A Type-5A Guy In A Type-B Situation

One unifying theme to most Army officers is that we’re all Type-A’s. Some of us worse than others, granted, but of course you have to read the one blog of the one guy who is just a bit past the “normal” reading on the trusty “WTF-o-Scope.” Anyway, I’ve mentioned that I’m on leave, which basically means I have time off until the end of next week when I head to start the process of getting to Afghanistan.

This puts me in a situation where a Type-5A guy is faced with the situation of having really not a lot to do. No constant pressures, no deadlines, no boss-questions… no boss. All I have to do is successfully pack between now and then, and trust me I’ve over-engineered the entire process up to this point. Why? Because filling a duffle bag ought not take a week, right?

Today I had to go procure some more boxers, Army-dude tee shirts, Army-dude green socks, and get my watch battery replaced. This expedition took me to WalMart, the epicenter of Type-B People everywhere. Well, except for me while I was in the store. Pulling up with windows rolled down, the Kart Korraler guy was singing a song about San Diego. I wasn’t aware that like Chicago and New York, SD had it’s own song now.

I learned that my watch requires a special and adjustable wrench – which I have to admit is the epitome of a slap-me-it’s-fucking-awesome tool – to remove my watch back and put in a new battery. We’re in “cross the fingers” mode for the next year I see. At least WalMart had the brand of boxers I like. Freeeeedooooom!

Somehow mentally skewed from the WalMartian experience, I had an epiphany on the drive back on post to get my Army shit and more beer to swill. The epiphany is this: I see there is a sensitivity cut-off on commercials these days. It’s okay to talk about vaginal itching and toe fungus, but nowhere do I see anything about products that help with random anal leakage. Overall, I rate random anal leakage as a larger threat to civilization than vaginal itching, or odor for that matter. Karma now will ensure I deal with anal leakage merely for having the stones to type these words. Thankfully, I have no vagina.

The Type downgrade didn’t stop there. Being on leave, I have the unauthorized opportunity to try my hand at growing facial hair (not shaving). I think now I’ll trim up into an epic, bad-ass goatee and run a test to see that if with my clean-shaven head and wicked Satan goatee I’m still mistaken for Dave Draiman. If you don’t know who he is, you need heart paddles.

Also on the drive home, I noted that my ancient-ass (16 year-old) Blazer’s turn signal has lost the tic-a, tic-a sound. Lights work, but no tic-a. Is this remotely illegal? I never liked it before, so is action required? Not that it matters since the radio died three years ago and I’ve driven in epic silence since. Fuck me.

All the above is a warning of what a visit to WalMart will do to a responsible human. If you don’t believe me, then prepare to lose some time and watch what I found reading the news once I got home and properly beer-ed the fuck up: how to destroy Peeps. Two words: Fucking. Awesome. I hate Peeps from the depths of my black soul.

Last: I got a member card from Enterprise (the car rental dudes) today. Guess I’m supposed to take that to Afghanistan in case I need to rent a car. So I wonder if they come with ‘Explosive’ and ‘Non-Explosive’ options just like GPS.

Rock On!