Sunday, July 30, 2006

Walking on the Grass

Back in the early 70's I was in the Air Force. I was stationed at Goodfellow Air Force Base in San Angelo, Texas. This was a tech training school where I essentially learned to be a code breaker. I was also learning a few things about life.

San Angelo was kind of in the center of Texas and had some pretty parks and neighborhoods. It was desert country, though, so water was necessary for greenery. On base, any grass was watered daily and we were warned to never, ever walk on the grass. No short cuts. Stay on the sidewalks. Square all corners. It was a major part of our orientation upon arrival.

Another rule of life for us involved travel to Mexico. It was about 150 miles away and only took several hours to reach by car. They did not want us to go there just any time we wanted to. I'm not sure if this was to protect us or Mexico. But the rule was, we couldn't travel more than 100 miles without a three-day pass.

So I wasn't on base long before I had a day off and jumped in a car with three buddies and we were off to Mexico. It was a cool ass day. I got to see a dog roasting on a spit; learned to order unopened beer in bottles; saw a real Mexican hat dance floorshow; saw a woman get engaged to a donkey (or visa-versa); ate something spicy wrapped in a soft fried flour shell; and bought a souvenir chess set and poncho. It was a cool ass day.

When we got back the prick in the day room wrote us up.

Now, remember, we were here for our tech school training so we were just recently out of basic training. Where they scare the shit out of you and hope the ensuing discipline lasts four years. So we were afraid we were in BIG trouble. All of us except me, of course.

"What are we going to do?" Dale asked. "The day room guy already wrote us up and, come Monday when the Captain's back, our ass is grass!"

"Grass." I repeated thoughtfully. We were standing on the sidewalk in front of the day room. The sprinklers had just come on and, as the artificial rain arced back and forth, the late sunlight made rainbows in the air. "Leave it to me." I said and walked off down the sidewalk.

The next morning, Sunday, was another hot one. It was pushing 90 degrees by 8:30. I had had my breakfast and was standing on the sidewalk on the other side of the grass from the dayroom. I finished picking my teeth with a wooden toothpick, looked around, raised my foot, and stepped onto the grass. After a slight hesitation, I strode across the manicured lawn towards the dayroom.

I wasn't half-way there before the door to the dayroom flew open and a different guy than yesterday ran out and yelled, "Hold it!"

I stopped. "What?" I said.

"Get off the grass!" he urged.

"Which is it?" I asked.

"Which is what?" he asked.

"Should I hold it or should I get off the grass?" I searched his eyes for direction.

He looked at me. He looked down at his shoes and realizing he, too, had stepped off the sidewalk when he ran outside, literally hopped backwards and yelled, "Get off the goddamn grass!"

"O.K." I said and finished my stroll towards the low brick building with the wide picture windows.

"Get inside." he instructed. "You know you're not supposed to walk on the grass. I'm not going to write you up, but I'm gonna teach you not to take short cuts on this base. You're going to spend the next hour cleaning the dayroom!" He said triumphantly.

So he showed me where the mops and brooms and cleaning supplies were. He told me to empty all the waste baskets and not to talk to any of the other Airmen who sometimes hung out reading or playing pool or whatever in the dayroom. Nobody else was there at 8:30 AM.

"I'll try to keep it down." I muttered.

The next day, Monday, my friends waited anxiously for the call to the Captain's office. It never came. I told them that I suspected a janitor or someone might have accidentally thrown the report away while the Captain's office was being cleaned on Sunday. And that the dayroom guy probably wouldn't make a verbal report because he wouldn't rotate back to that duty for probably another month.

"I think we skated, boys." I said, my eyes surveying the patch of grass. The artificial dew glistening on each pampered blade. "Let's go. And be careful you don't walk on the grass."

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