"Carry on, naked man in the corner."


Our third haircut, our second trip to the PX (Post Exchange).  Another meal rocketed through at breakneck speed, another two hours spent standing at attention in the Georgia sun, then left right left back home to personal time and writing letters on the can.  That's right, I am writing this on the crapper.  What of it?


No-Speed, one of the slow-as-mud digbats who bunks ext to me, just asked if anyone else felt like getting home from the PX was like Christmas morning.


"I never get my hair shaved for Christmas, No-Speed," Bryon snapped, glowering at his waxen complexion in the mirror.  The thing that has most of us on edge about the PX is simple; we go through the front door, PAST the beer, candy & snacks, to the back, and have two to three minutes to find every hygene/clothing/letter writing item we may possibly need for the next three weeks,  Then it is BING BANG BOOM through the checkout counter and out into the sunlight, where we sat for a couple hours.  Fun, yeah?


There is an uncomfortable amount of nakedness up in this joint.  The other day I was at my locker, changing out of my ACU's for a shower, when Drill Sergeant Perez walked into the bay.


"At ease," Reineking yelled, snapping to the position of ease.  The rest of the bay, myself included, snapped to as well.  My towel fell to the floor and I stared straight forward into my locker.


Perez was silent for a moment, staring around the bay.  Spotting my albino ass in the corner, he snorted, shook his head and turned to leave.


"Carry on, naked man in the corner," he called over his shoulder.


Laughing sheepishly, I snatched up my towel & sprinted to the shower.


I am ready to be done showering with fifteen other men, speaking of the showers.


More later,  Tristan