It was a sweltering Texas summer day, and I had been dressed in my only remaining set of properly anointed and inspection-ready Air-Force Blues. This was the day of my graduation from the Air Force's basic military-obedience and potty-training course. After having completed the mechanical mass-marching maneuvers and synchronized-stagnation sections of the obsessive-compulsive commencement ceremony I'd been granted extremely limited authorization to perform non-supervised and semi-autonomous activities.
The amount of time had been restricted to only a few short hours, after which I was due back at the dorm. Additionally, I was not permitted to enter the dorm prior to the approximate end-time of this authorized allotment. Another condition was that I was to remain within the confines of the base. Most importantly though, it had been mandated that I remain in these holy and wholly uncomfortable Air-Force Blues throughout the duration of this time.
Perhaps the most prominently featured lesson during the course of my initiation into military subservience was the critical importance of compliance with clothing criterion. I'd spent countless hours each day trimming micro-fibers away from hymn-lines, folding and refolding articles of clothing using a ruler and tweezers, and constantly checking and adjusting my
zipline to ensure that it was always oriented in laser-focused center-alignment. These practices along with the constant instructor inspections and their subsequent vituperation had pressed the imperative nature of clothing-regulations in a highly-starched crease down the center of my mental fabric.
That crease was ever present as my mother had come to meet me following my release from the commencement ceremony. As she'd greeted me with a familial embrace I was careful not to allow my uniform to be unduly disrupted, and I was quick to ensure that all necessary adjustments were made to properly align my garments just as I'd been trained. Once my uniform was adjusted there was little discussion as to what to do in the following moments due to the limitations of on-base attractions and time.
There was an area nearby that had been designated especially for commencements. This area was to have food, seating, restrooms, but most importantly on a sweltering Texas summer day- AIR CONDITIONING. After informing my mother of this key factor we proceeded directly to this large, nondescript, and numbered metal building along with a large percentage of the others that had been in attendance of this day's commencements.
The inside of the building was cramped, crowded, and cacophonous so that it seemed like a sardine-can that had been overfilled before having been sealed air-tight so as to trap the eternal echoes of sardine-screeches inside of it (or something just as awful). However, the outside temperature and humidity were on an electronic screen displayed prominently, and the air inside seemed like an arctic dream come true for all the sweat-soaked souls that invariably decried the triple-digit integers after seeing them upon this screen. I personally welcomed the building's cool compression as it offered a promise of ceasing my slow-soaking sweat from permeating through my uniform and causing shame to seep out onto myself and all that the uniform was to represent as a result.
When my mother and I found the menu it turned out to be quite limited. Aside from beverages and side-items the dining options had been nachos, burgers, or chili dogs. By the time we'd been able to order however they had run-out of burgers and the nachos had appeared as sad stale discs of off-white spackled cardboard stuffed into a flimsy see-through plastic carton with a reserved square section of a rubberized and solidifying orange-yellow ooze. Since my mother was not restricted to extended confinement on base she'd opted to postpone eating until later. Given my ravenous hunger and perspective food prospects I'd ordered a pair of meat-slop smothered tubes of miscellaneous meat-byproducts more euphemistically known as chili dogs.
After having retrieved my order of sustenance/slop my mother and I began weaving through the sea of sardine-packed people trying to find an available table. Just as a space opened-up at a table nearby someone came bounding through the crowd like a pinball ricocheting unpredictably off of the human obstacles on its journey to... somewhere. A nearby human obstacle had tried to avoid colliding with this pinball-person, and in doing so inadvertently forced the chili dogs I had been holding cautiously in front of me to be squashed and smeared into the front of my all-important Air Force Blues.
The subsequent apologies, napkins, soda water, and frantic scrubbing in front of a bathroom sink had only managed to reduce the mark of the chili dogs from a dark to medium brown. The splotch on my uniform was still prominent enough to have been considered an abomination by the innumerous training instructors, and could have even been considered an offense punishable by death. My only means of salvation from this scourge was to access a replacement uniform before having encountered any such authority figure.
Since the dorm had been off limits, and my other uniforms had all been sent for laundering my only viable option was to acquire a new uniform. My first attempt at this was to visit the very building where I'd been issued my uniforms during the early days of my training. This clothing-issue building was within a walking distance, but it was by no means close to the chili dog building.
In order to reach this building without too obviously displaying my shameful stain I'd had my mother walk slightly in front of me and to the side of approaching human eyes. I'd also made use of a discarded paper menu by holding it over the more prominent portion of the stain. With every person that entered into my vicinity it seemed as if the sweltering sun had increased the day's insufferable heat that much more.
By the time we'd reached the clothing-issue building they were closing the doors. I'd attempted to appeal to the clothing-issuer with the keys by conveying the life-and-death implications of my plight while also having offered vast sums of money in exchange for the necessary replacement clothing items. Despite my desperate attempts the clothing issuer had informed me that no sale of such items had been permitted at this post, and that I would have to venture to a building far across the expanse of the base grounds known as "clothing-sales" in order to purchase uniform items.
After graciously receiving directions to this clothing-sales location my mother and I had proceeded in the same strange manner as before with her following in front of me as I'd strategically positioned my paper stain-masking menu. Upon reaching the entry-way of the clothing-sales building we'd observed that it had closed some time before our arrival, and that there would have been no way for us to have reached it before its scheduled closing time. In referencing the time it had also became apparent that it was going to be extremely difficult for me to journey back to the dorm without being late, especially considering how running in Air Force Blues had been strictly prohibited.
My mother then assured me that she could find her way to the shuttles that would return her to the hotel off base where she was staying, and I had left her with an abrupt and awkward goodbye. I'd then taken off at a brisk pace in the general direction of the dorms. Along the way back I'd kept scanning for other humans as I'd alternated between jogging and walking with the menu-mask always held in front of the stain. At some point I'd wondered if this would have been what it was like to have been an insurgent, but my mind had raced quickly past this and all other notions as I'd continued onward.
By the time I'd reached the dorm the clock had shown that I was 2 minutes late. Despite this fact I was surprised to have discovered that our flight instructor had not shown-up yet. I was also shocked to learn that a note had been left to inform everyone that they could change out of their Blues once they'd returned to the dorm, and that we were to then begin packing for the next day's departures.
Upon reading this note that had been plastered up in the commons area I'd gladly changed out of my Blues before having stuffed them deep into my laundry bag. Everyone else on flight had been in the dorm chatting-away about their joys of the day when I'd returned, and it had seemed as if none of them had noticed me, my stain, or my elated relief. After I'd finally settled into my bunk that night I'd wondered if I'd ever been as supremely thrilled at having been left unnoticed, and then I'd slipped into another dreamless sleep without having noticed either.
