Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Pom Poms

Yesterday I was sitting in the chow hall with Lieutenant PK while he was telling me about his wife leaving him. LT PK used to be in my company, but sometime during our mobilization at FT Hood, he got transfered to a different company in our brigade. He was up at Taji for a few months, but since we closed that detention facility down, his company was brought down to VBC. I've run into him a couple of times here and there. He saw me in line and waved me over.

I'm not sure why LT PK and I hit it off. Back at Hood we ran a gunnery range together and got along pretty well. He has a sarcastic sense of humor that I can readily identify with. I am not sure how well liked he is among his peers and troops, and while I wouldn't call us fast friends, but we get along pretty well despite the age and rank difference.

I was chewing my Cornish game hen and LT PK was cussing Jody when I saw some heads turning and necks craning at the tables around us. LT PK pointed behind me. "Saint's cheerleaders."

I turned to look and there were three or four girls standing in the chow line. They were being escorted by a couple of officers. One wore tight jeans, another a black micro skirt that might make a good hankie. Lots of makeup, big hairdos, child sized tee shirts. They were drawing a lot of attention, needless to say.

I took a good look and turned back to my food.

"How'd you like to have that job, escorting them around?" LT PK asked.

"Eh," I shrugged.

"What? Not a fan?" He said, with raised eyebrows.

I'm standing in the lobby of the FT Hood guest house. It's probably 2004, 2005 and I'm up there for weekend drill. I'm wearing civilian clothes because I have the goatee because I'm working undercover at the Task Force. I'm standing in line behind a gaggle of fourteen or fifteen cheerleaders. Emblems on their baggage and clothing identify them as San Francisco 49er cheerleaders. None of the girls pay any attention to me. They gab or text on cell phones or chat with each other as they wait for rooms.

They are all heavily made up. Lot's of mascara, eyeshadow. Long nails, long hair, locked in placed with copious amounts of hairspray. They are wearing casual athletic attire, most of it pretty snug. Lots of shorts. I hate waiting in line but I don't mind it so much today. 

An Army aviator walks in and joins the line. She is a captain, doesn't look thirty yet. The cheerleaders look at the female captain in her flight suit and combat boots and unpainted nails and while nothing is said there is an almost tangible sense of superiority when they look back to their cell phones or resume their conversations with their friends. 

I look her over. She is petite but fit. Short blonde hair, big hazel eyes, no makeup that I can tell. Pretty. She wears a green flightsuit that doesn't do anything to hide her curves. She looks bad ass. Athletic and healthy and natural. I look at her and the cheerleaders and it's no contest. The cheerleaders, while aggressively sexy, reek of high maintenance and drama. The captain is strong and exudes confidence. She has something that goes beyond looks, that those cheerleaders, for all the attention heaped upon them can never hope to match.  

I looked back at the cheerleaders in the chow line. They had their plastic plates on their trays and I looked at their butts and their boobs and their long legs. As they moved through the line and were served by the Malaysian workers, one of the girls turned to her friend in line and made a little "eww" face at the selection.

I turned back to Lieutenant PK. "Not my type, " I said.


Connie! said...

So, remember a few years ago when we were surrounded by hippie chicks wearing t-shirts and cargo pants in Portland and you leaned over to me and whispered, "Man, some of these chicks look a little too....natural. Maybe they should fix their hair and put on some makeup before going out in public!"? And then I punched you in the arm for saying that because 1) it was kinda mean, and 2) all those times you said you liked low-maintenance women, you were totally lying?

P.S. There is no apostrophe in "lots." :)


Your (high-maintenance) editor

R1 said...

The cheerleaders that go overseas are always the "practice squad" or the 3rd string. No kidding. They're not going to risk the first team. I had to escort one group once and I asked them why they chose to come over. I was told that it was expected of them to earn a place on the permanent team. Those 3 hours were miserable for me. It was like herding cats.

At some of the VBC DFACs, they used to have a serving section with cultural food. Most times, it was Indian, sometimes Filipino, sometimes Iraqi. I used to visit that section for a change of pace from time to time.

Don't forget to shop for gold in Kuwait on your way out. I regret not buying more now.

Stay Safe!

Cullen said...

I hear you, Jack. There's something to be said about quiet confidence. And regarding the hippies, there's high maintenance and there's nearly no-maintenance. There is an in-between :)

AW1 Tim said...

I don't mind the trailer-trash look. Not at all. I even like the Goth chicks. A LOT. What i can't stand is the "Princess" types that most cheerleader types are. I think it's a genetic thing. The cheerleaders, that is. The high-maintenance types are also almost always drama queens, and that's something to avoid at all hazards.

bones said...

No hippie chicks with more armpit hair than me ! But nothing worse than a snooty "princess" bitch!

Jack said...

I remember Portland. Great city, great people...but there's a difference between a high maintenance beauty queen with an attitude and a classy, well dressed sophisticated lady, just as there's a difference between a low-maintenance natural chick and a dirty hippie girl who needs some eye liner and a brush.

Love ya lot's!!

Jack said...

Thanks, man. Good thing for me Connie doesn't like gold. Or diamonds. Or jewelry of any type. She's low maintenance, don't you know.

Jack said...

Exactly! Thanks for commenting.

Jack said...

Thanks Tim and thanks for commenting.

Jack said...

Don't be so hard on yourself, man.

Zelda said...

Chicks, man.

Jack said...

Like, dude.

hammertramp said...

This reminded me of a recent conversation over at the tanknet forums. Totally agree. Mind if I link back?



Toni said...

Jack, I knew there was a reason I always enjoyed your banter. You don't get distracted by shiny objects!

bones said...

Hahahahahahah! .... punk