Random Callers Are The Best

Over the past week I have been getting phone calls on my cell phone, no big deal since it is the only way you are going to talk to me unless we are face to face. Not only is it my “home phone” number but it is also my work contact phone number. Needless to say, I get allot of phone calls from numbers I don’t know personally, and since it is used for work I usually answer all calls. In the rare occasion I choose to ignore your call then it is for one of two reasons, either I’m busy or you have an out of state number. Typically I’m not hiding from phone calls, you know, like bill collectors, in that regard I seem to have lucked out. Anyway, usually, unless you are my employer, and you don’t leave me a voicemail, I’m not going to return your call. You called me, leave a fucking message about what you were calling for or I consider it not too damn important. I’m just saying. 99% of the time people call, don’t leave a message, but then text me, which is even better. So, this Houston number keeps calling, so finally last night answered it, my gift since in the 11 times they called me they left no message, well I say no message, they would let it go to voicemail just long enough for them to hang up after silence, giving me a voicemail icon to go check only to hear NOTHING. When I answered the call I also recorded the call, the following is a transcribed text version of what was said.

Me: Hello

Caller: (crickets)

Me: Hello

Caller: (more crickets)

Me: HELLO MOTHERFUCKERS HELLO!

Caller: Excuse me?

Me: Look motherfucker, you keep calling me, what’s on your mind?

Caller: Please wait…….. (places me on hold)

Me: Really? Call me, put me on hold, and make me listen to Kenny G? You fucking suck balls!

Me: (2 minutes into it) Hello?

Caller: (after I was on hold 6 minute) Is this Mr. Scorpion? (used my real name)

Me: Yes. Why?

Caller: Can you verify your mailing address?

Me: No. Why?

Caller: We need to verify who you are. Address please?

Me: No, I need to verify who you are. What company are you calling from?

Caller: Sir, before we can continue this conversation we need to verify your identity. Can we proceed with your address, street number first?

Me: No, we cannot. You tell me who you are and what you want or you can go fuck yourself.

Caller: Sir, we are trying to identify you are the person we have in our records.

Me: Well, what do your records say? If you get it right I will tell you, deal?

Caller: Sir, it doesn’t work this way. Address?

Me: Well, ok, thanks for calling, we’re fucking done here.

Caller: Please hold……..

Me: What the fuck! (I ended the call)

Within 30 seconds my phone is ringing once again, same number.

Me: What in the fuck do you want?

Caller: My name is Ann, I understand we are having problems identifying you so we can move forward.

Me: What in the fuck are you talking about? Who are you Ann?

Ann: I’m the manager here, you were speaking with Rebecca earlier, she mentioned there is a problem with you cooperating with the identification protocol and I have taken over to assist in the process.

Me: Why in the fuck are you calling me, repeatedly all week, twice a day, every day, never leaving a message? Can you tell me, is this part of your fucked up protocol?

Ann: Sir, look, we are a company hired by Ford Motor Company to gather information about the individuals purchasing experience.

Me: I didn’t buy anything from Ford.

Ann: Our records show you recently purchased a 2014 Ford Mustang, is that information correct?

Me: Yes, but I bought it from a Kia dealership, it is a used Mustang.

Ann: Yes sir, we understand that you didn’t purchase it directly from a Ford dealership, however your purchase records are forwarded to Ford for many purposes like factory warranty and statistical reasons.

Me: Ok, why all the cloak and dagger bullshit, why not identify yourselves first, then ask me questions?

Ann: If you would so kind to verify your address for me sir? We show you live at the following address (she tells it to me). Is this information correct?

Me: Yes, it is correct.

Ann: Your phone number is xxx-xxx-xxxx?

Me: Isn’t that the number y’all keep dialing?

Ann: Yes sir. (followed by a dramatic pause)

Me: Are we done?

Ann: No sir, we have been trying to talk with you to see how you are liking your new car.

Me: I like it fine. Anything else?

Ann: Is this your first Ford purchase?

Me: No

Ann: (after a long pause) If you don’t mind, would you like to share what other Fords you have purchased in the past?

Me: Look, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner for my family and myself, is this really necessary? Yes, guilty, I like Ford, Ford is great, if I was a woman then this Ford Mustang would make my pussy all dripping wet.

Ann: Sir?

Me: Ann?

Ann: Sir, you caught me a little off guard with your last comment. You are aware we record these conversations for training purposes, correct?

Me: Yes

Ann: If I told you that in our appreciation for speaking with us that I have a paid trip to offer to you, would you be pleased to here about it? All I need to finalize this package is to ask you a few more questions. Can we continue?

Me: So, Ann, the entire purpose to this phone call was to politely tell me that my information was given or sold to your marketing company for other purposes than to see if Ford makes me weak at the knees?

Ann: Sir, I assure you that we received your information legally.

Me: Buuuuuullllllllllllllshit Ann.

Ann: I would like to tell you about your complimentary trip now if that’s ok?

Me: Sure, why not, hurry up, dinner is almost done, you got about 7 minutes.

Ann: Las Vegas or Atlantic City?

Me: Vegas

Ann: I have two first class round trip airline tickets, a rental car voucher for the 7 days you and your spouse will be in Las Vegas, it is good for up to $150.00 per day. Included is a preloaded Visa with $1500.00 for gas and other expenses. You will be staying at the MGM Grand with two free meals for two each day of your stay. You and your spouse will each receive $200.00 in house chips for use in the casino. Any questions?

Me: Yes, I don’t fly.

Ann: Meaning?

Me: I’m not going to fly to Las Vegas. Period. I don’t fly.

Ann: I’m not following you.

Me: Skip the flight, I’ll drive. a rental will be cheaper on y’all any way.

Ann: Please hold…………

Me: Noooooo…….. Fuck……… Bitch……..

Ann: I have checked with the booking agency, those arrangements can be made for you to accommodate your needs. You’ll need to visit our office to pick up your package, the changes can be made at that time. When would you like to pick up your package so I can schedule your appointment?

Me: Saturday is fine.

Ann: Perfect, I will put you down for 8 am, will that work for you?

Me: Sure

Ann: Please be sure to bring two forms of ID for you and your wife to the appointment.

Me: Does my wife need to be present?

Ann: Yes sir.

Me: Can I get the address?

Ann: Actually, we are not allowed to give that information over the phone. Please provide me with your email address. I will send you the information described above, please print to bring with you, and the address to claim address will be included.

Me: Anything else I need to know?

Ann: No sir, we hope you enjoy your new Mustang and your trip to Las Vegas.

Me: So….. we’re done?

Ann: Yes sir, enjoy your dinner. (Call ended)

So, I did get the email as she discussed. But, and its a big fucking but, the address is at the corner of an open field and an abandoned business. First I googled it so I knew where I was going. Unsettled by what shows in google maps, I sent my future son-in-law there this morning on his way to work, he confirmed that there is nothing there except the building being torn down. When I called the number that had been calling me I got no answer, just rings and rings. I have called several times, nobody’s home. Hmmm, seems like the pile of bullshit just keeps getting deeper and deeper. The email came from donotreply@mailmixmail.net and when I emailed it back it just bounced with a server reply that the email is not valid. No shit Sherlock! I also contacted my cell service provider to put in a complaint of the number and I was told it isn’t even a valid number. Fuck it, block it anyway.

_20150529_123213

What have we learned? Well, after wasting 18 minutes of my life that I will never get back, I have found this is another reason I dislike giving out my phone number or email address to anyone for any reason. Trust me, your information is being sold, traded, or given away whether you consent to it or not. Personally I don’t think it was the Kia dealership doing it on “purpose”, but records of the purchase with my personal information were only given at the dealership at the time of purchase. Who really knows any more, really. I can’t wait until these gigafucks call me back to inform me I missed my fucking “appointment” or to follow up with me. Then it will be time to have fun. I will assume they will not call, but that’s just my opinion. Any of y’all have any good phishing stories? I have a special place in my heart, which is black and cold, for telemarketers and professional phishers. Y’all suck you bunch of troubled fucks! Get a real job, like a third party bill collector or something respectable. With that, I’m done, think I’ll put up a sign “Gone Phishing” and take the weekend off.

Sex Sells Gilley’s Saloon In Las Vegas

_20140826_204628_20140828_203744_20140828_203819_20140828_203805

A Not So Routine Trip To The E.R.

9162A76E5131D92FAC861416A9FE008A

Often times it is hard to decide what stories make it into The Magic Weekend files. Typically I will not post the story unless it has pictures provided by the sender which can be used in association with the story. I do, however, make exceptions, as in this case, it will be the second exception I have ever made. Why? Its simple really, she sent in 18 pictures with her e-mail, zero which are usable here do to what might be considered to graphic. You may or may not understand, but in her story she does take pictures and she will go on to explain why to y’all. Hers is truly a “Blood” story since it did result in 4 stitches being given in the local emergency room. She did explain that had this not happened to her then her weekend really wouldn’t have been to special. I give you Liz’s story now, she is 23, married, no children mentioned, and lives in Las Vegas Nevada. Warning: there are graphic descriptions of the female anatomy as well as graphic language in the following post.

“This weekend started out as many do for us, get off work late Friday afternoon ready to get home so we can go out on the town. My husband (Justin) and I had decided we wanted to try out a new dance club here in Las Vegas that a few of our friends had been to and said the partying was great. I got home first so I took a quick shower to was my day. As I sat in my towel afterwards, starting my hair, my husband comes in to let me know he had spoke with everyone earlier and we are still on for going out this evening. Pretty soon it was time to get dressed, so I called the girls to find out what they were wearing, we all tend to dress the same as each other already but its nice to check. Last week I had bought a new pair of blue jeans. The store didn’t have my size so I had to go one smaller, no big deal, the tighter the better, and I don’t ever get any complaints from Justin for them being too damn tight. I’m lucky in that regard, my husband is still I’m love with my ass. A common practice I have is going commando in jeans because it leaves absolutely no noticeable lines plus I don’t have to worry about getting all bunched up in the wrong tight places.

Laying on the bed completely naked I grabbed my jeans to wrestle them on. My husband gets a kick out of the show as he finished up shaving. It takes me a few minutes before I get the jeans convinced to be on me. Last step was just zipping them up to seal the deal. All of of a sudden my eyes flashed over white because of the hellish pain I was now in. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even scream. When I sat up carefully to get a better view of what happened I couldn’t bear the pain. I laid back down and called Justin to get in the bedroom. When he came in I explained what I was doing and he tried to hold back the giggles, but failed miserably. I needed him to explain what he could see to me so it could get fixed pronto. ‘Well……shit ……babe…….all I can see it what looks like bloody skin’. He then went in to explain that I zipped over a good bit of skin. When he tried to pull the zipper back down it wouldn’t budge a bit and it hurt so fucking bad I could only scream. But nothing either if us tried did any good, that zipper was very stuck with my flesh still in it. He took some pictures “just for the record” as we made plans to get me off the bed, into his truck, and down to the emergency room. And let me tell you, it was a flesh tearing effort just getting to the e.r. for sure.

We parked in front of the entrance and Justin went in to explain the situation and get someone to help get me inside. A triage technician (Ron) came out to take a look and gage the severity of my injury. Very lucky for me is the fact that I am the only person here right now so I can get seen immediately. I couldn’t begin to imagine having to wait any length of time in the waiting room. In the room now, laid back on an exam table, I feel a cool liquid beginning to run down to the back of my legs. Ron tells me it is an antiseptic to clean the area so the doctor can get in there and get to work. Enter the doctor, his name is Jack, he looks about 13 but assures me he is in his late 30s and I have nothing more to worry about since he will take care of my complaints. Yes, I do have a complaint, the is a zipper holding the fleshy parts of my vagina hostage! The first thing they do is cut away my jeans leaving only a patch surrounding the zipper. Then doctor Jack makes an announcement, the zipper has entrapped aproxamately 1 1/2″ of my right labia majora. That’s right, I zipped a chunk of my labia right up. After six separate shots into the labia and surrounding areas to deaden everything I was feeling no pain. I watched as it took four people to forcibly unzip the zipper to finally get it separated from my now very swollen, very bruised, and somewhat bloody labia.

After a deep cleaning I was taken to have an xray to confirm that no metal remained unseen under the skin anywhere. After the no metal check cleared the doctor gave me 4 stitches to permanently close the four puncture like wounds. I am guessing this will be a fine place to have stitches for the next three weeks. Now that it is time to leave we realized I didn’t have any pants but the nurse was kind enough to give me a pair of disposable scrub pants. I just wanted to go home at that point, lay on the couch a while, put an icepack on my labia, and hope like hell the swelling would go down so it would stop throbbing so badly. Now I can look back and laugh about this entire ordeal. My stitches ate out now yet I am still really tender, I haven’t wore anything but sweat pants and skirts since that night and I think my husband is getting a little concerned. I’m not sure how a person rehabilitates her labia, but so far it has been time. So, that’s that, this is how a pair of jeans can not only change one’s weekend plans but also for a long time after. Too bad there’s not a warning label on or near zippers. I wonder if this has ever happened to any other women. I can’t be the only one, can I? I’m not worried, I know that all will be well in due time. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and I hope the pictures helped explain the predicament.”

_20140624_134656

Just Playing With My Pachinko Balls

pachinko

Say it, pachinko, say it real slow so it just rolls off your tongue, pachinko. Now your asking, what’s pachinko (パチンコ) and why am I saying it? The overly simple description pachinko is that it’s a Japanese vertical pinball game. The rules are simple, shiny silver balls are fired from the top before cascading down through series of pins tumbling downward, most balls would disappear while a few may got into special holes that activates slot machines. The goal of the game is to gain more balls which can be exchanged for prizes. The operation of the game is actually really mechanical leaving the player with very little to do except defining the speed and rate the balls are fired upwards into play. It truly is a game of luck.

What does any of this have to do with me personally? Good question. I’m very glad you asked. Before I lived in Japan I had never seen a pachinko machine or pachinko parlor. Unless you count the pachinko game they would play on occasion on The Price Is Right way back when. However, the exterior of the pachinko parlors around where I lived reminded me of times I had visited Reno and Las Vegas which meant one of two things, casino or strip club. I had driven by a few pachinko parlors for the first year or so of living in northern Japan and never had an interest in finding out what was really going on inside these always packed 24/7 buildings. Biggest reason was money, we were poor and didn’t have spare money to go and gamble away.

One day that all changed, I had been out walking around an area called Green Pole Road which was basically an array of small shops, restaurants, and open farmers market. It had a mix of many things depending on what mood you were in. It was also host to most of the festivals and parades that came through Misawa. Anyway, I heard the noise of the pachinko parlor around the corner ahead of where I was walking. So, I decided to poke my head in and check out what pachinko was. The very first thing that alarms one’s senses is that it is freaking unbelievably loud. I can’t even dream up a way to describe how loud it was, just very loud, trust me I listen to heavy metal cranked up to the max, I know loud. No time to stand in the door tho, I was brushed ahead and seated immediately, seems I was blocking traffic while I was looking for the 4 seconds I stopped.

pachinko-balls

I had some Yen so I decided what could it hurt. I was shown how to play and away we went. I was sitting only a matter of 10 minutes when lights, bells, whistles, and a cascade of balls made a noise so deafening that it made my whole body vibrate. Immediately an attendant came by with small plastic tray to be used to fill up with the balls. This went on for a few minutes and then as fast as it began it was over, except I had over 70 plastic trays packed full with shiny chrome balls. Now what? Exactly what I was thinking. Soon enough another attendant pushed through and began stacking the trays of balls into a flatbed dolly. He pulls my arm and was telling me something I couldn’t even hear. So, I just followed him to the cashier. The dumped all of my winnings into a counter, not unlike a machine that will count/sort change, and when it was all done it spit out a ticket with the quantity of balls. How many was it, don’t know exactly, but is was an assload of them for sure.

Then one guy, resembling the way an auctioneer would move his hands fast and talk fast, started showing me everything I could trade my winnings for. Start with a cheap plastic lighter and work your way up to some high dollar houses with every appliance, car, food, drink, tobacco product, known to man up for grabs. I guess I had a look on my face that I was interested in any of the exchange prizes so I was handed my ticket and walked out the front door. Before I could even begin to wonder what just happened another man leads me to the building next door. The reality of it is we went down the alley and stopped at a very nondescript door where we waited for a few moments before the small window opened. The receipt was taken from my hand and handed to someone I could not see, then the window closed. After a few minutes the window opened and the hand shoved out a plastic bag in my direction. The guy outside takes the bag and shoves it inside my jacket and points for me to go.

When I looked in the bag I saw it was full of money, allot of money. How much? Well, when I went to the credit union and did the currency exchange I was given just shy of $6500.00. Oddly enough I had only spent under $25.00 playing the game. After some checking I found out while there was all the cloak and dagger secrecy, gambling for cash is illegal in Japan. But, gambling for prizes is not, nor is selling your receipt (for a cut I found out). That would the first and last time I went to a pachinko parlor to gamble. However, when my parents came over for their visit I did take my dad, he won as well, but only a couple of hundred dollars. Oddly enough I don’t like gambling, I can think of a zillion different things I “should” be doing with my money, like paying bills. So, there you go, a little deeper into my life in Japan. I have many tales to tell about Japan, it was a very fascinating place to live, work, and raise a family.

pachinko-slot-machine

The Places My Combat Boots Have Seen

0000 CB 001

A natural choice of footwear for me is my last remaining pair of Air Force issued combat boots. I have had many pair of combat boots over the years, starting back in 1988. I don’t remember them all, but there are a few that stand out in my mind because of what I was doing when I was wearing them. Currently I have only one pair left out of my collection as I have had to retire so many before it. My very first pair of issued combat boots were in United States Air Force BMT (Basic Military Training). I recall the thoughts of how uncomfortable they felt on my feet since I was in the habits of wearing my cowboy boots which were worn, haggered, stunk like shit, but were the most comfortable boots (shoes) I have ever worn. My new pair of boots were rigid, stiff, and lace up. I can’t remember how to tie my boot at first, I had to watch other new airmen as they laced and tied their boots, as I haven’t had to tie a shoe in a long time, in fact I couldn’t really remember a specific time when I tied a shoe last. I was at a loss. I was going to get kicked out on my first day because I couldn’t tie a shoe, I guess that is what I get for wearing boots for as long as I could remember. I went from owning 2 pair of shoes, cowboy boots & flip flops, to a single pair of combat boots. I better learn fast I thought, I better learn fast. I knew I was excited, this was my first day as a soldier.

After successfully completing BMT and Technical school in Denver Colorado it was noticed that my boots did not fair so well, it was time to get a new pair. Of course, I was told to wait until I got to my first base, Misawa AB Japan, where I was told I would be issued another pair as part of my in-processing. When I got to Japan I was impressed, they don’t mess around when it comes to boots, I was issued 4 pair, two summer weight and two winter weight (insulated) pair, also, I was issued my first pair of mukluks since it was winter in full force in Japan just days after Christmas. Everyone knows that if your feet are cold, your whole body is cold. I wish I would have known that before I got to Japan. How in the hell am I supposed to know how to deal with snow, I’m from Houston in southeast Texas. In late 1990 I was given orders to go to Turkey in support of what will become to be known world-wide as Desert Storm. Time to let go of the snow and the black combat boots, it was time to get introduced to desert styles. The military has a boot to fit most functions, most terrains, and most weather. This was a long 6 months for me, it was the first time I had to remind myself to do the right thing whether anyone is looking or not. I watched people lose focus, make mistakes, and basically ruin their career, I didn’t want to be that guy. I was also involved in the Liberation of Kuwait where I got to see for the very first time in person, up close and personal, the destruction that was causes. Most people think war is a physical element of destruction because we can see physical damages. I saw things beyond that, I walked over the remains of what appeared to be a family caught by surprise as a bomb that was dropped exploded just outside their house. Walking across them was an accident and when I realized what it was I had stepped on I was a bit shocked, it hurt me to see them. Our team leader explained to me that they were not “my” problem and we must move on since we were in the process of locating an area to set up shop. After that day I never wore those boots again.

Soon enough I returned to Japan to finish out the remainder of my tour. After a few years I left Japan and headed to Iceland. Unfortunately I was only in Iceland a matter of a few weeks as I was diverted to be stationed at Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico. I already had some experience living in the desert so the transition to a zero humidity environment wasn’t that hard on my system.  From New Mexico I would truly see the world beyond what I knew. I visited many places for many reasons doing my assigned job. Leaving became easier over the years, it was the coming home that was hard to do. In mid summer 1995 I was sent to Osan AB Korea to assist in the inspection of some specific munitions components which had been in long term storage. It was time to determine if they were still serviceable and if so prep them for shipment to a variety of bases world-wide. 18 months later I rotated back to the world to be reunited with my family in New Mexico. Things were not good at home, but that is another story, in fact I think I have written about it here once or twice.

In late 1998 I was in Las Vegas Nevada for the 3rd or 4th time for training and I was given orders to go an undisclosed area for the initial drive of what will become known as Operation Desert Fox. My views had really changed about the United States’ role in the world and it really impacted how I performed, I turned off the emotion, I turned off the feelings, and I just did my job. This would be the first deployment I did not get issued fresh boots, probably because of the timeline, who knows. However, when I got back there was a shiny new pair waiting for me. Well, they weren’t shiny yet, but they would be in no time. Eventhough I had a grunt job, I worked in and out of warehouses, a variety of shops, drove a variety of equipment, and walked everywhere as well, two things were always important, a persons attitude and a persons appearance. The first thing a person notices, unfortunately, is a dirty pair of boots, we always were cleaning our boots, making sure they were taken care of and shined with a reflection that rivaled most mirrors. I eventually left the Air Force, I was medically retired due to previous injuries which happened while active duty. I had no idea what being label a disabled veteran meant. I had no idea how I was going to function in the outside world. I was divorced by this time, a single parent to my daughter who didn’t know what civilian life was all about and I had all but forgot. Luckily my dad was there to catch me, offered me and my daughter a place to call home, and gave me a job working with him in his concrete contractor business. Not knowing any better, on my first day of work, I laced up a pair of my steel toed combat boots. Eventually I traded them in for a pair of work boots, finally no laces!

I always fall back to the combat boot as a boot to wear when I know my feet will be in an unruly environment. After the Air Force, my combat boots continued to see service protecting my feet from the elements and my daily life. I have one pair that has been bitten by two different snakes and has seen more blood of animals killed in the hunt than most shoes should ever have to endure. These boots are my “go to” boots. Over this past weekend I was getting dressed to go weed-eat the perimeter of my fence-line. When overgrown like was, it is a fairly dangerous place for feet because one doesn’t know what is in the tall grass. As I laced up my boots Sunday morning I found myself remembering what I wrote about here today. Interesting how a single pair of boots can trigger memories both good and bad. I wore them without incident, I don’t bother cleaning them anymore, I just knock off the big clumps, and then hang them back on the hook, ready for the next time they will serve me well.

0000 CB 002

Mysteries, Enigmas, Cubicles, And Puzzles

The latest submission to The Magic Weekend is about a young professional man who spends his days in an office cubicle and his nights doing whatever comes to mind for his mood. His actual story does not have even one of the five criteria for being here on The Magic Weekend, there is no Sex, no Jail, no Blood, no Money, and no Fame. So why am I adding this e-mail to the collection of my stories? That will be a question that you must answer for yourselves after you read and digest the information provided. Personally, I think that Robert believes that if he gets his story out there that he may finally see and end or a beginning to something in his future. You see, his story is one of covert lust that, to date, has not been resolved and he hopes that by walking us through his story that it will help him look for clues he has yet to discover. As always, I try to provide as many pictures as I can. This is one of those cases that I can only provide the two pictures you see as the other 30 some odd pictures are just a wee bit racy. I’m not in the habit of censoring what people read or see but I would like to keep my blog somewhere in the PG rating. With no more from me, let’s get on with Robert’s torrid little story.

cubicles

“Hello, my name is Robert and I have a truly bizarre story for you today. My story actually takes much longer than a mere weekend, it has gone on for right at 4 weeks now. I’m sending you a mess of pictures in the order that I received them to better illustrate what has been happening. Where do I begin. How about a little background of what I do for a living as well as how I spent my time away from work. If you look through the pictures you will see one or two showing a gaggle of cubicles. That is my work environment. This is where I sit for basically 10 hours a day, cut off from the world below me and from any outside contact with other human beings. The job is real monotonous but it pays my bills leaving me with enough money to still enjoy my life here in Houston. I’m not from Houston, I’m actually a transplant who was chasing the all American dream of having a good career and making a good salary. I grew up and went to college at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), graduating with my degree in Kinesiology. When it came time for job placement I was put on to information about a company in Houston that specializes in the design, concept, and implementation of biomechanics and orthopedics. When I accepted the job offer it was at the bottom tier of the career path. I figured I had to start somewhere, why not doing research, analysis, and comparison. Translation, I read and I read and I read. Then I get to provide my information for statistical analysis which is used for approach and further investigation. Sounds complicated, but it’s really not too bad. How does this play into everything? It has everything to do with it. My social life and work life does not overlap, meaning that I have work friends and I have friends outside work, the two never cross that line. In over a year of being with this company I can think of only one other text I received while I was at work and that was from my mother wishing me a great first day of work. Which, would have been a real push of enthusiasm for me it had actually been on my first day and not eleven days into it. I know she meant well. Anyway, right at four weeks ago I get a text from a number I don’t recognize. It’s a local number so I figure I will look at it and see what is up. When I opened it up I had to look around to see if anyone saw me looking at the picture of the girl which was being displayed. The text read “I’ve been watching you and have noticed that you have not noticed me yet”. Slowly I peek out over the top of my cubicle to look around, to see if I could see anyone looking at me that looked like this girl. I got nothing. It actually ruined my whole day because I couldn’t stop trying to figure out who she was. Not real good for productivity. It is what it is though. I ended up taking work home with me because of the entire day being a bust.

The next day about the same time in the morning I get another text from this mysterious creature. By now I think she is really trying to get my attention because that picture was a bit more exposing. Thinking to myself I don’t want to get any further behind or get fired I put my phone away and got back into getting my work done. Lunch rolled around, we get a whole 30 minutes which usually leads to most people just bringing their lunch and eating in the lunch room. On that day I decided to go to the atrium area of our building to get away from my other distractions and have a few minutes to try to figure out who this girl was and what she wanted. I keep thinking she is sending these pictures to the wrong person and that I am not the intended target of her affections. Don’t get me wrong, the attention is nice, even if it isn’t for me. It can’t be for me or can it. This continued every following day. Everyday I paid attention to who was around me no matter where I was at. Thursday nights is when my friends and I get together and usually go see a new movie and then go to a local bar to shoot darts and have a few beers. I found myself getting real paranoid because I could not figure out who she was. After about 4 weeks the pictures started becoming quite explicit, to say that I was getting to see a new side of her each day would be a complete understatement to say the least. The last picture I got of her was impressive, she is quite limber and acrobatic, it was sent with this message which haunts me still to this day. It read “I’m sorry you haven’t figured out who I am in your life. Be at the Red Lion Pub tonight at 10pm. look for me and you will see me”. Really? I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

I went home after work in quite a hurry. I needed a shower and to get dressed. I felt like a girl getting asked out on a first date. I don’t have allot of leisurewear as most of my wardrobe is casual business attire. I mixed and matched and finally thought I had it figured out. Then, I was done, walking out the door. I wanted to get there early and do a little situational observation. In reality I wanted to check the place out and see which one of my jackass friends was going to jump out and say “Gotcha!”. What I got was a fistful of mass disappointment and despair. I sat there until the placed closed down. Well, I actually didn’t just sit in one spot, I would walk around, sit at a new spot, walk around, and so forth, all night long. She never showed up. For some reason I didn’t include this in the options of what could happen that evening. She didn’t show, it was plain and simple. Did she get cold feet. Right about closing I decided to text her and ask her where she was and if she forgot about our meeting. There was no reply. I called her, my call went straight to voicemail. I left her the voicemail message of “sorry I missed you tonight, maybe another time”. I collected my belongings and hailed a taxi to take me back home. I waited for a call or a text, any sign that I wasn’t crazy and that she had a great reason or no reason for standing me up. Nothing. That nothing is what continued from that point forward. I waited like a love struck puppy for an entire week for something, anything from her. At the end of the week I called her one last time and was answered with a recorded message telling me that the number I was trying to reach is not available. Did she change her number? Was the other one disconnected? I will never know since I never even knew her name. So, back to my life, back to the cubicle, I will always have more questions than answers, it will always be a mystery to me who she would be to me, I feel a bit heartbroken but know it wasn’t all real. I mean, it happened, but it didn’t actually mean anything. Now, I have some very enigmatic memories of a nameless girl who was very talented. I won’t ever solve this puzzle, but if I do I will be sure to update you.

201310

Can y’all see now why I included this as a Magic Weekend submission. There was the promise of something from someone. The story intrigued me enough that I found myself feeling bad for this guy. I found myself wanting to reach out to help him. Therefore, I included his story here. Makes me wonder though, was she just screwing with him? Was he the intended recipient of all those texts? Is this that has been lost to ever be found ever again? Answers I will probably never know. I hope y’all enjoyed Robert’s story. I look forward to all the submissions I get to the Magic Weekend. Just e-mail them to me. What did your weekend involve? Sex? Jail? Blood? Monet? Or Fame? Send me your story now and see it here in the very near future. Thanks for stopping by and I look forward to your many returns.

Welcome To The Land Of Enchantment

This will be installment number two of where I was stationed, how being in the AMMO careerfield influenced my drinking habits, and different places I traveled while still being stationed at Holloman AFB in New Mexico. If necessary, you might need to read Land Of The Rising Sun to get caught up to where I left off. Originally when I was given relocation orders at Misawa AB Japan I was heading to Keflavik Iceland for two years on an accompanied tour. That went south and I was diverted to being stationed at Holloman AFB New Mexico to fill in for a shortage of Munitions Inspectors that they were experiencing. But, I failed to get orders for this tour until after all my belongings were shipped to Iceland and I was in Iceland for three days. But, I am getting ahead of myself completely here so I need to back track just a bit. Let me take you back to my final days in Japan before I actually departed. Just a few days before we were scheduled to leave, neighbors and friends of my wife and I were thrown a party. It was a family oriented party held outside in two feet of snow. It had to be outside because that is where we were cooking. There was a fair amount of drinking being done by everyone that cold December afternoon. The kids were all playing in the snow and having a good time as well. After dark it got very cold and started snowing again so we all decided to clean up and call it an evening. We all said our goodbyes and farewells to many of the people since this would be the last time we saw them before we leave in a few days. However, this was only one send off. My personal send off from work was the following evening. My wife was well aware this was going to happen and was actually okay with the whole idea. The following evening I was picked up by friends since we had just sold our cars a few days ago to people who were just coming into Misawa and needed transportation. We did what is referred to as a pub crawl in the AMMO community. Meaning, that we started at one bar and then we hit them all as they were all in close proximity to one another. The entire “crawl” lasted for about six hours or so and some of us, including myself, were crawling by the time we arrived at the final bar. To say I was that drunk would be a mild understatement. I would say that I was pretty toasted to say the least. In fact, most of what I remember about the entire night is what was told to me when I was sober afterwords, plus some jackass decided it would be a good idea to take pictures with one of those disposable cameras and then decided to shove it in my pocket so I could develop it on a later date. Unfortunately, out of 36 pictures, only 3 were of me, all in a condition I don’t wish to share with anybody, ever. I didn’t get much sleep by the time I got back since our flight was leaving in two hours. I had enough time to shower, get dressed, get in the taxi, and head to the airport. Needless to say, the flight sucked because of rough weather which really played havoc on my developing hangover. I was awake 90% of the flight and knew it when we landed because I was 13 shades of green at the time.
 
After landing at Keflavik we went thru customs and eventually collected our bags. We then hailed a taxi to take us to the base so we could check into billeting (base hotel quarters). We were hungry so we called in an order of pizza and it was one mistake we only made once since it sucked pretty bad. That night my wife and I went out to explore, get something to eat, and pick up some toiletries we needed. All in all a good night, we even found this great bar! The following morning a messenger from the commander’s office was knocking on the door to inform me I had an appointment at 9am. It is there that I found out about my new orders and my new departure date to head to Holloman AFB. I went back to the room and told my wife not to get comfortable since we were leaving in four days to go there. She wasn’t overjoyed but was happy to go to the United Stated where she was closer to family. Meanwhile, we wanted to go explore locally and see what we could see. It was, however, an all expense paid mini vacation so we wanted to make the best of it. One of my favorite things to do is to try the local cuisine, from bar foods to actual restaurants, to see how the people of that land eat and drink. We found, very fast, that the actual restaurants were quite expensive and most required a more dressier dress code than what we had to offer. So, to a few bars we would go. We were able to sample some really great food, none of what I can remember the names of or pronounce. We did some drinking as well, we found that some of the bars were actually swingers bars, so those were fun. And, the rumors are true for what we saw in Iceland, everyone, with very few exceptions, was blonde and had blue eyes. We were the oddballs, we stood out like the tourists we were. The best drink I had was a Bacardi and Wild Turkey slushy served in a mug made from ice. It was real cool and it kept the slushy very cold. Our time soon ended and we were headed to the airport the leave this beautiful place. But, for me, and some time into the future, I will be returning so this isn’t the end of the story for Iceland. We boarded the plane and took off and after a few stops and layovers we landed in El Paso Texas. I had contacted my sponsor (also to become my new supervisor) that we were in town and we needed a ride. Around an hour later we were picked up and taken to billeting to get checked in. If memory serves me correct this was a Friday afternoon so we didn’t have anything to do until Monday rolled around. We were tired from our trip so we just said screw it and showered and then went to sleep. Sometime Saturday after noon sometime, my new supervisor came over to check in on us and see how we were doing. He mentioned that a few couples were going to meet up at a bar called Nickles right down the street from the base if we were interested. We were game. He left us to mill around a while and get dressed. He and his wife came over later to get us to take us out for our first “night on the town”. This place was interesting, a true mix of redneck meets hip hop meets metal type of place. A truly bizarre mixture of people were there. I found out real quick that I was no longer in the land of exotic drinks because this was a beer and shots kind of place which was quite a bore and very disappointing. This led to me asking some questions to the bartender. She liked me and recommended that I get my license to bartend at the local community collage because they need some new blood in this bar. So, we drank, we talked, we got the rundown on what Holloman had to offer and what it was all about. After a few hours of drinking, playing pool, playing darts, and many tequila shots, it was time to head on back to the base.
 
Soon enough it was Monday, time to get some in-processing done and get out to the bomb dump (munitions storage area) to get acquainted with my new job. Due to the luck of the draw I guess, I ended up in the Munitions Storage shop. There were a few very interesting characters working here to say the very least. It doesn’t take a great deal of time to find out who is all business and who is the work hard and party hard people. Of course, a few of the guys were going to be doing a little drinking and bowling at the recreations facility after work. So, I tagged along and found out this place didn’t have a whole hell of allot to offer besides working. What did I expect, this base is in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a desert. When I first got stationed at Holloman there wasn’t even a Walmart in town. The mall was dubbed “The Hall” because it was a Sears at one end and a 3 stall theatre at the other end with about 20 stores in between. It took about 30 seconds or less to go from one end to the other which made it a pretty sad excuse for a mall. Soon enough we got settled into base housing and began living our lives in the “Land of Enchantment”. I did successfully complete the bartender’s school to get my license. I did take a part time position at the bar out on the highway. After a few months I got TDY orders (temporary duty) to go to Nellis AFB outside Las Vegas Nevada to participate in a military exercise known as “Green Flag”. In actuality it was a school to teach us how to build bombs in a mass and rapid fashion to support the aircraft in a quicker manner during a time of deployment and/or conflict. There was allot more to it, but why do I need to bore you. As an adult this was the first time to visit Las Vegas so I was real excited to go. It didn’t take long to mix in with the locals and see that I was falling into their routine which was work, party, eat, work, and keep repeating. Sometimes, for a change of pace a few of us would go to a strip bar called Cheetahs to blow off a little steam. I found that I could drink for free pretty much all the time just by making simple bets with the people I was with and with the bartenders. I ended up with a part time job there bartending during peak hours. The money was good but I would have rather been partying with my friends who were getting drunk. I wasn’t into all the gambling or anything like that so I did allot of sight seeing when I could, went to school, worked part time some, and partied all the rest of the time. This place was more my “style” since there was so much trouble to get into there. Soon enough it was time to head back to Holloman AFB to get back into the routine there. After a couple more months I received orders to go to Osan AB in South Korea to assist another TDY group from some base in Alaska who would be doing inspections and maintenance on equipment that has been in long term storage. They had new equipment that they were also testing so it sounded like it was going to be a good time. Little did I know that after six months that these guys would get to go home and I would get extension orders to remain for 12 more months. I will not lie, I don’t remember much about the last 11 1/2 months I was at Osan, it remains a blur still to this day. I started drinking one evening and basically didn’t stop until I left. It all started with what is called a “Green Bean” since it was a party designed to introduce you to the AMMO drinking life in Korea. I was hooked. For me every night from that point on was a time to be so drunk I would not think about being across the world without my family. It was a lonely life there and it actually went pretty fast for me since I was always drunk. I met some good people there whom I remain in contact still today so many years later. If it weren’t for these great friends and an endless supply of alcohol I would have never made it out of there in one piece. Soon enough I go my orders to rotate back to the world and I was very happy to be leaving Korea.
 
Life hadn’t changed to much back at Holloman and it was easy to get back into the work and life routine there. We had nice weather all year long so we could grill out or smoke anytime we wanted to. Which was good, I always had a party to look forward to go to, even if it were at my own house. Then I got orders to go to Kuwait. I wasn’t real happy about that. I didn’t want to go to war again. I will make this as simple as possible for y’all since Kuwait sucked ass. The routine was work, eat, shower, sleep, and repeat every 12 hours every day for seven months. There was no drinking, there was no party, there was nothing. I saw things there that changed me inside for ever. But, I would think that seeing death up close and personal would change anyone. I was so damn glad to get the hell out of Kuwait. When I got back to Holloman I was in for a surprise, a big surprise. The night I returned I walked into my house to find that my wife had her boyfriend spending the night in my bed. I will spare you the details but just know I went to jail that night. It gave me some time to reflect on where my life had been going. When they saw fit I was released. But now I was beyond pissed, I was beyond wanting to be married, and I was beyond wanting to be in the Air Force. It is hard to make clear decisions when you are angry at the world. I spent the next few months sober struggling with my marriage and what direction I wanted it to go. I couldn’t forgive her, I couldn’t overlook the fact that she intentionally destroyed our marriage, and I didn’t want to be married any longer to her. I needed to get out of my house and away from her because every day that went by I found myself hating her more and more. I ended up at a friends house where we go stupid drunk. When I went home that next morning I started a fight with my wife on purpose because it was time to shit or get off the pot. We separated that afternoon and I never looked back. I ended up moving in with my good friend and his wife. During this time I had an end date for my marriage as well as an end date with my twisted marriage to the Air Force. Luckily for me my friend liked to drink almost as much as I did so it was easy to spend these last few months in New Mexico drunk as a skunk. There are many things I regret about being in the Air Force. I became one of those statistics that they write about to chart statistics since I was essentially an alcoholic, I ended my marriage in divorce, and I chose to leave because I didn’t want to be a part of the machine anymore. I found, soon enough, that there was indeed life after the Air Force, life for someone who was divorced, and brand new opportunities to do whatever I pleased once I moved back to Texas. My return to Texas is where I will pick up with the next installment of my story.