I can see the post it not on his computer that says,"BREATHE" as without this he will forget and suffocate.  

"Great so we just need to get this signed by someone who isn't here and sent back to him".  A flash of the obvious occurs and I now have identified who's in charge of mail delivery.  Eureka!  

"Roger that Sir".  MSG Famine utters some profanities about Chief Retard and a hope that he hasn't reproduced yet. 

"Fine, we'll get this taken care of right now".  We walk back to our hooch and get on the computer.  We retype the memo and as the signature block I type:

ANNIE O'FIFE
LTC, OD
Commanding

I print it out, sign it and scan it to send to Chief Retard; who's standing by for our memo.  We email the memo.  Within minutes the phone bursts to life, it's Chief Retard.

"Sir, is this some kind of joke"?  Chief Retard asks me.  I'm pleasantly surprised by his ability to actually use his words.  20 years of special ed aren't wasted after all.

"No, you said it needed to be signed by any O5 and that's what I sent you".

"No Sir, you sent me a forged memo".   More people words, I'm really impressed now.  Note to self; email President Bush and tell him about the results of No Child Left Behind. 

"Forging implies that I faked someones signature, I made up a whole person".

"You can't do that"  he's getting upset and I'm a little concerned that we may begin to fling boogers around his office.

"Can't means it's impossible and obviously I just did so you mean I shouldn't".  This is actually fun now and worth the three weeks.  We have him on speaker phone and MSG Famine thinks this is pretty damn funny.

"Sir, I'm going to see the Chief of Staff about this, you aren't cooperating".  I'm thinking he needs the drool bib back about now.  He seems irate.

"OK, why don't you call me back when you get there".  Being the superior tacticians that we are; we thought this one out already.  We've typed the same memo out with the Chief of Staff signature block on it, who happens to be an O5, and emailed it to the Chief of Staff.

I am very concerned though that Chief Retard will get lost on the way.  MSG Famine and I quickly consult each other and agree that Chief Retard would be lucky to recognize his own name two out of three times, so we call the Chief of Staff, LTC Z

As we talk to LTC Z we hear Chief Retard coming stumbling in.  Chief launches into a spasmodic diatribe about how we're smart asses.  LTC Z doesn't need to ask he knows that I'm a smart ass seeing as I've worked for him before.  LTC Z asks what I want him to do about this situation.

"Sir, if you could just print out the memo we emailed you; sign it and give it to Chief Retard we should be good to go"  I tell him.  This will meet our requirement to have the memo signed by a LTC.  He does this and gives it to Chief R, who wanders away to stare at the sun.

And thus another drama in the life of being an ETT.  Sometimes the biggest fight is with ourselves.  

If you see a Navy Chief wandering around with a drool bib and hockey helmet on please make sure he forwarded our FOO memo.

By the way if you're critiquing my spelling and grammar and going to call me a retard, I already know this.  If not then I wouldn't have stuck the knife in the toaster and I wouldn't have come to Afghanistan.  Now back to my toast!