Is Your Briefcase Not Feeling So Brief?

You know how you have been doing something for a while and you reach that point where you think nothing can surprise you anymore?  You know, you’ve been around, you’ve dealt with all types of situations and you’re the grizzled veteran.  Well, I thought I reached that point at AMS.  I quickly learned how wrong I was.  There were still plenty of strange things to see.  

One particularly dark day in my AMS career, I completely lost my mind and fired the student wing commander.  Not really a smart move on my part given that he had been in charge for only about 24 hours.  The damage was done, though, so I pressed on.  On the bright side, I compensated for my first poor decision by making another one.  After all, consistency is the key to good leadership.  Anyway, I decided to promote a really sharp female to the wing commander job.  The only problem was that she had only been in the Air Force for 12 days and wasn’t really ready.  I’m sure someone told me this but I didn’t care.  I was on a roll.  I had confidence in her and figured I could help her if she needed it.  Unfortunately, neither of us was really prepared for what one of the OCs did.

The next Monday at lunch, the wing commander approached me.  “Sir,” she said, “we have an issue we need your help with.”  “You know,” I responded, “part of being a leader is being able to think for yourself and problem solve.”  I know, I know.  I sounded like an arrogant arse.  No need to judge me.  She pressed on.  “Sir, we think we may have a sexual harassment issue,” she stated.  Whoa!  We do not say the SH words in the AF.  “What happened?” I asked.  “One of the OCs in the wing sent out an email and a lot of people said it made them feel uncomfortable,” she said as she handed me a copy of it.  It went something like this:

“Is your briefcase not feeling so brief?  Are you feeling tired? Stressed? Overburdened? Wouldn’t a quick shoulder and neck massage do wonders for your morale?  No degree or license yet…but I would be willing to trade massages for someone folding my t-shirts”

Can you say creepy?  I felt like I needed a shower just from reading it.  And, um, yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s solicitation in most states.  My first instinct was to tell her it was a great leadership opportunity for her and to just handle it.  I mean, why break my string of great decision-making?  Speaking of which, what goes through someone’s head to make them sit down and type something like that?  Do you think he thought, “Wow, this is a great offer.  People will jump at this chance”?  Or maybe, “I’m sure no one will think this is weird.  Who doesn’t love a good massage?!”  Or maybe even, “I already have these massaging oils.  I might as well use them.”  Honestly, I have no idea what he was thinking.  I just know that he is now leading other people as they defend our freedoms.  It’s no wonder I never sleep.

How Legends Are Made

I’m constantly amazed at the various ways people respond when put under stress.  Some people perform better under intense scrutiny.  You can tell they feed off the pressure, increase their focus, and rise to the occasion.  And then there are officer candidates.

Not too long after we moved to Maxwell AFB, Alabama, OC Smithowith came through the program.  Crazy as a loon.  She probably had the single greatest day in the history of officer candidates.  In 6+ years at AMS, I carved out virtually no legacy.  In about 12 hours, she became an AMS legend.

It all started at a student change of command.  We had decided to put her in charge of her flight because she was struggling with the leadership concepts we were trying to teach.  In fact, her whole flight was underperforming and not working as a team.  To fix this, they were given “The Load”, a huge aircraft chock with about 10 rope handles on it.  Any time the flight moved, everyone’s hand had to be on “The Load” because it forced them to work together.  So right after the change of command, they were marching with “The Load” and heading to class.  I was marching with them so I could put some extra pressure on OC Smithowith and see how she handled it.  Let’s say not very well.

She passed by an officer, took her hand off the load, and saluted.  “You need to keep your hand on the load, even when you salute, “ I corrected her.  In a stunning display of boldness or idiocy, she again took her hand off the load, whirled toward me, threw both hands in the air and yelled, “I’m doing the best I can!  What do you want from me?!”  Uh-oh, this was about to get ugly.  I used my best overhead correction voice to gently encourage her to fall back in line.  She just continued to lose her mind.  At this point, I decided to pull her away from the rest of the flight and talk to her.  I motioned for the other major to join me.  I just had a feeling that I would need someone to cover my back.  So, we pulled her aside and tried to figure out what was wrong with her.  Maybe the pressure was too much and she just snapped.  Maybe she was just bat crap crazy.  The more we talked to her, the more the latter option seemed like the right one.

Despite our best efforts to calm her down, she stayed irrational.  She kept raising her voice and yelling, arms flailing everywhere.  All in plain sight of the rest of the wing.  This was a disaster.  If we didn’t handle this correctly, we could lose the whole wing.  Patience is not one of my virtues and I had heard enough.  I told her she was done and that I was going to personally make sure she got kicked out of the program.  At this, I walked away thinking that would be the last of the episode.  Uh, no, not yet.  She came running after me screaming, “I just need a second chance.  I just need a second chance.”  When I heard this, I was thinking “What, did we just break up?  Am I going to need a restraining order?”  Anyway, I told her she should have listened to me before and done what I told her.  Being a lunatic, she decides the best response is to argue even more.  She started ranting, “Nothing I do is good enough.  All the staff does is criticize and correct me.  I just need someone to tell me I’m doing okay.”  I responded that would come later in the program.  “Well, nobody told me that!” she shrieked.  My bad, I didn’t realize your crazy butt needed to be briefed on the staff training philosophy. Next time, have your therapist call me.  It’s no wonder I don’t like people.  Anyway, by now, it was lunch time so we had an MTI escort her to the dining facility.  On her way there, she stormed by several flight commanders, failed to salute, and screeched, “Are you happy now? You finally got what you wanted!”  See, that’s how you create a lasting impression. 

I finally made it back to my boss’s office to brief him on the events.  He had Smithowith write a statement.  She claimed she went nuts because “Maj Kallstrom had verbally kicked me out of AMS.”  Ultimately, he disagreed that we should just kick her out so she got her second chance.  When the OCs fell out for dinner, we informed her that she was back in charge.  “What?  I don’t want to be in charge,” she said.  “You have to be in charge.  It’s not optional.  This is a leadership program, “is how I actually responded.  In my mind, it went more like, “Listen, you insane lunatic.  No one here wants you to be in charge.  If you ever actually get commissioned none of us will ever be able to look at ourselves in the mirror again.  Why don’t you do us all a favor and just quit.  The only way people would ever follow you is out of morbid curiosity.  So shut the heck up, get out front and follow orders like I am.”  But somehow, I think she got the telepathic message I sent her.  She looked at me, took her hat off, and said those two beautiful words “I quit.”

Next thing I know, she’s storming off.  I tell another staff member to call the commander and get him down there so he can witness the insanity while we chase her down.  We catch up to her and asked her if she really wants to quit.  She says yes so we start explaining the procedures to her.  She goes off again saying, “I’m a failure.  I’m a failure” because everything had to be said twice.  I’m not sure who she was trying to convince.  She had definitely failed at being rational.  As she’s chanting about her failure, I hear my sidekick come back with one of the best lines ever.  He says, “That’s neither here nor there right now, we just need you to sign the paperwork.”

But wait, there’s more.  During her exit interview, she told one of the flight commanders that she "just wanted to fly and didn't realize the blood of terrorists would be on her hands."

And that’s how legends are made.

The Shower From…Well, You Know

As I mentioned before, I have some serious privacy issues.  For a long time at AMS, I was able to keep them under wraps.  The set up there was perfect for someone like me.  There were two private showers in our building so I was able to avoid using the open bay ones at the gym.  Through time, conversation, and observation, however, people started to realize my issues.   I knew this was not going to be good news for me. 

It started off harmless enough.  When I would leave the office, I would get the “Hey, major, where are you going?”  or “What were you doing downstairs?”  I knew it was just an effort to embarrass me.  And I knew the worst thing I could do was give them the satisfaction.  After all, that’s what I do to people all the time.  I wasn’t going to get beat at my own game.  So, I would just give them the ol’ “you’re a jerk” smile and go on about my business. 

When they realized it wasn’t working, they did what any good military operation would do—they increased their efforts.  Sergeant Thorny Flower seemed particularly dedicated to the mission.  He would come into the bathroom, tap on the shower curtain, and say in his gravelly, I-lived-in-east- Tennessee-all-my-life twang, “Sir, I have an update for you.  Mind if I step in and brief you?”  I would kick the shower curtain, lose my testimony for a few seconds, and tell him to get out.  He would laugh and then run like a little school girl back to the office to tell the others what he did.  So, I would get back to the office to a stream of people coming by to ask me how my shower was.  This kind of stuff continued for a while until Sergeant Thorny Flower finally got the best of me…albeit accidentally.

So, I’m in the shower after a workout and I hear Sergeant Thorny Flower come in the area.  We go through the normal routine and Thorny Flower gets in the other shower.  Perfect.  I’ll get out now and be dressed by the time he gets done.  If only it had been that easy.

As I’m sitting there in my shorts and t-shirt, Sergeant Thorny Flower throws back his shower curtain and says “Sir, I really need to brief you right away.” Before I can say anything, he takes a step toward me, obviously going for the max effect.  But, as he stepped forward, Thorny Flower slipped.  The next thing I know he is hurtling at me COMPLETELY NAKED.  All I see is flesh…hair…flesh…hair where it shouldn’t be…more flesh…more hair (seriously, can you say “manscaping”?)…and more flesh (at least I hope it was just flesh).  Then I realize there’s no way he’s gonna regain his balance and stop.  You know those movies where the meteorites are rocketing toward earth and there’s no way to stop it so all the people panic?  That’s how I felt.  And I didn’t have Will Smith to save me. 

I finally regained my senses and tried to move.  Too late.  Sergeant Thorny Flower landed right in my lap.  I started making some sound that was a cross between a horror movie scream and hyperventilating as I’m pushing him off me.  I honestly think I blacked out for a few seconds at this point.  I’m sure it was a defense mechanism.  Of course, Thorny Flower just laughed it off.  As for me, I’m still haunted by the image and I’m pretty sure I’m never going to feel clean again.

Oh Crap!

So I like my privacy. I mean, I like it to the point of being neurotic about it. If I could, I would shower with my clothes on. And going to the bathroom, well, let's just say there are strict conditions that must be met. And if at all possible, I try to avoid playing away games. I don't know if I had a traumatic incident when I was a kid or if I'm just a freak. Either way, given that I'm in the military and have to be away from home at times, this issue means lots of wandering around looking for an empty bathroom.

As part of my job as an instructor, we had a field training exercise every class that required us to be gone for 3 days. After several trips to our training site in Georgia, I had figured out the best times to shower and use the restroom. Of course, no plan is perfect. So one morning I had just sat down when someone else walked in. Okay, no big deal I thought, maybe he just needs to pee. Then he walked into the stall beside me. Okay, okay, there's still a chance. Maybe he likes privacy too. Nope, he didn't care about privacy at all.

My first thought when he sat down was “Well, this ain’t happening.” After that, I just started having an internal debate with myself about whether to wait it out or leave. As I’m sorting through the pros and cons, I hear his phone ring. Every sane person just lets it go to voicemail in that situation, right? Not this guy. He answers the phone! I’m still baffled by this. What possible decision-making process do you go through that makes you think, “Yeah, even though I’m in stall 2 taking my morning constitutional, I should really answer this”? Look, I’m not saying I’ve never sent a text message while being indisposed. It happens. I get it. But answer the phone? That’s where I draw the line. To make matters worse, I recognize his voice and realize it’s my boss sitting beside me. The scales had definitely been tilted in favor of getting the heck out of there before something else weird happened. Too late.

As I started to formulate my exit plan, I heard my boss rattle off a series of “Yes, Ma’ams”. I then realized that he was talking to his boss, a very refined female Colonel. Are you kidding me? What in the world would she think if she knew he was talking to her from his current location? I thought my head was going to spontaneously combust. This was just too much for me to process. So I decided to just make a run for it and hope he didn’t realize it was me. I jumped up and started for the door. There was only one miscalculation in my master plan. The toilet had an automatic flush. And a loud one at that.

And that's the way I flushed my career down the toilet.

Phonetic Friday

When I was training officer candidates, one of my favorite days was Phonetic Alphabet Friday.  During the first two weeks of training the OCs, as they were called, had knowledge they were responsible for on that particular day.  Our job as staff was to ensure they learned it.  Any time they were in formation outside and not moving, we would walk from person to person drilling them on that day’s knowledge.  And Heaven help the person that didn’t know it. 

So, on Friday of the first week of training, the OCs were responsible for knowing the phonetic alphabet.  For those of you who may not know, the phonetic alphabet is where you use a word to represent a letter.  For example, is someone told you to spell cat using the phonetic alphabet, you would spell it Charlie, Alpha, Tango.  Well, with a name like Kallstrom, I lived for Phonetic Friday.  My favorite thing was to go from person to person asking them to spell my name using the phonetic alphabet.  Listening to a trainee butcher both my name and the phonetic alphabet was priceless.  And it gave me a good reason to get my yell on.  There are two particular instances that stand out the most.

Tired and cranky at the end of a brutal week, I rolled in hot on an unsuspecting OC and gave him my standard line, “Spell my name using the phonetic alphabet.”  Crickets.  Not a word.  So I told him again, in a much louder voice, “Spell my name using the phonetic alphabet!”  Again, no response.  I started coming unglued.  The staff is not to be ignored under any circumstances and I vociferously reminded him of this.  Finally, the kid says “Sir, OC Jones reports to make a statement.”  “What?!” I replied.  After a slight hesitation, the trainee broke out, “Sir, I know the phonetic alphabet but I have no idea who you are.”  The rest of the staff had to turn around and walk away because they started laughing so hard.  I never lived it down and that poor kid will never forget my name again.

 The other instance happened outside the dining facility.  One of the flights was waiting to go in so I decided to start asking them to spell my name.  It started out much like the story above.  I kept asking this trainee to spell my name and he kept not saying anything.  Finally, I asked him if he knew who I was.  He still looked confused. “Come on!  You are really starting to hurt my feelings,” I said with just a hint of sarcasm.  At the time there were only two majors on staff and the other one was black and a former all-state football player.  It wasn’t like we were easily confused.  So I started in again.  “What’s my name?!” I asked for the last time.  The OC took a deep breath and said, “Sir, it’s Major…Kasselhoff.”  “Kasselhoff?” I replied incredulously.  “That’s right,” I continued in my best sarcastic voice. “I was on Baywatch, the number one show in the world, and I gave it all up to come train people like you.”  Then, as I started to walk away, I turned and said, “But don’t worry, I’m still huge in Germany.”

Coincidently, it was shortly after this incident that we were instructed not to use sarcasm as a training tool.  Evidently, it’s not very effective.  I’m not so sure.  To this day, if Hasselhoff makes the news for some type of buffoonery, I have random students from that class email and ask me if I’m okay.  I would say the sarcasm worked.

The Salsa and the Cheese, part II

If you missed part I, you can read it here:

http://the-rickter-scale.blogspot.com/2012/01/salsa-and-cheese-part-i.html

I had mixed emotions about being played so effectively by my daughter at the UT football game.  Part of me was proud of her abilities.  She was definitely my daughter and it was extremely well played.  The other part of me was not so supportive.  I hate to be embarrassed.  And to be outwitted by one of my kids?  Well, let’s just say that didn’t sit well with my overly competitive nature.  So, after being torn for about 37 seconds, I vowed my revenge.  I would find a way to return the embarrassment plus 10 percent.

It took a while but my moment finally came.  We were at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants one Sunday after church.  We were eating with most of my family, which meant we had four teenage girls there.  On this particular day, Emily seemed to be particularly obsessed with talking about how hot various celebrity guys were.  No father ever wants to hear his daughters talk about that.  A father wants to believe that he will always be the main man in his daughter’s life.  Of course, that day had long since passed with Emily.  I'll never forgot walking into her room when she was 9 and asking her who the most handsome man in the world was.  Every other time I ever ask her, the answer was me.  Not this time.  Without missing a beat, she said "Justin Timberlake."  And that was that.  Devastating.  Never asked her again.  But I digress.

So, anyway, the girls continued to judge guys’ hotness despite my protests.  And, of course, my beloved Emily was leading the charge.  She knew I was uncomfortable and was going for the kill.  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and turned the tables.  I looked at her and said, “Well, it’s obvious that your hormones are raging so I think it’s time we have the talk.”  She laughed and replied, “Oh, Daddy…” because she was sure I wouldn’t give her the talk period and definitely not in public.  She underestimated me.  I just kept going.  “You see, Emily,” I said, “sometimes when a man and a woman love each other, they lay together in a special way.”  Yep, went straight Old Testament on her.  She was now mortified that I was going to continue…and I did.  I just needed an effective way to illustrate the value of purity.  I looked around for a second and it came to me.  “It’s like the salsa and the cheese,” I said while picking up a bowl of each.  She and her cousins all looked confused now.  “The salsa is like the woman.  An incredible creation that is wonderful and pure by itself.  And the man is like the cheese, also a tremendous creation that is great by itself.  When you put the salsa and the cheese together,” I continued, while mixing the bowls together, “they create con queso- the greatest dip in the world.  When you’re married, you’ll want to have con queso frequently.  But just always remember this.  Once you become con queso, you can never go back to being salsa or cheese.  No matter how much more salsa or cheese you add, you will always be con queso.”

Given that Emily will no longer eat Mexican food, I’m gonna say I won that round. 

The Salsa and the Cheese, Part I

My oldest daughter loves to shock me.  If she can say or do something to leave me speechless, she does it.  Usually, she does this by talking about feminine issues.  I'm constantly having to remind her that I'm in the room.  She knows this, of course, which is why she does it. 

A few years ago I decided to take her to a University of Tennessee football game.  Ever since she was a little girl, I always tried to take her on special dates.  I thought it would be special time for us.  You know, a chance to create some memories.  I guess I should have been more specific about the kind of memories I wanted to create.

As we walked into the stadium, she decided she needed to go to the restroom.  I waited patiently outside for a few minutes while she worked her way through the long line.  When she finally came out, she had a terrible look on her face.  Immediately, I asked her what was wrong.  She looked me dead in the eye and said, "I just got my period, Daddy."  You got what???  I nearly started hyperventilating.  As a group of sympathetic ladies looked on, I finally stammered, "Umm...okay...I love you...okay...well...ummm...hold on a minute.  I need to call Kim."  At this eloquent response, I thought some of the compassionate onlookers might actually hug and comfort me.  Forget about my daughter, clearly I was the one is distress.  I can only imagine how pale I must have looked.  I finally got out my phone and started to call my wife, who I was suddenly pissed at for not being there when I needed her.  I mean, isn't she supposed to be the one who has to deal with these things?  I'm pretty sure that's in the marital contract somewhere.  My job is to pay for prom dresses and pretend that they will never love another man besides me.  Nowhere in the Daddy training manual is there a chapter on menstrual cycles.  Anyway, as I'm working through my irrational anger at Kim, Emily interrupts me.  "What?!", I snapped.  "I'm trying to call Kim and can't remember my own phone number."  She looks at me again, gives me an evil smile, and says "It's okay, Daddy, I was just kidding.  Wanna get a hot dog?"