Rude, Crude, and Socially Unacceptable

Often times, my mother describes my behavior as "rude, crude, and socially unacceptable." I can't really argue with that. I can be a consummate gentleman when the situation warrants it, but otherwise I enjoy disgusting those around me and even myself. Case in point: I was sitting on the toilet a moment ago when a memory crossed my mind. Allow me to share.

In Marine Corps boot camp, we didn't go to the bathroom Instead, we "hit the head." Instead of asking a drill instructor for permission to go tinkle, we would say, "Sir, Recruit Naughton requests permission to make a standing head call, Sir!" If going "number two" was your priority, you would use the term "sitting head call." One day, our platoon was engaged in a field day where all the platoons in our company met to compete in various athletic contests. The exercise field was a good half-mile from our barracks and just as the instructions for the morning's activities were being given by our D.I., the runny eggs that I swiftly and carelessly inhaled for breakfast began to reek havoc on my digestive tract. I tried to fight off the urge to evacuate my intestines until I became painfully aware of the impending disaster. Panic stricken, I stood up and interrupted the Marine sergeant who was explaining the exercise. "Sir, Recruit Naughton requests permission to make an emergency sitting head call, Sir!!!"

"Well, hello there! Did you just interrupt me recruit?" the D.I. asked incredulously.

"Sir, yes Sir! It's an emergency, Sir!"

"Go," was all he said but the look in his eyes told me that I was a dead man. And so I ran faster than any man has ever run a half-mile while struggling not to soil himself. Thankfully, I made it just in the nick of time. Words cannot describe the immeasurable relief I felt in every fiber of my being. Moments later, and with a smile on my face, I walked out of the head only to be stopped by a team of three drill instructors. I immediately knew that my world was about to end. These particular drill instructors were visiting from Parris Island Recruit Training Depot to observe how the San Diego D.I.s ran things. Apparently, when I made my mad dash to the head they quickly closed in like sharks who could smell blood in the water.

"Push!", the first D.I. yelled. Of course he meant "Do push-ups until your arms break in two."

"On your back!" barked the second. Sit-ups. Have you ever done a hundred sit-ups after nearly shitting yourself?

"I said push!", the first D.I. reminded me in a not so subtle fashion.

"On your feet!", the third chimed in. Marine Corps jumping jacks. These were traditional jumping jacks with squat thrusts added between each repetition. Each time I obeyed an order from one of the drill instructors the others feigned outrage and immediately made me follow their orders. It became a little game for them to see how quickly I could switch exercises. I don't know how they kept from laughing. And I don't know how I kept from puking. I guess it was because I had nothing left in me to expel.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only five or ten minutes, the drill instructors sent me back out to rejoin my platoon. As I sit here now, I honestly can't recall partaking in the field exercises that day. I must have, but after the trauma of the emergency sitting head call and the ensuing punishment, it has been blocked out of my memory.

So by writing this I guess I have just proven that my Mama was right. You're welcome, Mommy.