Missed opportunity #435: Arabian Princess
I know I’ve been MIA, but due to an unfortunate accident, I had to ship my laptop off to Texas for repair. I’m so happy to have it back, I’m itching to get some writing done for my second book (I’m working on it, I already told y’all I’m not a fast writer!). Before I get to working on that though, I wanted to get a quick blog post in to let y’all know I’m still here!
In case you didn’t know, I spent a little time in the Air Force. When I was stationed in New Jersey, I worked in a flying squadron (as an IT analyst), and I had to deploy an average of nine months out of the year. The following is an experience from one of those deployments. It was December, and we were on our way to relieve a group of folks so they could spend Christmas back home with their families. Unfortunately we ran into many issues along the way that continually delayed our arrival.
One of the biggest challenges we faced was a cracked windshield on our aircraft, which resulted in a little more downtime in Italy than we initially planned for. The on-base hotel (or billeting, in military terminology) was full, which resulted in a stay at a commercial hotel, off-base, on the government’s dime. To be clear, that’s a GOOD thing. This hotel was gorgeous, and just happened to be located directly on the beach. Even though it was cold, it was still a beautiful sight to behold.
Once the issue was addressed, the senior ranking officer pulled us together to make a group decision. The windshield had been repaired, however the regulation stated that it should cure over a certain amount of time in order to be completely safe. We were already cutting it close as far as getting to our destination in time for the crew we were relieving to be home for Christmas, so we had to decide; do we forge ahead in a last ditch effort to get them home in time, or do we stay on the ground and wait the mandated time for the windshield to cure?
We all knew what it was like to be away from home for the holidays, and we knew how special it was to be able to spend a holiday, any holiday (let alone Christmas), with family and friends. So we voted to forge ahead, accepting the risk with the windshield, knowing we were very very close to not making it in time, but we’d give it one final major push (i.e. fly as fast as we could pending weather conditions, and pray for the windshield to hold out).
Unfortunately, we were still airborne come Christmas Eve, and someone acknowledged the fact by playing Christmas music over the aircraft intercom. I cannot remember a time when I was so completely somber about not being home for Christmas, and I can remember literally fighting back tears as I listened to the lyrics of each song. Thank goodness the lights were off, as I’m sure quite a few of my fellow airmen (all men, by the way) were surely feeling the same way.
When we arrived at our destination in the Middle East early Christmas morning, (I won’t say exactly where because as I remember it, it was not public knowledge that we had a US military presence in that location) the crew we were sent to relieve were PISSED. I couldn’t believe it. It was as if they thought we’d taken our sweet time, sight seeing and stopping at unnecessary places of our own choosing, instead of considering their feelings. Never mind the fact we took a huge safety risk and disregarded a government regulation in an attempt to help them reach their goal.
Feeling pretty dejected that we weren’t able to send the crew home in time, coupled with the fact that we were in a foreign land that does not typically celebrate Christmas, the senior ranking officer of our crew suggested we take a trip into town. The problem was at that time we were prohibited from going into town (this changed almost weekly based on local intelligence and perceived threats). However, this was a pretty high ranking officer, whom we’d just spent a week traveling with, so we were completely on board with sneaking into town to eat and have a few drinks at a familiar American chain restaurant.
He procured a vehicle, we all piled in, and off we went. Not only was this a familiar American franchise, it also housed a dance floor and live dj, unlike any version of this restaurant that I’ve ever seen in the United States. Having eaten our fill of food, we were standing around the perimeter of the dance floor enjoying a few drinks when a local man came in, wearing the traditional white robe and Shemagh or Keffiyeh head covering. Immediately the entire vibe within the establishment changed, and it was crystal clear that this was a man of some importance. And suddenly, this man grabs me by the arm and drags me onto the dance floor against my will.
Had I been in the good ole US of A, I would’ve been able to handle this situation on my own with no problem. However, being a stranger in a strange land, where women are traditionally seen as objects, all I could do was look at the guys with extreme “help me!” eyes. I say extreme because remember I said I was with a crew of all men? Every woman knows (or SHOULD know) what help me eyes are (and if you don’t, man or woman, just click here).
As this man told me how beautiful I was and how he was going to make me his wife, and I screamed help me at the guys with my eyes, several things went through my mind. We couldn’t call for back up, because a.) we weren’t supposed to be off site and b.) we’d all been drinking which was also a no no. And we were never, EVER, supposed to reveal the fact that we were members of the military. So we all just stared at each other, our semi-inebriated brains racing for a solution, as this man of power continued to tell me how I was about to become the newest member of his harem.
Finally, the smallest guy in the group (literally) calmly walked over to us, wrapped his arm gingerly around mine, and ever so politely asked this man what his intentions were with his wife. And immediately the Arabian man released me and started apologizing profusely. To my fake husband. But not me, because remember I’m just a piece of property. I wrapped my arms so tightly around his neck and shouted thank you in his ear as the other man, now embarrassed, quickly made a beeline across the room, probably towards his next victim.
The incident was a sobering one, and after a few ‘wow that was close’ discussions, we got back in our ‘procured’ vehicle and rode back to our temporary ‘home’ in complete silence. The whole situation was a stress filled reminder of why there are rules in place, and a hard learned lesson on why they should be followed.
The Near Princess ALMOST formerly known as,
Angela