Narrative Essay O_o
Alcohol is bad!
Okinawa, Japan 2004. It’s hard to believe I had some of the best times of my life on this small island. Upon arriving on “The Rock” a service member’s baggage is thoroughly checked for any contraband and once cleared, Camp Foster is the next destination for local orientation. The first week is spent learning about the Japanese, their culture, and the basics of their language. On the second week, Marines are sent to whichever base they’ll be working on and it’s not until the end of the first month on island that they’re finally allowed off base. Sometimes leaving base wasn’t worth it because there were and are slews of rules to follow. They would vary according to rank. The lower ranks were thoughtfully given the most rules which annoyingly included me.
I ended up stationed on Camp Hansen, which had a nifty little town located right outside the gate called Kin-Ville and nicknamed “Sin-Ville.” At twenty-one years old, I had just started drinking prior to arriving in Oki and sure enough, Kin-Ville was my first stop on my first weekend off base. It was a good first stop; I crossed the street, walked a few yards and before long, found myself mixed into the night life of “Sin-Ville.” There were a few reasons for that nickname; one was that the place was full of bars, one right after another on more than a few streets. Another reason is because of filthiness, literally in some places and morally in others. Other than those two things, the locals were some of the nicest people I’ve ever met, for as much as they may resent our military presence -if at all- they’re very tolerant, respectful, and friendly.
As soon as I stepped into the first bar, I had a warm shot of sake to kick off the night. About two drinks later and after endless, pointless conversation, a fight broke out, marines stupidly fighting one another. I thought nothing of it until Monday morning and our platoon’s gunny mentioned the incident during formation. The following dialogue is what I remember:
“Alright devil dogs, I’m gonna make this short and sweet,” he said.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah -drink responsibly. Blah, blah, blah, blah -don’t drink if you’re under 21.”
Our gunny had a sense of humor.
About two months passed before my next big drinking night. It was my buddy’s twentieth birthday and he wanted to drink. Having known him a few weeks, I decided to comply and get some beer for us to drink in the barracks. We must have downed about ten or twelve beers before we found out that gunny was roaming around. The worst thing to happen that night was gunny’s face staring at both my buddy and I during mid-chug. Gunny knew it was my friend’s birthday and that he was only twenty, “Crap” was my only thought. Gunny naturally broke the silence.
“Chavez, you’re still new here aren’t you?”
“Yes Gunnery Sergeant.” was my rattled reply.
“Are you trying to remain a PFC for your entire tour here Chavez?”
“No Gunnery Sergeant.”
“Then don’t let this happen again or I’m burning you for sure.”
“Aye Gunnery Sergeant.” were the only words that followed after a short but perplexed empty look on my face. We let out a sigh of relief once gunny left and decided to have another drink just to calm down.
I still drank on and off with my buddies but was always careful where and when I drank with people that might have been underage. Complacency took its toll about nine months later. I was bar hoping in Okinawa’s capital, Naha when I met a pretty cool girl. We were both drinking and just chattering away about nothing and everything. I eventually glanced down at my watch and told her I had to meet up with my friends and catch a cab back to base. It turned out she had a car was heading back to the same base so she offered a ride. Before we got to the gate, we both straightened up a little so as to not look too drunk. We pulled up and the guard asked for our ID’s. I was pulling mine out but thinking at the same time that I hadn’t asked this girl’s rank. Sure enough, with my luck she was a second lieutenant and I was a lance corporal. Enlisted and Officers go together about as well as water and oil, in this case it would be a charge of fraternization on both of us. Luckily she realized my rank just in time and covered us by saying she found me drunken outside a bar, asked what base I was on and gave me a ride back. The guard bought the story and let us through. She dropped me off at the barracks and we never hung out again, thanks in part to gunny.
When gunny confronted me a few days later about the incident I thought for sure that he was omnipotent because there was no way he could have known. Apparently scuttlebutt travels fast though.
“Chavez, Chavez, Chavez, what should I do with you?”
“I don’t know Gunnery Sergeant.” was all I could say.
“You do realize that fraternization is nearly as bad as contributing to underage drinking right?” I could only look blankly ahead with a disappointed face.
“I know I said that I’d burn you for sure next time you screwed up but since you’re about to leave Oki I’ll be nice.”
“Nice Gunny?” spilled from my throat.
“Yes. I want you to wax and buff my floors once a week until you leave, good to go?”
“Aye gunnery sergeant!”
After Okinawa I’ve never really drank often or binged, it costs too much and more importantly could cost too much.
Okinawa, Japan 2004. It’s hard to believe I had some of the best times of my life on this small island. Upon arriving on “The Rock” a service member’s baggage is thoroughly checked for any contraband and once cleared, Camp Foster is the next destination for local orientation. The first week is spent learning about the Japanese, their culture, and the basics of their language. On the second week, Marines are sent to whichever base they’ll be working on and it’s not until the end of the first month on island that they’re finally allowed off base. Sometimes leaving base wasn’t worth it because there were and are slews of rules to follow. They would vary according to rank. The lower ranks were thoughtfully given the most rules which annoyingly included me.
I ended up stationed on Camp Hansen, which had a nifty little town located right outside the gate called Kin-Ville and nicknamed “Sin-Ville.” At twenty-one years old, I had just started drinking prior to arriving in Oki and sure enough, Kin-Ville was my first stop on my first weekend off base. It was a good first stop; I crossed the street, walked a few yards and before long, found myself mixed into the night life of “Sin-Ville.” There were a few reasons for that nickname; one was that the place was full of bars, one right after another on more than a few streets. Another reason is because of filthiness, literally in some places and morally in others. Other than those two things, the locals were some of the nicest people I’ve ever met, for as much as they may resent our military presence -if at all- they’re very tolerant, respectful, and friendly.
As soon as I stepped into the first bar, I had a warm shot of sake to kick off the night. About two drinks later and after endless, pointless conversation, a fight broke out, marines stupidly fighting one another. I thought nothing of it until Monday morning and our platoon’s gunny mentioned the incident during formation. The following dialogue is what I remember:
“Alright devil dogs, I’m gonna make this short and sweet,” he said.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah -drink responsibly. Blah, blah, blah, blah -don’t drink if you’re under 21.”
Our gunny had a sense of humor.
About two months passed before my next big drinking night. It was my buddy’s twentieth birthday and he wanted to drink. Having known him a few weeks, I decided to comply and get some beer for us to drink in the barracks. We must have downed about ten or twelve beers before we found out that gunny was roaming around. The worst thing to happen that night was gunny’s face staring at both my buddy and I during mid-chug. Gunny knew it was my friend’s birthday and that he was only twenty, “Crap” was my only thought. Gunny naturally broke the silence.
“Chavez, you’re still new here aren’t you?”
“Yes Gunnery Sergeant.” was my rattled reply.
“Are you trying to remain a PFC for your entire tour here Chavez?”
“No Gunnery Sergeant.”
“Then don’t let this happen again or I’m burning you for sure.”
“Aye Gunnery Sergeant.” were the only words that followed after a short but perplexed empty look on my face. We let out a sigh of relief once gunny left and decided to have another drink just to calm down.
I still drank on and off with my buddies but was always careful where and when I drank with people that might have been underage. Complacency took its toll about nine months later. I was bar hoping in Okinawa’s capital, Naha when I met a pretty cool girl. We were both drinking and just chattering away about nothing and everything. I eventually glanced down at my watch and told her I had to meet up with my friends and catch a cab back to base. It turned out she had a car was heading back to the same base so she offered a ride. Before we got to the gate, we both straightened up a little so as to not look too drunk. We pulled up and the guard asked for our ID’s. I was pulling mine out but thinking at the same time that I hadn’t asked this girl’s rank. Sure enough, with my luck she was a second lieutenant and I was a lance corporal. Enlisted and Officers go together about as well as water and oil, in this case it would be a charge of fraternization on both of us. Luckily she realized my rank just in time and covered us by saying she found me drunken outside a bar, asked what base I was on and gave me a ride back. The guard bought the story and let us through. She dropped me off at the barracks and we never hung out again, thanks in part to gunny.
When gunny confronted me a few days later about the incident I thought for sure that he was omnipotent because there was no way he could have known. Apparently scuttlebutt travels fast though.
“Chavez, Chavez, Chavez, what should I do with you?”
“I don’t know Gunnery Sergeant.” was all I could say.
“You do realize that fraternization is nearly as bad as contributing to underage drinking right?” I could only look blankly ahead with a disappointed face.
“I know I said that I’d burn you for sure next time you screwed up but since you’re about to leave Oki I’ll be nice.”
“Nice Gunny?” spilled from my throat.
“Yes. I want you to wax and buff my floors once a week until you leave, good to go?”
“Aye gunnery sergeant!”
After Okinawa I’ve never really drank often or binged, it costs too much and more importantly could cost too much.