Potato Soap and Aliens

Sleep depravation over a long period of time causes stress.  Stress causes people to snap or just start acting loopy.  Basic Training was my first encounter with such conditions and two of my bunkmates did just that.  Washington was one and Wilde was the other.

Wilde was a simple man.  He was a tall, husky white boy from some po-dunk Pennsylvania town.  Drill Sergeant (DS) Rouse asked him why he joined the army.

“To get revenge for my friend that was killed in Iraq, drill sergeant,” was Wilde’s response.

“If he thinks he’s going to find the people that killed his friend, then he’s a fuckin’ idiot,” DS Rouse said.  “This isn’t WWII where the enemy wears the same uniform and you just kill as many as you can.”

Wilde definitely thought it was that type of war.  It seems that calling him a simple man was a generous description.  Our troop went out to train one night and our mission was to hold our position at all costs.  Wilde was put in charge of our platoon on a hilltop and I suspect it was purely for the drill sergeant’s (drill’s) entertainment.  The drills organized a team to harass us all night so we couldn’t sleep and to see how we’d react under that kind of stress.  Well ole Wilde saw one of the enemy forces sneak up and instead of staying together at an easily defensible position, he took off thinking we’d follow.  Not so much.

“I see ‘em! Charge!” he screeched.

Charge?  Really dude?  Are we training for the fuckin’ Civil War now?  How about the American Revolution?  Good luck with the Redcoats buddy.  Wilde was dispatched by a volley of blanks from the enemy and wasn’t allowed to be in charge anymore after that night. 

That battle cry wouldn’t be his only moment of splendor.  Wilde had a habit of sleep walking and talking.  He would be my first encounter with someone that did that and it was memorable.  Basic sure provided a lot of firsts for me.  When Wilde would start mumbling in his sleep, the rest of us in the room would try to get a conversation out of him, but usually to no avail.  One night we got something even better than a conversation; we got to see a freaked out drill having a colorful conversation with Wilde instead. 

I woke in the middle of the night to see Wilde standing at attention against the wall between two bunks with his eyes closed.  To animate how scary it looked, Washington had his green, L-shaped Vietnam era flashlight shining on Wilde’s face by the time I woke.  Wilde looked liked the crazy private from “Full Metal Jacket.”

“Wilde are you ok?” I asked.

“Potato soap!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“You mean potato soup?”

“Soap! Potato soap!”

We laughed our asses off and then a drill walked in.

“Private Wilde, what the fuck are you doing?” questioned the heavy set, black, high pitch voice, fast-talking third platoon drill.

“Potato soap, drill sergeant!”

“Wilde are you fuckin’ with me?”

“Potato soap!”

“Its lights out now get the fuck to bed!”

“Yes, drill sergeant!”

Wilde actually walked straight to bed with his eyes still closed as the drill walked away.  He didn’t lie down though.  Wilde moved his army issued green blanket and top white sheet to the side as if he was going to lie down.  Instead, he sat Indian-style facing the pillow’s end of the bunk.  Sitting up straight with his eyes closed he started to moan and mumble as usual.  Then he started opening his eyes and looking confused. 

“You there Wilde?” asked Washington.

“Yeah?”

“You know a drill just came in here and yelled at ya, right?

“No.  Am I in trouble?”

“Naw, but that drill probably thinks you crazy now.”

“Shit.”

Stress affects people in different ways.  Washington had a few moments of his own where he just acted loopy as hell.  Our platoon was standing in formation after another long day at the range.  DS Rouse came up to us and started to give commands to start marching.  He was still new at being a drill and giving commands wasn’t his strong suit.  When somebody makes a mistake while giving commands in the army, that soldier can correct himself by saying “as you were” to the formation he is talking to in order to back his formation up to their previous stance.  This allows the formation to not be confused, take a step back and everyone gets on the same page.  It is not something a private should say to a drill.  You're safer walking up to a bull with red gloves and sending a backhand right across the snout.

“Attention,” Rouse said, sounding like he knew he already messed up.

“As you were drill sergeant!” yelled Washington.

“Who the fuck said that!” DS Anderson stepped in to defend a fellow drill.

“I did, drill sergeant!”

Anderson made a b-line for Washington, bulldozing past anyone in his path to justice.  He started jumping up in the air so his chest could bump the chest of the much taller statured private.  Anderson strongly resembled the DS from “Full Metal Jacket” and was much shorter than all of us.  We often wondered what would happen if he and Wilde ever pissed each other off.  Maybe it would have been a reenactment of the famous bathroom scene.  Nah, we liked Anderson too much to hope for that.  If you pissed him off he would go right up to you and jump into your chest for intimidation purposes.  Rather than being intimidated we usually just tried keeping a straight face. 

“You don’t ever correct a drill!  Why the fuck are you talking in formation?”

“He didn’t address us drill sergeant!”

“Shut the fuck up, private!  Get over there in the grass!”

Rouse was supposed to stand at attention and then say, “Platoon, attention!”  A minor detail that only Washington picked up.  Washington was a tall, strong black guy that I became very good friends with.  He did JROTC in high school and had a heart of gold.  A good leader bound to do great things in his army career.  Unfortunately he didn’t know that drills don’t like to be corrected by the people they are teaching.

“I’m about to start calling you guys the “Window Licker” platoon, since you want to act like you ride the short bus,” Rouse said.

Rouse could say all he wanted.  Washington was our hero that day.  Not a single one of us had the balls to do what he did.  It was just a shame that Anderson was smoking him while we marched off and he would have to run to catch up after “learning his place.”

Washington didn’t do what he did to be a smart ass or a Mr. Know-It All.  He did it because it was instinctual.  Washington actually had a confused look on his face while he was being smoked like, “Why am I being punished?”  He was just loopy like that.  It wouldn’t be the last time he did something out of the blue to make us all love him.

Our platoon was getting ready for lights out when Washington was looking at all of our beds in the leadership room.

“Guys, I want something new.  Lets move our beds around,” he said.

“I don’t think this is the best place to redecorate, man,” I said.

Washington went ahead and moved his bed perpendicular to the rest of our beds so one long side was flat against the wall.  He was so happy that he was able to make a simple change, but the rest of us just laughed.  We knew the drill on duty that night would walk by and not approve. 

Lights out.  I could here the footsteps.  Here we go.  It was hard not to laugh as the drill’s footsteps came to a complete stop at our doorway and we could just feel his body temperature rise as his heart rate peaked and his gigantic eyes tried to escape his head.  I just rolled over and covered my head.

“Washington! What the fuck did you do to your bunk!” said the same poor drill that walked in on Wilde’s “potato soap.”

“What do you mean, drill sergeant?” Washington played dumb.

“Private, how the fuck did your bunk get against the wall like that?”

“Aliens.  Aliens must have done it, drill sergeant.”

I rolled back over to see the massacre.  Washington was just sitting on his bed with the most innocent look on his face.

“Why is it always somebody in this room that’s fuckin’ wit me? Get to fuckin’ bed, privates!”

“Yes, drill sergeant,” we all said together as the drill walked off.

We all turned our attention back to Washington and looked at him in awe.

“What?” Washington enquired, now with a smile added to his innocent face.

“How are you not in the Pit getting smoked right now?” I asked.

“Aliens.”

We started laughing yet again.

“Get to fuckin’ sleep, privates!” yelled the drill from down the hall.

I have a feeling when the drills saw things like that they had to walk away so we didn’t see them laughing.  Moments like that make the hard days in life a little easier.  Its something I’d always come across when I least expected it and will always appreciate.