Lest We Forget (4 page)

             
"232. 232...232," he mumbled for the fifth time.  Some fucking navigator you are Jess, we've been off of 232 for twenty miles.  And damn it, if you throw up in my new truck I will kick you out here at the Florida border.

It's January 2004, Jess and I had been looking out for each other (read competing with each other) since about the first day of basic training.  What we had been through already would pale in comparison to what we would eventually go through but we already had a pretty inseparable bond.  Even so, if he throws up in my truck I will not hesitate to punch him right in
the .... and there it goes, vomit everywhere!

             
We had a four-day weekend and I had just bought an extended cab truck.  I'm not sure exactly whose idea it was but someone suggested taking a road trip from Ft. Benning, Georgia down to Panama City, Florida.  I had never really gone on a real road trip before and I jumped at the opportunity.  I went online and found an inexpensive hotel on the beach, booked it and started packing.  There was just enough room in my little truck for Matt, Jess, Chris and myself.  As we left the gates of the military installation, Matt yells, "Pull over, pull over!!"

“
What, why?”

"You can't have a road trip without some booze now can you
?"

Brandishing a very large bottle of Jack Daniels, Matt exits the liquor store with a
grin that would make the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland proud.  Chris was only 20 at the time and had a striking resemblance to Opie Taylor from the Andy Griffith Show.  He was a quiet guy, not unlike myself at the time.  Our two travel partners for the weekend, however, were anything but.  Like Jess, Matt also had a college degree so they both had a few years of drinking experience on Chris and myself.

Those three went through that bottle like
Kobayash
i
goes through hot dogs.  We had to stop at another liquor store within an hour.  By the time that we were in Florida they were passed the point of being helpful.  Matt and Chris were in the back beating the snot out of one another and Jess just lost his Arby's all over the front seat of my truck.  I learned a valuable lesson about taking road trips that weekend; don’t be the only sober one.  I manage to find the hotel using an outdated map and despite the lack of assistance from my friends.  I was pretty pissed by the time that we got to the hotel but the site of the ocean washed all that away, "PANAMA CITY BABY!!"

This was going to be amazing!  All I knew about Panama City was what I had seen on MTV Spring Break. After nearly a year of straight Army training surrounded by nothing but other guys, we were all ready for college girls in bikinis!

As we enter the lobby we notice a table of senior citizens playing cards.  We walk out to the pool and it's a ghost town.  The beach was equally deserted.  We go inside to check in.  In as surly a tone as any I've ever heard, Matt asks the older women behind the desk, "Where the hell are all the women at?"

She looked at the group of us with curiosity and then explained that in the winter most of the hotels are rented as time
-shares to snowbirds.

Jaws.  Floor.

Not sure why all four of us assumed that there would be wet t-shirt contests and body shots going on in January.  SHIT!  We did not think this one through very well. What is it those Marines say?  Improvise, adapt and overcome?

             
The first night was a little irritating.  We drove around looking for a place that could serve our function, the closest we could find was a Hooters.  The high point of that experience was watching Jess be refused service because he was already so unbelievable wasted.

We woke up late the next morning and decided that we needed to find breakfast.  We drove around but all that we could find was some shit hole Chinese buffet.  When we sat down Matt immediately ordered a double Jack and Coke.
 

“F
or breakfast, really?”

"Fuck it!" was his only response.

Matt sucked down at least three of those before we were asked to leave.  Not sure if you've ever been kicked out of a buffet before noon but if you get the chance I say go for it!  Matt’s technique involved a constant stream of obscenities at a decibel level similar to that of a fire truck.  We drove around for a while and found a place that had a bunch of motorcycles out front.  Knowing that a group of drunken bikers would be our best chance for some decent trouble, we immediately pulled over and went inside.  I had never seen anything like it!  It was literally a bar in the middle of a liquor store! I mean, you could order a shot and then turn around and grab a case of PBR from the shelf behind you. 

Matt quickly discovered a drink that they called "hunch punch
."  God only knows what was in that concoction but the leather-skinned old biker lady behind the bar said that she had never seen anyone drink more than two and be able to walk out the door on their own. 

Matt, of course, took this as a challenge.  He was on his third one when he started talking shit to some of the bikers.  Not wanting to wear out our welcome, or get our teeth knocked in, we decided it would be a good time to abscond.  In an act of sheer defiance
, Matt downs the remaining contents of his third libation and struts out the door.  We quickly find another bar that looks promising.  On the front is a sign that says "Fog Horn Leg Horn's."  As we walk to the front door I proclaim, "I say, I say son.... let's get toasted."

Matt bellies up to the bar while Chris and I shoot pool.  The bartender is a beautiful blonde girl in her early twenties.  Jess turns on that Matthew
McConaughey charm immediately.  I'm not surprised at all that she is smitten with him, Jess always had that thing that women found interesting.  He was a Kansas boy with a big smile and always seemed to be interested in whatever you had to say.  He used his skills to quickly find out where all the locals spent their free time.  I missed most of what was said due to the fact that I was getting my ass handed to me on the pool table by a 20 year old ginger.  The conversation must have turned political in some way because in the middle of that nearly empty bar Matt stood up on his stool and screamed, "You're a Democrat?  FUCK YOU!"

Here's the thing about screaming curse words at a pretty girl in a bar, if you're going to do it
, don't fall off of your bar stool immediately afterward.  That will make you look like twice the asshole!

As we pick Matt up off the floor we apologize profusely to everyone in the bar including the little old lady that was sitting a few bar stools down.
  As her wrinkled hand brings the ultra slim to her mouth, she tells us that we might want to get our friend under control. We prop him back on his barstool and get him water.  Matt spits on the floor and the elderly woman explains that he shouldn't do that.  He asks, “oh yeah, why not?"  She responds, "well because this is my bar, I own in and I don't appreciate it."

Matt's eyes open widely for the first time in hours.  I believe that a normal person's reaction would have been,
‘oh shit, I've been acting like an ass in front of the owner this entire time.’  Not. Even. Close.  Matt gets off of his bar stool, stumbles over to her, sits down next to granny Clampit, and starts hitting on her!  I'm not making this up.  He proceeds to confirm that all of the booze behind the bar belongs to her and starts talking her up.  Surprisingly, she seems unfazed by the whole thing.  She just smiles and takes another drag.  Without warning or provocation Matt falls off of his bar stool for a second time, flat on his back.  A roar of laughter escaped him as he lay on the floor.

"He should go
," says the old bar owner.

"Yeah.  That's not a bad idea
,” said Chris.

As we walk to my truck, Matt decides to unzip and
micturate without missing a step.  Just a grown ass man walking through a parking lot actively urinating - no big deal.  As he attempts to climb into the cab of my truck I yell, "OHH FUCK NO! Your piss covered self isn't getting into my new truck!  Jess already puked in there, you ride in the back!"  Chris laughed but what he didn't realize was that he was going to have to ride back there and keep him from jumping out.

"Hey look,"
said Jess as I started the truck, "It's only 6:30."

As we got back to the retirement center
, the effects of those “hunch punch” drinks really began to take their full effect.  Matt attempted to jump off of the fourth floor balcony a half a dozen times before we even got to our room.  Jess and I utilized some of our Army medic skills and did a two-person buddy carry back to the room.  Chris opens the hideous aqua colored door and we take Matt to the bed.  We throw him face down onto the mattress.  Like a plank he bounces off and hits the floor.  Fed up with his antics, none of us bother to move him.  We walk to the kitchenette area, that's when we heard it: a shrill cry that I would come to know as an indicator that Matt was past the point of reasoning.  This was the first time that I heard him yell, "I DO WHAT I WANT! "

He went from dead on the floor to full sprint in an instant, like some kind of undead in a cheesy zombie movie.  To this day I have no idea what that clown was thinking as he sprinted, full speed, face first into that closed aqua door. He bounce
d like a fucking pinball, spinning just slightly and then striking the back of his head on the bathroom doorframe.  One complete, standing 360-degree spin, and SMACK, the back of his head hits the tile floor.

"
Ohh shit!" Chris yells, "That's a lot of blood!"

In an effort to preserve Matt's political career I am choosing to leave out the stream of obscenities that flowed from his mouth as I attempted to put pressure on the back of his split dome. To be honest the concern was more for my deposit than the back of his head.  I didn’t want him spraying blood all over the carpet.  It took about 15 minutes to calm him down.

             
Before Matt's egregious verbal assault on our beautiful bartender, Jess managed to gather a valuable piece of Intel.  We now know where the locals will be tonight.  The only problem is our good friend just busted the back of his head open and could very easily have a concussion, add that to the amount of alcohol that he has coursing through his veins and leaving him alone could mean big trouble.  There was only one honorable thing to do: leave Chris with Matt's drunk ass while Jess and I go try to find some mischief. 

In Ranger Battalion, when a shitty task has to get done and everyone is the same rank we revert to
“Time In Battalion" or “TIB.”  Chris wasn't as excited about our plan as we were but we explained to him that he was the youngest of the group and hence had the least or "Time In Life" or “TIL.”

"Can't believe he went for that
," said Jess as we left the hotel room in search of a night of trouble.

"
Uggghhh, what happened?" moaned Matt as the sun snuck in through the blinds and attacked his eyes.  "What the... why's my head stuck to the sheet?"

Laughter fills the room as Chris says, "Matt.... dude... You're an idiot!"

We are all slow moving for the first few minutes.  Matt finally discovers the paper clip size gash on the back of his head and asks again, "Seriously, what the fuck happened?  Did one of you ass clowns hit me with something?" 

We all take an almost sadistic level of pleasure in telling him the story.  I take a look at the now swollen mess and decide that maybe he should get stitches.  "Do you know how to do that?" He asks.  I lie through my teeth and say yes.  Suturing is a skill that we would all become very skilled at but at this point none of us had attended Special Operations Medical Course.  We had all graduated from Army Combat Medic
School about six months before but the scope of practice is as different as an E.M.T. to a Physician’s Assistant.

We decide to take care of Matt's wounds instead of going to the beach, which was probably the single responsible decision that was made in that 96
-hour period.  A stink cloud of booze and shame lingers on us like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown as we enter the CVS.  I am wearing a dirty grey tank top and am clearly still a little drunk from the night before.  We begin to rummage through the medical supplies isle.  Concerned I'm sure, the pharmacist emerges from behind the counter to ask if we need assistance.  I ask her in a very calm matter where we could find the "at home suture kits."  "Excuse me," she replies as if this is the first time someone has ever asked such a question.  "What on earth do would you need that for?" she asks.

"Hey Matt!  Come here!" 

When he emerges from the next aisle over, I have him spin around and show the attractive twenty something brunette in the short white lab coat the extent of his injuries.  Her tan skin turns a pale shade of green as she covers her mouth.  The site of the swollen, half crusted yet still bleeding scalp must have been a bit more than she had bargained for.  Without blinking she begins to shake her head and say, "We.... we.... wouldn't have anything like that here."

"
Hmmmm, well then.... can you tell me where the fishing line and hooks might be?"

"GET OUT! 
All of you, get out!"

"Okay then."