That Ain’t Right

Fuck you solar system. Like the days in KAF aren’t long enough, ya gotta pick a day I’m here for the longest day of the year. And now you’ve got this goddamn Super Moon coming tomorrow which seems to be really wreaking havoc with shit. A bunch of stuff that just shouldn’t be happening was going down this week. Anyway, on with the show:

Fight, Fight!

So, let’s start with the big news. Who saw that incipient fight in the North Line this morning? I missed all the excitement but I hear from reliable sources that a DFAC employee and a customer got into a bit of a violent shoving match before SuperDFACMan in the chef whites broke it up by unceremoniously hauling the employee’s ass into the office. I don’t know what precipitated it but I’m sure as hell not gonna ask for extra bacon anymore.


Thanks, Asshole.

Thanks, Asshole.

I’m 50 years old. That means I have to get up to use the facilities most nights. Don’t laugh, it’ll happen to you eventually. Anyway, is it too much to fucking ask that I can get back to my room afterward? The washroom is across a little breezeway in the next building. A couple of nights ago I stumbled out of my room around 3 am, took care of business and upon returning to the door to my building I was greeted by the sight at right. After clawing at the door in a mild rage of muttered curses for a minute or two, I had to walk around the entire building in my bathrobe to get in the other door. Here’s an idea…if you rip the goddamn handle off the door don’t just toss the damn thing on the ground and walk away. Wedge open the door or put up a sign or something, fer chrissakes. What is wrong with you?


Think that might leak?

Think that might leak?

There’s one shower stall in one of the shower rooms that has a crack in the floor. Unlike handle-breaker-man above, whoever discovered this crack acted responsibly and tied up the shower curtain. This was an obvious sign to anyone who is not obtuse that the shower should not be used. As you can see, the crack in the floor is not subtle.

So, I entered the shower room this morning and there was one other guy in there. He was in the one shower that had the curtain tied up in a knot around the curtain rod. Water was, of course, spraying all over the shower room. Why the hell would he choose that one shower out of the 6 available? I wanted to shout “What the fuck is wrong with you? Can’t you see that shower is broken? Water is spraying everywhere!”. Of course, all I did was mutter “Hey” as that is the only thing guys are allowed to say to a naked man in the bathroom. The maintenance guys have now put duct tape across the shower to discourage idiots. I doubt it’ll work.

Can’t Touch This

Hands Off!

Hands Off!

Ok, here’s the deal. You have to keep track of which toast is yours. If you put whole wheat bread into the toaster it doesn’t magically transform into white bread with sesame seeds on the way through. In other words “Don’t Touch my Fucking Toast”. Yesterday in the North Line, I put my standard two pieces of sesame white bread in the toaster immediately behind idiot-boy’s wheat bread. His bread came out first but he stood there with his empty eyes looking at his toast, then at me, then at his toast again. “That’s yours” I helpfully offered. He replied with something along the lines of “Ung”. By this point my toast had slid in behind his. He grabbed one piece of his and started to grab one of mine. “That’s mine” I said as my brain screamed “Agh…he touched my fucking toast.” “Ung” came the reply. He then moved his other wheat toast out of the way and started to grab my other toast from behind it. “That’s mine”, I tried again. Ung”. “You had wheat toast (agh, he touched my other fucking toast)” “Ung” he replied and finally took his second piece of toast. Lest you think “ung” is “thank you” or “I’m sorry” in some obscure tongue…this guy was an American civilian. I don’t think I like people.

Going in for number 6

Going in for number 6

Speaking of toast, some quality control and consistency in the toasters would be nice. I mean, anything worthy of the name toaster should, I think anyway, toast shit. Sure, they have controls that ostensibly allow one to adjust the darkness, but I’m pretty sure they don’t actually do anything. How many times do you think the toast at left has gone through this toaster. If you guessed five, then you’ve used the toasters here, haven’t you?

Here There Be Monsters



I mentioned North Line’s renos a while back. Well, today D wanted to eat lunch in the new addition. I was pretty hesitant given the eerie blue light emanating from the place, but D was insistent. It was a mistake. The place had what K, our token ex-army man, nostalgically referred to as “new tent smell”…otherwise known as noxious off-gassing. It was also a lot hotter than the main part of the DFAC. Most disappointingly, it is also quite a ways away from the dessert counter. D, refusing to admit that eating in there was a terrible idea, said “You can hear the ballgame on the TV’s in here” all the while studiously ignoring them.

Ratios matter

Ratios matter

Being far from the dessert counter is problematic because, as you know, North Line has real ice cream every lunch. Obviously, you don’t want to get your ice cream with your meal as it might tend to melt in the 35C temperatures, so we have to go the counter after eating our vegetables. That’s when the problems begin. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the ice cream. I particularly like it with cake. However, there are certain mathematical rules that have to be applied to cake and ice cream. Pro-tip: There should never be more ice cream than cake and there should never be 3 times as much ice cream as cake. Anything from a 2:1 to 3:1 ration cake to ice cream will work. So, North Line DFAC Ice-Cream-Spooning-Guy…stop the madness. No one needs those giant slabs of ice cream you’re dishin’ up.


Alone for dinner a couple of days ago, I went to Burger King at McChrystal Lite. The service was horrendously slow. It took them at least 10 minutes to take the order from the guy ahead of me. As I finally got to the front of the line, I noticed that to take an order, the guy is using a PC with what looks like an Excel spreadsheet from which he has to find the specific item ordered and select it. He then has to go to another screen manually enter in the amount tendered and click around with a mouse doing god knows what. I felt sorry for the guy as he labouriously took my order of a Whopper and Fanta…until he hesitated while counting out my change to work yet another device which I saw was his goddamn IPhone with the Facebook app open. The fucker was updating his status while taking orders! How many times do his Facebook friends need to see “I hate my fucking job”.

That Was Easy

In order to do my job, I have to take a course that shall remain nameless that is offered by a COMKAF agency even though there is no information provided on the course that I need to do my job. Regardless, I want to comply with regs. So, I read the relevant SOP. It’s written in 4th grade American English and makes almost zero sense. There’s a couple of letters I need to have prepared…one of which calls for my signature on the letterhead of a government agency. Yeah, I don’t think governments take too kindly to civilian contractors signing shit on their letterhead…and that’s pretty much the only intelligible thing in the SOP.

In an effort to figure all this stuff out, I went to the agency running the course to get my questions answered. They were closed at 2 pm on a Friday but had a sign up with an email to which one could send queries. “Well, that’s handy!”, I naively thought. I went back to my office and sent them an email. Tuesday morning rolled around and getting no response to my email, I went to another COMKAF agency office where I knew the documentation requirements for the course registration were posted. I took a picture of the requirements so I wouldn’t forget. I got all the documentation together with the help of a government liaison person who was similarly flummoxed by the SOP. I went back to the agency running the course to sign up and, surprisingly, they were there. Then this lovely bit of bureaucracy occurred.
Here’s all my documentation. I hope I have it all, the SOP was confusing. I sent an email with questions to that email address (pointing to their sign) but no one answered.
Yeah, we got locked out of our email.”
“Oh, maybe you should take that sign down then”.
Awkward Silence
“Do you have a KAF badge?”
I lift up the KAF badge clearly visible hanging around my neck and no more than 2 feet from her eyes. “Um, yeah, here”
Did you bring a copy of it?”
“No, it wasn’t on the list of requirements at the XXX office”.
“Oh, we have a new procedure (pointing to yet another sign)”
“Well, it didn’t say that on the sign at the XXX office. I have a picture. You should really update the info there too”
Awkward Silence
Well, I’ll sign you up for the course but only if you promise to bring a copy of your KAF badge with you”.

On the Lighter Side



Lux is now serving brunch on Fridays, 0500-1400. Of course, there’s nowhere to park at Lux anymore since they’ve closed the parking lot to non-tactical vehicles…but a walk’ll do you good. I’ll be eating breakfast at North Line.

Monti had the old style cherry pie back today!

One of our guys, LL, was coming out of Coffee Time at 0530 with a coffee in one hand and a donut in the other. Two MPs doing spot checks stopped him and asked to see his ID. His response of “Did I do something wrong or do you just want my donut?” was not appreciated.

Bottom Line

This place is weird.

Why, this is very midsummer madness.” – Olivia

“It is the very error of the moon,
She comes more near the earth than she was wont,
And makes men mad.” – Othello

3 thoughts on “That Ain’t Right

  1. Give LL a message…..Tell him I somehow have the feeling that bail money on an expense claim wouldn’t be approved for payment. LOL.

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