FEMALE ON THE FLOOR! Panama; Word Def. "Room MATE" = Oxymoron

In one of her posts, VB is grateful for my coffee job. Mom is remiss in this line of thought. I would’ve settled for a job counting fountain pens, or at least a reason to carry one around and click its toggle top from time to time.

My first roommate in the barracks was Cpl. Moss. She was also first in my chain of command, though I never really thought of her that way. Moss was a tall black female from Georgia. She’d grown up tough and made no bones about it. She used to re-arrange the furniture in the middle of the night, or take-off on a ten mile run for fun. I’m not kidding. In the middle of the night she ran barefoot. The bureau and mirror we shared were covered with various gold, silver and bronze medals she’d won at her previous duty station in Germany. All were awarded for running. Not a one was awarded for tact.

In the beginning, Moss and I got along fine. We were close to the same age and we were two of five females. We enjoyed listening to Soul to Soul II together. We’d sing along with them, dance around, then cut-off the tape player in the middle of a song and head down three flights of stairs for the formation that had been called for the perpetual alert before the invasion kicked off.

We hung out a lot together at S-4 during the war. She was my section leader and so had a little work to do from time to time, but not that much right then. Mostly we fiddled around with MREs trying to find one we hadn’t had for a couple of days. It was during the invasion I became addicted to Tabasco sauce. The packaged Chicken and Rice wasn’t too bad if enough red could be seen and heat tasted.

Kids from the states sent stockings and cards and letters. The Battalion Wives put everything together and stuffed it into neat stockings of felt in the shape and color of combat boots, then passed them out. Those were a real treat. I loved the LTC’s (Lieutenant Colonel, AKA Battalion Commander) wife’s trail mix. We also got to eat some kind of a meal in trays at the chow hall on Christmas Day. It wasn’t real food, but it wasn’t served from an OD green package either.

It was sometime after the invasion was winding down that I was approached by Sgt. Johnson from DSU. He wondered if I might be interested in working at a new warehouse the Battalion was putting together. He wanted my help in adding 1,600 line items of repair parts onto the shelves and slots as well as entering them into the TACCS (Tactical Army Combat Service Support Computer System) by way of an olive drab computer. He told me that DSU didn’t have a slot for a 76 Victor specifically, but he believed it could be approved if I was interested in the job.

Oh, be still my heart! I nearly hugged him and without giving it a second thought, I ran into Captain Bly’s (yes! that’s really his name!) office and asked permission. He gave it after only a moment’s discussion.

I hadn’t thought of Moss, and it was certain I was not asking SFC Grover’s permission. So, yes, I jumped chain of command without even a thought. But it worked. I was “temporarily” released from S-4 and would fall-out with DSU’s platoon rather than Headquarters. No more Grubbier-than-ever-leering-drooling-ugly-as-sin-Grover.

Corporal Moss was hotter than I’d ever seen her. She screamed in my face for fifteen minutes over the fact that I’d jumped chain of command. I couldn’t believe it. She knew how bad I wanted away from SFC Grover.

Our roommate situation began to deteriorate rapido. After several weeks or months, I can’t remember how long, the 1st Sergeant was good enough to separate us. It was right after I told him I was going to end up in the brig for whipping an NCO if he didn’t. She’d become insufferable with her hatred of me. She’d even open the windows at night to let out all the air conditioning and let in all the sand flees. Since she out ranked me, everything had to be exactly her way. I put up with it for as long as I could. When I was moved, I was moved into a room with two giggly nineteen year olds.

There’s just really not a good roommate situation when it comes to females.