Shoup Airlines

I yam what I yam and I yam what I yam that I yam

Where’s a can of spinach when you need it? I am currently working as a temp for a large company because no one in the aviation world will touch me with a ten foot pole right now. This is not that story.

As a temp I thought I would simply fill in some absent person’s shoes. Nothing too specific, some computer work, maybe a little phone work, and other SMALL odds and ends that a minimally trained secreta…er, administrative assistant would be expected to accomplish. There I go thinking again…

What I failed to realize on first inspection is that I am the temp for another temp. This is bad, VERY bad. Not only do we get the “little” things that no one else wants to do, but then I get the filtered crap that even the other temp does not want to do. In the last hour alone, she who will remain nameless, has delegated 12 (scratch that), 13 jobs to me, nine of which are overdue. You CANNOT ponder the tasks I have had to complete!

Damn it, Jim! I’m a temp, not a(n):

Delivery Boy!
Visitor Escort!
Short Order Cook!
Lunch Retriever!
IT Tech!
Chauffeur!
Travel Agent!
Travel Agent for your family’s vacation!
Travel Agent for your neighbor!
Finder of lost luggage!
Plotter Repair Man!
FAX Machine Repair Man!
Refrigerator Repair Man!
Gas Station Attendant!
Parking Validation Stamper!
Personal Grocery Shopper!
Personal Office Packer!
Personal Office Mover!

I picked the wrong day to start drinking

As was explained quite clearly in the last post, I had a good time on Friday night which imposed itself well into the early hours of the morning. I knew I would be paying for it, 8:30 am sharp, at the base. I accepted that, I just didn’t know they had raised the rates, exorbitantly. Normally, Saturday mornings are a bit of a waste as the Sergeants “in-process” us with weighing, measuring, bag inspections and the like to make sure we’re good to go for the weekend. They also squeeze some PT (physical training) in but it tends to run on the lighter side, Sunday mornings being the harder workout at oh-dark thirty. So I didn’t think the minor hangover rampaging through my brain pan would be a big deal. Say my name, Connelly…

SST Scott: Third and Fourth Platoons! Today we will be conducting your physical aptitude tests!

SPC Shoup Voice #1: YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!!

SPC Shoup Voice #2: do you have to yell? it already hurts in here as it is.

SPC Shoup Voice #1: Did you NOT here what Scott JUST SAID?!?

SPC Shoup Voice #2: not really, i was fixated on keeping the head throbbing to a minimum. what’d he say?

SPC Shoup Voice #3: El dice que perderemos nuestro almuerzo.

SPC Shoup Voice #2: OH GOD, NO!! ow, ow, ow

SPC Shoup Voice #1: Haha, you YELLED!! ow, ow, ow

SPC Shoup Voice #3: ¡Soy rodeado por IDIOTAS! ay, ay, ay

SPC Shoup: All of you, shut up! Ow!

Pvt Glazer: You say something, Shoup?

SPC Shoup: Huh?! Er, no. I was just reminiscing about my amazing talent for timing. I thought Fifth Platoon was the only group that had to do the PAT?

Pvt Glazer: So did…

SGT Scott: Since the weather’s so nice, we thought everyone could conduct the PAT!

SPC Shoup: And there’s the rub…

Push ups, Sit ups, One Mile Run! Yeah, this should be fun. After the push ups, my chest felt like it was being pulled inward by an internal black hole. My head? It went something like this: One, ow, Two, ow, Three, Ow, Four, OW, Five, I SAID OW!, Six, OW! DAMN IT! OW!…

The sit ups weren’t much different, except for the fact that I had Big Ben striking noon between my ears. The real question? Will he puke or will he puke? One, grech, Two, grechh, Three, greechh, Four, Greechh, Five, GREEeeechhh…I don’t think I’d ever seen Glazer happier when I didn’t spew forth while he held my feet. What he shall never know is how close he came to not being so happy.

Great, the one mile run. The only event I haven’t been concerned with because I run actively. Sadly, I’d never added in the hangover factor. Can’t imagine why!? Oh right, because THAT’S THE LAST THING YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU RUN!!

SPC Shoup Voice #1: This is going to SUCK balls!

SPC Shoup Voice #2: This is going to SUCK balls!

SPC Shoup Voice #3: ¡Esto CHUPARÁ pelotas!

SPC Shoup: This is going to SUCK balls!

SPC Shoup Voice #4: Hey guys! Did I hear we’re going for a run? I have the adrenaline right here!

SPC Shoup Voice #1: Wait, where have you been all morning?

SPC Shoup Voice #4: I was sleeping in.

SPC Shoup Voices #1,2,3: ¿QUE QUE?

SST Scott: Get Ready, GO!!

SPC Shoup Voice #1: This isn’t so bad. Hang on…#2, what’s that feeling in the stomach?

SPC Shoup Voice #2: What, that? It’s just the GI tract going to DEFCON 1!!

SPC Shoup Voice #3: ¡Madre De Dios!

SPC Shoup Voice #4: Stay on target, stay on target…

At this point (maybe about 15 steps into the run), I realize most of the adrenaline is now going to be used in quelling the world war taking place in my stomach. Essentially, I have one out of four pistons running the mile. Not good. I finish it though, and then some, in the process of getting to the bathroom in preparation for the worst “run retch” ever. Only it never comes, the feeling of a retch just sits there all day as a constant reminder to NEVER drink again…

…well, at least until the next friend gets a job. Or I go to Boston…

The one where you make the deal with your friend to get married at 40 if all else fails, but not quite…

If you could combine all the nights of alcoholic induced revelry, you could get an idea of tonight’s festivities. Imagine all your friends from different sects of life coming together in one night and analyzing your life…with alcohol. The only thing missing was the “numb”* Puertoriqueño, damn I miss him! Did I mention there was alcohol?

The night kicked off with celebrating a good friend’s job placement. Unfortunately, I wasn’t informed of this at first and found myself well behind in the drink quota. No need to fret, people!! I caught up quickly and then passed in typical fashion. This is where the evening became fun. In the course of maybe a three hour outing, high school friends were discussed, college friends were dissed, and furloughs were waxed nostalgic (no, I’m not gay).

It did not help that I had had a full day’s helping of my new found better half and an exciting adventure with Apus 1, 2, and 3 (to be blogged about later because I still need to sleep sometime tonight). Let’s just say I had the sarcasm at 12½ for every conversation, every hour, all night. I know, irritating, but deal with it.

At some point, my “dating” life comes up, which seems to happen a lot, and is discussed ad naseum. For those that don’t know, I’m pretty inept in this area for unexplained reasons. I have been given the LAMEST excuses for grounds of separation from “you’re just not my type” to “you never told me you could swim!?!?”** Needless to say, I roll my eyes A LOT. Anyway, Mr. Recently Employed and Miss Recently Unemployed (better half of Recently Employed) take it upon themselves to set me up. We won’t mention the fact that I’ve been sitting idle for the last seven months!! Or the fact that I have become SERIOUSLY skeptical of blind dates…

“Oh? I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but why wait this long to try and set me up?” (There has to be a catch!)

“No reason…she’s perfect for you, you’ve both sent your last couple of exes to the altar.”

“Oh great, based on this cracker jack philosophy we’re two peas in a pod and will live happily ever after, right!?!?!?”

“Sure, why not!” A long, silent, yet not very awkward pause…ah, the real reason is creeping forth, I sense it.

“Okay, she is just getting out of a VERY long term relationship.” This is said with a straight face!!

- Sigh -

And there it is, there’s always a catch. This is coming razor close to the blind date setup in which the gal’s boyfriend had died two months before.** I kid you not!! A train wreck before it ever left the station. I know everyone means well, but COME ON, use some common sense, please!! I’m not all that keen to this, but said couple will not drop it so I pull out my ace and ask if said blind date likes sarcasm, the ultimate conversation killer and something I never use like Picasso used paint by number. “Um, not really.” Knight takes Queen…

At this point, the conversation evolves into my lack of ability to talk to women at bars (this is where high school friends are discussed). I comment that the bar wench is fairly attractive, and wait for the standard response. Only the standard response doesn’t come. Damn, that’s right, the standard responders are in Ohio and Minnesota (this is where furloughs are waxed nostalgic). I find myself missing the comment, “I’d do her,” for the first time ever! Sick, I know, but you grow accustomed to it. Just trust me on this. The picture painted: I’m not that suave with the ladies and have piss poor luck with the ones I seem to somehow have suaved.

Suddenly, out of left field like a Jeff Kent clinch homer, R.Ue. makes the statement that Shoup will be married and have kids within five years. This is where the whole bar comes to a screeching halt, kind of like that cheesy movie moment where the popular hot chick confesses her love for the uber-geek of the high school. Yeah, exactly like that. I smell a bet, Mr. R.E. places the wager, and Miss R.Ue. shakes on it.

Forthwith, all who read this are witnesses to the following:

Stipulation agreed upon by all three above signed: If Shoup should be found at loss in aforementioned wager, he shall pay forth One Benjamin each to BOTH Kara DeAnne Dodge and Nathan Reid Pietila.

*Numb – puertoriqueño for: “falling down drunk, yet not admittedly DRUNK!”

**These will be explained in future blogs, I just figured passing mentions here wouldn’t do them justice. Plus I only have about 2 hours to sleep and then get up and go get yelled at by Sergeant Moody. Hoooah!

***Two little Shoups will be defined as the pitter-patter of two separate pair of feet running down the hallway, or one pair running down the hallway and the other still kicking in the womb,**** or twins both kicking in the womb and giving their poor mother one hell of a time.

****Still kicking in the womb shall be defined as first medical confirmation of pregnancy to birth.

P.S. If anyone else wants in on this action, contact either me by leaving a comment here or by contacting Mr. R.E. or Miss R.Ue. by their respective means. Thank you.

P.S.S. If any of you were wondering where in the evening the college friends were dissed, that was pretty much just sporadically throughout the night.

Did I happen to mention that alcohol was partook?