The Chinese Fire Drill

He said, “Hey the convoy is stopping! Hurry, let’s switch!”

The truck came to a stop, and he jumped out of the driver’s seat. Mike jumped out of the passenger seat and ran to the driver’s side. I slid through the hole that we talked through and into the passenger seat. Chad ran to the back of the truck and climbed over all of the gear and crap to the one small hole that wasn’t packed…the one place where I usually sat. This twisted little Chinese Fire Drill only took about 45 seconds and then we started rolling again.

My mood increased suddenly. I could see through the windshield from the “hole” and I had been taking peaks at the Iraqi landscape, but I had not seen much of our surroundings because my view was limited. For the first time since we had crossed the border, I could see Iraq. I could see the barren wasteland, the Bedouins, and the other trucks in our convoy. Wild! I was actually enjoying the ride.

Mike started gagging…I mean…really dry heaving! You know the sound, the one that is almost contagious…the sound that makes people, like me, with weak stomachs want to vomit….Bleah…gag, blea’ cough…wheeze…bleah.

I was laughing. (This is a good point to remind my readers that I have no sense of smell…a condition known as Anosmia.) “Mike, what’s wrong, man? Does it stink?” Mike started yelling between his dry heaves, “Chad, throw it out. That FUCKING STINKS! Throw it out the window…throw it!” Chad was in the back yelling, “Hold on…wait…hold on a second…try not to hit any bumps…hold one second.”

I was laughing hysterically until I heard Chad say, “Cisco, lean left.” I looked up to see his hand holding an MRE bag next to my head. He was trying to toss it out the window. Instinctively, I grabbed it and tossed it out the window. I could see the shit smeared all over the sides…I could see his toilet paper and wet wipes covered in brown gush…..Bleah Gag Bleah Wheeze (it was me this time)! Mike started laughing at me now.