The piss bottle

Well, THAT got your attention and no, it is not a euphemism, they are exactly as the name describes.  They don’t tell you before you come to Afghanistan that many of the males in the barracks use them.  It’s just not good press, and probably wouldn’t do anything to entice you to come on over to live in what is already a difficult situation, you know, with the war going on and all.  They were widely used by soldiers and contractors in Iraq and they are in Afghanistan as well – a dirty, nay, filthy little secret of this gig.  I was told that one guy’s job in a camp in Iraq was to dispose of the piss bottles in an environmentally friendly manner – his sole function.  He had to collect them, unscrew the lids and pour them out down a porta potty.  Every day I’ve ever had anything remotely resembling a bad work day, I’ve thought about that guy and that job.  And then I brighten right back up. 

Before you derisively snort, roll your eyes and mutter, “Savages,” allow me to attempt to sell you on the use of piss bottles.  We are in Afghanistan, after all, and most of us live in shared quarters.  Toilets and showers are outside.  When the call of nature calls, we have to put on some form of footwear and trudge outside in our sleeping costume and make our way to the latrines.  And it’s dark, so you’ll need a headlamp or a flashlight.  So, when it’s raining and snakes are afoot (is it aslither?) or it’s muddy, or there’s snow on the ground and it’s icy and it’s just so darn inconvenient, you turn to your friend the piss bottle.  You take care of your sordid business – carefully tilting the bottle so as not to create the sound of a gently running river– no, you want that flow to slide quietly down the inside of the bottle.  Consideration of others, you know, wouldn’t want to wake your bunkmates up now, would we?   Shaking the last few drops does present a challenge, it’s more of a shaking the entire bottle along with your member, trying not to slosh the contents high enough so you can keep things clean down below.  Screw on the top and settle right back into that peaceful slumber you awoke from.  Not so savage after all, eh?

Still  not convinced?  Try this on for size.   Thankfully, the Taliban spring offensive seems to be over.  We’ve gone a while without an attack.  But during the fighting season (they are fair weather terrorists, after all) we do get hit.  And when there is an attack, you can’t go outside until you hear the all clear call on Big Voice.  Outside.  Where the toilets are.  That’s where you can’t go.  Because the Taliban are particularly evil, I imagine this conversation up in the mountains right before the rockets are launched:  “Can we shoot it now Mohammed?”  “No Ahmed.  Wait.  The infidel’s bladders are not yet full.  We will wait until they are almost ready to burst before we fire.”  Then they probably sit in the mountains, smoking some of the good Afghan hash that is so prevalent right outside the wire, waiting, waiting, waiting. “Mohammed, now, can we fire the rockets now?”  “Patience Ahmed.  It is not yet time.  They may be dreaming about a river running, their loins may be stirring.  We will wait until the time is right.”  More hash is smoked in the interim because, well, this is my story.  Then, just as the older contractors begin to shift in bed getting ready to make the trip outside to pee I’m sure those darn terrorists both mutter, “Allahu Akbar,” as the rockets are launched.  And the folks on bases are stuck inside.  Where there are no bathrooms.  When they were just about to get up and pee.   While security sweeps the perimeter and finds the rocket(s), ensures there is no UXO laying around, we wait for the all clear.  The newbies do the pee pee dance as they cross their legs and hop about to keep from peeing in their pants.  The grizzled vets lean over, pick up their piss bottle and don’t even try to hide the sound.  It takes being stuck inside once, waiting for the all clear for a couple of hours to have an empty bottle at the ready. 
We had an attack one evening just as we were getting ready to close down shop and go to our bunks.  Once it hit, we were stuck inside, where time trickled by...slowly.   I was having a discussion with my boss (who is a woman) and as we waited, she mentioned she really had to pee.   Being the gentleman I am, I offered her the use of my helmet and said we'd all turn the other way while she filled it up.  She demurely declined.  She asked about everyone else in the office and I told her she didn't have to worry about the men, we were prepared.   I leaned in and whispered, "We use the bottle."   She was aghast at the practice, but after noticing the men taking care of business, as it were, and the women squirming and waiting for two hours she begrudgingly noted the practicality. The highly skilled can use a water bottle.  I'm not sure how they do it, years of practice, I guess, but I'm definitely not there yet.  I told her I'm a fan of the sports drink bottles - bigger aperture, I said, without missing a beat.  As she has done so many times during my tenure here, she turned red, and shook her head as she buried it in her hands.   The drink Mega Sport comes in two flavors, Lemon Lime and Berry.  I'd recommend always drinking the Berry - just to be on the safe side.
.

The countdown

     Human beings are hardwired to hope.  We all hope for different things and plan for all the things we want out of life.  We make those plans because we are hopeful that we don't get sick, that a tragic accident doesn't happen, that we don't lose our job, that after we go to school there is a good job waiting for us, that we find someone to love.   If we didn't have hope, we wouldn't plan.  Without hope, there would be bunches of uneducated people sitting around in their underwear, eating bacon, drinking beer and watching Jerry Springer. 
     But we don't.  We plan for the best outcome in life because we are hopeful.  Because dropping out of school, sitting around in your panties, eating bad food, drinking too early and watching trashy television, well, nothing good is going to come out of that picture. 
     Coupled with the hope and plans come countdowns.  We all mark the time for different events, whether it be a holiday, an anniversary, when school gets out, the weekend or maybe until the end of a work day. In Afghanistan, there are typically two big countdowns: 

1.  When you go on your R&R's.
2.  When you get on a plane for the last time out of here.

     I'm on countdown #2. We work seven days a week, so the days blend together and it doesn't really matter what day of the week it is, but you have to watch the time slip by somehow.  I'm not a sports fan, but every sport season's passing scratches more x's and o's off of the calendar.  Basketball has finished and now it's started up again, baseball has come and gone - all good news for me.  I was really looking forward to football season, because the ending of football season corresponds closely with my fly date.  They're still playing that silly game and I'm still here.  Each completed pass and each first down brings me closer to to the end game.
     Then there's the moon.  I watch the cycles of the moon a lot more intently now.  I get up when it's dark, come home when it's dark, the moon cycles just tick that time off naturally.  I'm a big waning crescent fan.  I only have three more full moons left in Afghanistan, and I'll fly on the first day of a waxing crescent.  Tick tock, tick tock.
     I'm looking forward to, for the first time ever in my life - winter.  It is already quite nippy here, in the mid 30's (0 - 3C) at night, getting up to the 50's (12 - 15C) in the day, and it's making that morning bike ride around the base a few degrees on the left side of brisk.  I've got the winter kit and plan to continue riding until there's ice.  There's that planning again, and the planning is always fueled by hope.  Why am I looking forward to winter?  Well, the Taliban have an annual spring offensive where they ramp up and attack more bases, explode more suicide vests and lob more rockets into all of the coalition bases.  We get hit about once a week.  Sometimes you hear the explosion, other times, Big Voice announces the impact, if you're lucky enough to already be in a hardened structure, you wait, if not, you get to hang out in a bunker with 20 or so of your closest friends until they call the all clear.  Those rascally Taliban are fond of 0100 attacks during holidays.  Spring has come and gone and we are in the midst of fall.  Winter?  They go back into the hole they came from during the winter and the attacks are far and few between so bring on the snow, and let the temperatures plunge while you're at it.  I figure I can get a few more full night's sleep out of the season and put my electric blanket to good use to boot.
     They asked me yesterday what the possibility of me extending another 4 months was, if there was anything they could do to get me to stay.  Slim to none, was my response.  I then leaned in and said very quietly, "And Slim has left town."  I've spent enough time overseas; the end of my time here is nigh, the proverbial nose of the plane has dipped.  Upon graduating high school, way back in once upon a time time, my mom said, "Time is the stuff life is made of.  Don't waste it."  While I don't consider my time here wasted, it's certainly high time to start spending that precious commodity differently.  And because I'm always hopeful and am always planning, the app I use below is just one more way to watch the time slip by.