Here is another essay I wrote 10 years ago for an Article and Essay class. It is about my experiences while deployed to Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1998-99. Being that I am headed for another long trip working with the military, I think it is fitting to post this here now.
Everything was in place for a good meal: good food, good conversations, good people, and machine guns. The fortunate, like me, had 9mm pistols instead of M16 rifles. Thousands of miles from home, it was time to eat at Camp Bedrock, Bosnia-Herzegovina.
To this day I am thankful the Army knew the importance of food on the morale of a soldier. The dining facility (aka cafeteria) was nothing to laugh at. It was one of the few semi-permanent buildings on a makeshift basecamp on the top of a rock quarry. Possibly its best feature was that it was open 24 hours a day. Bland white walls with our unit crest –the 1st Cavalry Division horse head- posted throughout, marked its interior like a bad attempt at brainwashing. In the corners of the dining facility sat two large screen televisions, permanently set on the Armed Forces Overseas Network.
We took shifts from duty throughout the day to enjoy a meal made by local Bosnian workers. Usual American entrees graced the buffet-like area. An array of vegetables, starches, and meats were on my plate as I walked out to the seating area.
Work in the command post introduced me to many of the other soldiers in my unit. After a second perusing who was in the dining facility, I knew exactly whom I wanted to eat with. I walked over to the long white table and took a seat on the plastic white chair right across from Sergeant First Class Smith, Uncle Kev to his friends.
Uncle Kev was an army “lifer”, with about 16 years in service. A short guy, with a bit of an attitude, he loved to rub people the wrong way. To his friends and others who may be fortunate enough to share his extremely dry wit, Uncle Kev was the man.
Sitting besides me at the table was Specialist Wayne. Wayne was very unique, to say the least. He was one of the few people I have ever met who called his beer belly a “Buddha Belly” and claimed it attracted women. Wayne’s physical “attributes” didn’t end there. He would often have trouble eating due to the fact that he lost his two front teeth. This unfortunate predicament led Uncle Kev and I to dub him the OTB, or Old Toothless Bastard.
In the Army, everyone has their share of nicknames and I wasn’t an exception. While in Bosnia, I was known as Lawdy Law (a play on my last name), Busta Zit (for a never forgotten large pimple I had on my forehead for a day), to the HEB- Hoagie Eatin’ Bastard (for my habit of getting late night dining facility sandwiches).
There was never any of the stereotypical military speed eating when Uncle Kev, Wayne, and I were together. We would constantly poke fun at any target we could find, to include each other. None of it was malicious; it was all good-natured fun. Being quick with either a comeback or a new subject was a necessity.
Although we rarely went to the dining facility during prime meal time hours when the dining facility was packed with people, we were never alone. Because of the around the clock nature of the US peacekeeping mission in Bosnia, there were always soldiers coming to and going from the dining facility. These soldiers provided some of the most ample targets for humor.
One afternoon, for example, a soldier with an extremely large head entered the dining facility. Uncle Kev was quick to whisper to Wayne and I that we should look to our left. Whispering was a very handy tool used quite often when talking about people in our vicinity. Sure enough, when we saw what Uncle Kev was referring to, Wayne and I laughed. He did have a huge head. Then Uncle Kev joined us in laughter, with others in dining facility left to wonder what was so funny. Situations like that made it very hard to get any food eaten so we could return to work.
After our seven months being stationed in Bosnia, my unit deployed back to the states. Although Wayne, Uncle Kev, and myself would get together to eat sometimes, nothing we said or did would compare to the times when humor got us through the day thousands of miles from home.
