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{enlist-en to this} thomas sullivan Enlist-en To This Rick is standing at the edge of my cube, slurping coffee from a stained cup while we wait for the network to come back online. All of our work sits on the server, so when it crashes, so do we. There’s nothing else for us to do. It’s time to reminisce. “So I’m in the showers on the base in DaNong.” Oh no, not another story about the ‘Nam. This alone is reason enough for a country to permanently ban war. “There’s three or four of us in the shower room, which is connected to a second room, a changing area with lockers.” I fight against the image of three soaped up men sharing off-color jokes as steam fills a drab concrete room. They better get the server back up, quick. I listen to these tales for two reasons: First, I’m a fairly compassionate person who feels that people need to be heard. Second, I want to be on Rick’s good side when the shooting starts. Rick furrows his brow into a pained look and says, “All of a sudden there’s this loud banging by the door and a couple of Koreans burst into the room with guns. Angry fuckers.” “Koreans?” I interrupt, utterly confused. This story is supposed to be taking place in Vietnam. “Yeah, we had Koreans guarding the base. Crazy bastards. Big. Mean. Couldn’t ever tell what the hell they were saying. Never knew if they we’re gonna snap and turn on you.” Jesus. I wish I were deaf right now. Rick takes a big gulp from his grimy cup, jacks up his pants, and continues. “So then the towel girl starts screaming.” “Wait, wait, wait,” I blurt, “a towel girl?” “Yeah, the locals would launder the towels in town and then bring them back to the base.” I look at Rick, perplexed, and say, “Okay...so why the hell didn’t they send a guy to return the towels cuz, you know...” Rick shakes his head, saying, “I know, I know, it was all fucked up.” He pauses for a moment and then continues with his story. “So the girl’s screaming and the Koreans are shouting, jabbing their guns toward her. She has no idea what the hell to do. No clue what’s going on.” Rick sees my eyes go wide. He breathes in and starts shaking his head side-to-side, doing a slow “no” gesture. “Then they open fire.” I feel my stomach clenching as Rick continues: “The sound was deafening. My ears rang for hours. Needless to say, the four of us in the shower dropped onto the floor, real quick.” The dead matter-of-factness in Rick’s voice is disturbing. It’s like he’s talking about dropping his morning toast before trudging into work, something that just happens during the course of a day. I look up at him and say, “What the hell, why?” Rick grimaces and says, “They thought she had a bomb under the stack of towels. Sounds nuts, but it had happened before. Over in Desan, a few other places as well. You just never knew.” Someone shouts that the server is back on-line. Rick returns to his cube and starts working. I sit in my chair and look down the aisle, thinking. I could handle the bad food. I’d get used to the haircuts. I’d eventually adjust to taking orders. But I could never handle getting blown up in a shower overseas by a towel girl. No way. And what is this beautiful stuff that we call feces? |
