A Day in The Life…

I’ve been here long enough that I felt like trying to explain what, for the most part, could be construed as an “average” day in this anything but average place.

I wake up early, anywhere between 0500 and 0600 depending on the day. It is often frigid in my room, as the little Chigo air conditioner gained headway against the heat of the day through the cool of the night. The sun has already been awake far longer than I, but we have blocked its entry to our room with towels over the window. I slip on my shower shoes and step into the hallway to stumble my way to the bathroom; the already warm hallway feels nice. For reasons that escape me, the bathroom is kept at a temperature more suitable for the storing of meat, not the exiting of showers. But I shower at night, because in my mind there is no point to showering in the morning here.

Depending on how energetic I feel, and how wrinkled my uniform is, I might break out the super awesome iron I purchased here. Yes, it is odd for someone to get excited about an iron, but the one I have back home is older than I am (literally – a hand-me-down from the parents). While the basics of iron technology haven’t changed in the past 20 years, it’s still nice to have one that’s shiny and new and gets wrinkles out of clothing – the core tenant of any iron.

The chow hall (one of the 5 on base) is ridiculously close to my room. Ridiculous, only in its extreme proximity to me, and yet the surprisingly infrequency with which I visit it. Breakfast is a luxury that - at least for me - cannot be afforded. Perchance, if the stars align, I may make my way through the breakfast line with a take out plate to eat at my desk… but there’s a better chance of the Chargers winning the Super Bowl than that happening on a regular basis. Breakfast time is spent at my desk, drinking coffee and eating whatever ornamentally packaged “health” food happens to be sitting around. To that note: thank you to Anna for the baked goods, and to Mother for the healthy cereal bars – they have gotten me through many a morning.

By and large, my day is spent sitting in the back right corner of a decently sized windowless wooden room, staring at a computer monitor, fighting fires and getting work done. Our office is air conditioned as well, which is a good thing. The generator powering the building however, has been having issues, often leaving us to chose between functioning lights and computers or functioning air conditioning. The building, all of it looking much the same as my office – windowless plywood walls, ceilings, and doors – sits inside a much larger tent. In the heat of the afternoon, it can be in excess of 95* if the air conditioning goes out. We are all much happier when the generator is working.

My day is spent switching between two computers: the “low” side computer for unclassified work and the “high” side computer for the secret and classified information. With my Chief, a very intelligent and personable man, we are the single point of contact for all construction across five Forward Operating Bases (FOBs) and multiple smaller Combat Outposts (COPs). At any given time, either of us should be able to tell you what projects are going on at which FOB, to include who’s doing the work, how far along the project is, when it will be done, what issues it has, who the end user is, and what project that team will be moving on to after completion. Often, we are required to recite said information to those powers that be whom require it.

This work manifests itself in a number of ways. Two nights a week, every week, I have a meeting for one of my FOBs where all the key players sit around a huge plywood table and discuss the status of projects. I am by far the junior man, often sitting between O-5s and O-6s (O being for officer, the number being for their rank. I am an O-2 – side bar: I was recently promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade after spending two years as an Ensign. Better pay, slightly more respect, and progress…) I brief the first slide of the night, focusing specifically on the troop labor side of construction. Without belaboring the topic, there are three ways to do construction out here: Troops (Army, Air Force, or Navy Seabees!!!), Contracting (local or international companies that bid for construction jobs), and through a massive already established contract called LOGCAP. I deal mainly with the first, assigning US service members to do work for US bases.

Work also comes via email, phone call, and meetings and they all come in droves. With limited resources, multiple customers, and a “yesterday” deadline mentality we’re kept busy.

One of the highlights of my job is traveling out to visit my FOBs, getting me off KAF and outside the wire; a chance that very few of my shipmates get out here. For my FOBs we travel exclusively by helicopter, which for the adventurous side of me is incredibly awesome. The flights are uncomfortable and violent, an assault on the body. Occupants squeeze themselves in shoulder to shoulder, adorned in full combat attire and loaded for bear. Almost every time I’m in the helicopter I hear Fortunate Son by CCR or Flight of the Valkyries from Platoon in my head – it’s like clockwork. FOB visits are exhausting and hectic, trying to cram in as much project review and situational awareness before the sound of the rotors spinning up sends a shot of adrenaline through the veins. I haven’t been left behind yet, but it’s been damn close. As terrible as it sounds, I am ecstatic that it is part of my job.

Lunch is another one of those many luxuries that the operational tempo of my day doesn't lend itself to on a regular basis. My predecessor left a plethora of tuna packages, a staple of mid afternoon hunger abatement. My stomach has shrunk considerably since being here, to a point where I fear I may never again become the veritable garbage disposal I once was.

Another part of my day is spent keeping abreast of the realities of war, reading the countless “Flag Status” emails directing whether the flag is at full or half mast; the subsequent “Ramp Ceremony” emails outlining the details of the fallen soldier’s last flight home; the daily Intel Summary reporting all of the combat events of the day and their human toll. It’s a sobering activity to say the least, but important to keep on top of.

Work normally wraps up around 1830 or 1900 when a group of us wander to one of the DFACs (Dining Facilities) nearby – unless it’s one of the nights I have my meetings, and then it’s off to do that. After chow it’s customary to come back to the office to check the emails and put out any last minute fires before securing for the day.

Back in the hooch (that’s military slang for room), I hop on my laptop to check in on my social networking and blog e-life. Depending on my energy level I’ll head out for a short run around the base or go to the gym to do some strength training. The condition of the air here is not conducive to physical activity, parching the mouth and lungs and replacing whatever was there with dust. But it’s a nice release from the day, some time just for me and the stars and my reflective yellow belt.

After showering and cooling down in the sub-arctic chill of the bathroom, it’s time for bed. I have learned to sleep fully clothed, including socks, with my tennis shoes unlaced and ready to go right by the bed. It was a quick lesson learned after stumbling around in the darkness following our first rocket attack. Worrying about where your pants are in the confusion and darkness should not be top priority in those moments.

As I crawl into my sleeping bag, perched atop my less than comfortable mattress, exhausted from the day, I go to sleep to the faithful hum of the little Chigo, my mechanical Sisyphus, toiling again to overcome the latent heat of the day. And I in my own way will return again tomorrow to push boulders up hills, only to watch new ones appear shortly thereafter.