Humor in Uniform

[RockHopper]

I drove a taxi cab back in Washington State for a few years, and I'm sure you can imagine... I've got stories. You can't throw a stick in the puget sound area without hitting a military installation of one kind or another, and I think my delivery numbers of military personnel on the weekends could have filled one of McChords Globemasters. Everything from enlisted on up to shiny ranks.
On weekend evenings, I would switch out from my normal crown Vic, to a stretched passenger van so I could fit as many passengers as possible in one trip. (Airport and concert runs are where the money is!!)

Anyway...On my very first run to JBLM, I had half a damn platoon of privates and one PFC packed in there like sardines. They were nut to butt, and boisterous as all get out after coming back from leave, but they all calmed down as soon as we came in sight of the base gate.

While they were all digging for their I.D.'s, I explained to the nice Corporal that I would require use of their lock box to secure my personal weapon while I was there. The suddenly not-so-nice Corporal became very agitated, and quickly the number of soldiers on the outside of the vehicle outnumbered the contents.

A VERY cute little 1LT came out shortly to explain that protocols had changed in the 20 years since my time in service, and that personal weapons were absolutely verboten for civilians on base...and because we were already on govt property, I would have to surrender my weapon immediately. I gently argued that I would happily un-ass my passengers there,and leave, but there was no room for me to back up, or turn around this side of the gate. She stood on tippy toe to lean in and look at the sad sack of **** content of my passengers, and says....."I'll take 'em the rest of the way, but first you and me are on a date".

She tucked my pistol into the front of her duty belt and we literally held hands through my window while the gate was opened, and the entire time I was slowly maneuvering through a U-turn and back out the other side. I still remember my ****-eating grin as about 30 soldiers watched me slowly take a wheeled stroll, hand in hand, with the only officer on deck. The sardines were all holding their breath, as I chatted her up like we'd just met in the produce isle. It was magic.

 

[BillM]

I like the non fighter pilots. only fighter pilots I dealt ith reminded me of over the top stereotypical frat boys that were road raging.

Robby Reisner was a fighter pilot, maybe THE fighter pilot. All else (with a very few exceptions) are pale imitations. THAT man was serious! But you're absolutely right about most of them. As an A1C I once told a Lt. Col. to get the F$$$ off my flight line. He'd just broken a static discharger mount out of the skin of the aircraft. I red-crossed the forms and told him that bird wasn't flying today, I needed to call the specialists to have it fixed. Up to that point, I could have moved the discharger to another location. We were missing one other on that side, but the mount was still there. He popped the rivets through skin of the aircraft, and high speed flight would have torn the skin right off the bird. Moaned that if he didn't fly that mission, he wouldn't get his flight pay for the quarter. Which is when I told him to leave. When the line chief got there, a few moments later, he moaned to him about it. Chief said "You heard the airman" and pointed at the egress. (Yeah, I was a mouthy little twerp, but he REALLY broke the bird. And I'd been out there for 14 hours making sure it was ready to go.)

Bill

 

[BillM]

While finishing my service in the National Guard attending summer camp. One member named Dobzinski, obviously Polish, was a treasured member of the unit. He was our Forrest Gump's Bubba. By Dobs' own admission, not the brightest bulb in the chandelier or even the burned out bulbs in the **** can. Mental gymnastics just eluded old Dobs, but give him a **** job, and he shone like the Christmas Star in the Heavens. **** jobs galore. Old Dobs would volunteer, take the job for his buddies, perform the worst assignments with precision, polish, pride and his trademark Disney Goofy smile.....and, ask if there was anything else he could do. Dobs was the guy everyone would jump on a grenade for.........but, he'd beat you to it. As usual, plenty of time and nothing to do, we're sitting around doing "hold my beer and listen to this joke" night. Well, we finally get around to the ethnic jokes. Clicking off every ethnicity in alphabetical order. Reaching "P", Pollock jokes abounded. Everyone rolling on the ground, holding their sides, spilling their beers, gasping for breath. Through the tears in my eyes, I notice ole Dobs has finished his latest **** assignment and joined us, But, he is stone somber, just sitting there, not laughing, not smiling, nothing, nada, zilch, zip.....blankness personified. Horror grips me, thinking we might be really offending the one guy in the unit no one would knowingly offend. I turn to Dobs and ask, "Hey, Dobs, I hope we aren't offending you. You know we love you. It's all in good fun." Dobs looks at me, and with his typical huge goofy smile and totally dumb hick accent, responded, "Naw. I'm good. But, ya know, I just don't understand 'em." GAME OVER!!! Supreme Pollock of Pollock jokes by the Grand Master Pollock Himself, Ole Dobs. Really regret losing contact with Dobs when I started moving around the country for my career. Learned a lot about life from Ole Dobs. Wise beyond his intellect.

My 3rd stepfather (only one I'd really call a step-dad, at least sorta) was Polish and Indian. He loved Polack jokes. His favorite was: Do you speak Polish? Respondee would naturally say no, and he'd say "How does it feel to be dumber than a Polack?"

Bill

 

[Raido Free America]

While stationed at FT Lee AFS, VA in the early 80's. Us Air Force enlisted guys and gals used to get a get out of getting saluted by all the Army recruits when out on base. When wearing "blues", we wore our rank on the collar points of our lightweight blue jackets. As an AIC or SRA, this silver/blue insignia would be mistaken for 1st LT bars.

Another funny story on the same base. We used the Army medical / dental facilities. I had to have my wisdom teeth removed and went in for the procedure. Army Colonel was the dentist. I'm sitting in the chair waiting for the IV valium to kick in so they can proceed. after a few moments, the ceiling "shifts". He comes walking in and asks if I have felt the meds had kicked in yet, I proceed to tell him yes. In the same sentence, I try to explain to him that his handle bar mustache is not withing appropriate military regulation. He just points at the birds on his collar and states that no one really says anything about it. The next day when I went in for check-up, he told me about that and we had a good laugh.

I was in the Arkansas Nation Guard back in the 60's. I went though basic training at Ft Polk, La, then to Ft. Bliss TX. for the remander of my active duty. My unit went bacvk to Ft. Polk in June, for summer camp, after I got home from active duty in April. I was not very smart then, so a buddy and I, he was a PFC. and I didn't have any stripes yet, decided it would be fun take a jeep with him driving, and me as the passengert, to take a piece of chalk and make Captains bars on my helmet liner, and drive down through the recruit area! These poor recruits were jumping through their ass! It's a wonder we didn't not end up in the guard house, doing hard labor over that stunt!

 

[JEVapa]

I, as a young Lt, was tasked with counting the grenades with a junior NCO and a private. I was watching the two underlings and the counts were coming up correct until the last crate when the NCO raised his hand, his finger wearing a grenade pin. He calmly said, "Lt, I think we are short one grenade."

All you need for accountability is the fiber canister and the pull ring. Nothing else except an expenditure doc. You're good.

 

[Snattlerake]

Not really a joke unless you were an MP.

While I was at Fort Sill, on the wall right above the bench with bolted on handcuffs, they had a beautiful wood and glass case made of oak and etched glass with a small oak mallet on a chain. The etching was a filigree in the corners with pinstripes and florets and in typical army style had stenciled on the glass in red paint, "ONLY FOR EXTREME CASES OF THE ASS"

The case was holding an old, black-painted, beat-up, 36-inch riot baton. Due to the dents and scratches, I didn't have to ask how many times that glass had been broken.

 

[Snattlerake]

All you need for accountability is the fiber canister and the pull ring. Nothing else except an expenditure doc. You're good.

My NCO was short and had unclipped his grenade pin from his fats and I had not noticed.

 

[TerryMiller]

Small Army base north of San Francisco back in the '60's. Our work was highly classified, so they had a separate building outside of the operations building for a coffee room. That was largely so that "vendors" could come in to restock coke machines or whatever.

A sergeant comes into our small operations area and informs me that I am CRO for the day. I ask what "CRO" is and am informed that it is "coffee room orderly." I explained that I didn't drink coffee, therefore I had no idea of how to make coffee. He told me it was simple and proceeded to give me instructions for making coffee, which I wrote down.

After the first urn was emptied, I got up and made a new urn, all according to the instructions written down. After some cleaning up, I sat down and started reading magazines that were in the coffee room. About an hour later, I look up to see the watch NCO walking back into the operations building with a thermos in his hand. About 20 minutes later, the sergeant that assigned me the job returns and tells me that I am relieved of CRO duties.

Apparently the coffee was so bad that the watch NCO called his wife to make him some coffee and bring it to the compound. I never got CRO again.

 

[Chief Sapulpa]

... I see your a cook in the Army, is your specialty chicken?...

I was a Boiler Technician (BT) on a guided missile cruiser operating 2 of the 4 superheated steam boilers. When civilians asked what I did in the Navy I'd reply "boil water" then they'd ask if I was a cook.

 

[JoeUSooner]

Small Army base north of San Francisco back in the '60's. Our work was highly classified, so they had a separate building outside of the operations building for a coffee room. That was largely so that "vendors" could come in to restock coke machines or whatever.

A sergeant comes into our small operations area and informs me that I am CRO for the day. I ask what "CRO" is and am informed that it is "coffee room orderly." I explained that I didn't drink coffee, therefore I had no idea of how to make coffee. He told me it was simple and proceeded to give me instructions for making coffee, which I wrote down.

After the first urn was emptied, I got up and made a new urn, all according to the instructions written down. After some cleaning up, I sat down and started reading magazines that were in the coffee room. About an hour later, I look up to see the watch NCO walking back into the operations building with a thermos in his hand. About 20 minutes later, the sergeant that assigned me the job returns and tells me that I am relieved of CRO duties.

Apparently the coffee was so bad that the watch NCO called his wife to make him some coffee and bring it to the compound. I never got CRO again.

In my defense, I honestly did not know a damned thing about brewing coffee when I entered the Army. My parents only drank a couple of cups a year(!) and theirs was always "freeze-dried." When I was 5 years old, I tasted coffee (ONCE!!) at my grandmother's house, and in the following 67 years I have never ever ever touched another drop. I take my caffeine cold - iced tea or diet Dr Pepper only, thank you very much.

As a trainee in 1968, I too was tapped to prepare the office coffee pot. Tried my damnedest to talk my way out of it, but the Sergeant with a bunch of stripes on his sleeve was adamant. At least you received instructions, Terry. I was just told, "Do it, dammit." I didn't know to clean the pot first... hell, it had coffee in it, so wasn't that the point? I did not know to start with cold water... it was supposed to be hot, so I started with hot water (I was a naive 17-year old kid, and that sounded logical at the time). I had no concept of measuring, much less 'how much,' so I just packed the top bin full. I turned it on full blast and left.

I pushed Fort Polk away for hours.