Triple A Tactical

I wrote about learning this lesson the hard way many years ago and folks ended up calling it "The Brown Mile": I headed back to Iraq after two weeks R&R. Every time I returned to Iraq from the US, I'd have the worst diarrhea for about two weeks, but this time was different. After five weeks of liquid shit pouring out of my ass and growing weaker by the day, I decided to go to the military hospital (Ibn Sina) in the Green Zone to see if they could help. Once I arrived, I joined the queue with other people who had more serious maladies and when my turn came, I spoke to the waiting medics and told them about my problem. They in turn announced to anyone in ear shot that I had a "poopie problem" and "Do you need some medicine because your butt hole hurts?" They continued to berate me for wasting their time as they had other more pressing patients they needed to attend to and at this point everyone in the waiting room is having a good laugh at my expense. They finally gave me some Flagyl for my guts and some Imodium and told me to get the fuck out of the hospital and not to come back again until I had a broken bone or gunshot wound for them to work on. I gladly left and headed out the front door. I started to walk across the street from the hospital to the bus stop and had just put my right foot on the curb to step up from the street and I had to fart. In that moment, I didn't think about the potential consequences and let it rip. In an instant, what must have been a gallon of liquid shit rocketed out of my ass, down my pants, filled up my boots, and began pouring out onto the hot asphalt. Now here I am, right foot on the curb, left foot in the street, and frozen in horror in a really twisted Captain Morgan’s pose with shit leaking out of my pants. The bus pulls up to the bus stop, and the Pakistani driver opens the door and in his Pakistani accent says, "Well come on buddy let's go!" I just turned and looked and him and said, "Nah man, please...please just leave." He then proceeded to ask me why I was standing at a bus stop if I didn't want to get on the bus and how illogical that is, etc, etc, etc. He obviously couldn't see the humiliating situation I was in, but at this point, everybody on the bus was looking and they had a bird’s eye view. So now I'm arguing with the Pakistani driver, the rest of the soldiers on the bus are pointing, laughing, and taking pics. So, I finally had enough and told the driver, "JUST PLEASE GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE OK?!" So, the driver gives me the finger and says, "Fuck you asshole!" closes the doors and the bus pulls away leaving me still frozen in my Captain Morgan’s pose with the liquid shit creating an ever-growing pool around me. The US embassy (where I stayed) was about a mile away, so I suck it up and began walking the longest mile I'd ever walked in my life. It was easy to follow me along my journey because there was liquid shit squishing out of my boots with every step along the way. I finally make it to the US embassy and if you think the TSA and Homeland Security goons at the airport are tough to deal with, you've never been through an embassy checkpoint manned by Marines! Only 10 people are allowed into the checkpoint at a time. Once inside, a heavy glass and steel door shuts and you have to take everything out of your bag to be x-rayed and searched. You then must walk through a metal detector and then get frisked. Once all 10 people have been processed, the exit door opens to this airlock-like room, and you can proceed to the embassy grounds. So, needless to say, I'm dreading this obstacle standing in the way between me and my trailer and ultimately showering all of this shit off me, but I knuckle down and get in line. Eventually I make it into the "airlock" security room and one of the Marines says "Damn! Who ripped one?!" I humbly raised my hand and told him that it was much worse and I'd "Had an accident." He walks over to me from behind the counter and says "Fuck man! You're leaking shit all over the fucking floor! What the fuck dude? One of us has to clean this shit up you know! Fucking asshole!" (2nd time I'd been called that in 30mins) I apologized profusely while a few waiting people are trying to politely conceal their dry heaving and ask the Marines if they could just please let me go on through. They replied, "Oh fuck no! Not gonna happen! You're gonna get searched just like everybody else fuckin Mc Nasty." So, the two of them approach me closer (while the other 9 people are watching this spectacle) and proceed to play rock-paper-scissors to find out who’s going to have to frisk my shitty ass. Rock ultimately triumphed over scissors and a very pissed off Marine donned surgical gloves and frisked me, but only after I walked thru the metal detector leaving a trail of shit behind me of course. After I was frisked and thoroughly searched, I had to wait for everyone else to be searched, etc. It took what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door opens and I begin the last 400-yard walk to my trailer while passing people look at me with various expressions of laughter, sympathy, and disgust. I finally make it to my trailer and was especially quiet as to not wake my room mate, but alas, I wasn't quiet enough and he woke up, sniffed, and said "Damn man, what's that smell?" Did you shit yourself or something?" Now I know he said that half jokingly, but then he wiped the sleep out of his eyes and beheld the horror that had been the past hour of my life, leaking out onto the floor of our trailer. I just said, "Yeah man, I'll clean it up, but only after I shower if ya don't mind." He just shook his head and hacked a bit and then dry heaved a couple of times. I got in the shower fully dressed and proceeded to try and unfuck myself out of this very sticky and smelly situation. After rinsing all fouled clothing and myself repeatedly, I quickly mopped the floors, changed clothes, and bundled up my uniform into a plastic bag. As I made my way to the dry cleaners, I tossed my boots into a dumpster as there was no way a mile's worth of squished in shit was ever going to rinse out. I also happened to notice bits of the shit trail I left along the way, and this just added to my utter humiliation. I arrived at the dry cleaners to drop off my uniform and the clerk asked me, "Why are they wet?" I told him that I had mistakenly put them in the wash a couple of days ago, but then removed them once I'd realized my mistake and the reason they smelled so bad was probably mildew since they'd sat in a plastic bag for so long. The Indian clerk replied in his Indian accent, "No my friend, that smells like shit." To which I replied, "Look man, can you just please take my clothes and launder and dry clean them?! I'm having a real bad day." To which he replied, "Ok ok, friend, but don't be such an asshole." Talk about a bad day in Baghdad...