Tropical Paradise My Ass

In September of 1994 I was deployed to Port-au-Prince, Haiti in support of Operation Uphold Democracy. There are hundreds of reasons why this 3rd-world-hole sucks, I will share a few of them here. When I arrived I was a svelte 18 year old kid. Part of the famed 10TH Mountain Division, I had arrived and was ready for action! Unfortunately, not only was I the youngest soldier in my unit (hehehe "unit"), I was also the lowest enlisted - a mere private in rank. For those of you that have never served or known any veterans, this means that I got all the crappy "details." A "detail" is military jargon for "crappy work that needs to be done that no one wants to do, so you find the lowest enlisted turd and have that poor soul do everything that sucks."

Not all details sucked, but most of them did. We always talked about having another shit-burning-detail, just a saying that meant we had to do awful work. Being a private, you can imagine that I had plenty of shit work available.

Sat-Comm-link or The Day I almost Died
The VERY first day that we arrived in Haiti, I got tagged to set up a Satellite Communications link. I know, sounds effen awesome huh? It was not. Coming from NY and arriving in Haiti was like being thrown into hell. To date, I have NEVER been in an area like it. Texas, Louisiana, and North Carolina are all notoriously humid and I have been to all 3. They have nothing on the suckititude that is Haiti. The weather was horrid. It was always in the high-90's and rained every day. Every effen day. I was in the warehouse that had become our base of operations when Sgt. Glemensky says "Hey Flores, let's get this link up." I think, "oh sweet. Gonna set up some comms and get some things going." That was a stupid thought. You see, our warehouse was a basic concrete structure with a sheet metal tin roof. I was chosen for this task because I was skinny kid. The thought was "Flores is light, we can throw him up there and he won't fall through." As we walk outside, the hot, wet, nasty, world that is Haiti slaps me in the chops. The warehouse is about 20 feet high at its lowest point. Lucky for me there was big rig parked next to it. Sgt Glemensky and I climb on to the trailer. Just a short 8 feet to the ledge. I ground my gear and find that I am losing body weight by the minute - it's so crazy hot that I'm sweating like a whore in church. I am wearing boots, bdu pants, and a brown T-shirt. I grab the sat-comm gear and Sgt Glemensky gives me a boost so that I can grab the ledge. With my incredible strength, I pull myself up easily. This is when things get bad. I went from the hot, wet to the EXTREMELY HOT, DRY. The tin roof was like a frying pan. Had they beer-battered and rolled me in flour I could have been a fried catfish. I gingerly make my way over to the corner (I believe I had to duck walk it) and take about 15 minutes to get the link up and going. In that 15 minutes, sweat is burning my eyes, I'm soaked and feel like I'm going to pass out. I make my way back to Sgt Glemensky and let him know that I'm on my way down. Blind and nauseated, I grab on to the scorching hot ledge with my sweaty palms (think first-date type sweaty hands) and I'm set to dangle over the edge and drop down nicely. My plan went awry. I did not calculate for a less than firm grip due to the water leaking out of my body. I slip off the edge and hit the trailer, my ankle rolls and I am falling head first over the edge. I can see that concerntina wire has been strung out around the big rig and my face is about to pay it a visit. For those of you that have never seen concerntina wire, it is like barbed-wire's big bad cousin. It is a giant slinky of death with little razor t-shapes all around it. Thinking quick, Sgt Glemensky grabs onto to a pole that is mounted on the big rig trailer with one hand and with the other hand reaches out and grabs me by the belt. Thank God that he was a stout guy. On my very first day I almost became a casualty because I weighed 177 lbs soaking wet.

Guard Duty
Guard Duty, generally speaking, isn't so bad. You set up and for 2 hours you keep a watchful eye on your surroundings. I did this a lot in Haiti. Compared to some of the other details, this one wasn't terrible - or so I thought. Not sure how many people remember Tropical Storm Gordon; but you can bet your ass that I do. The day started out pretty normal, I had my egg sammy and was hanging out with a couple of buddies. The rain started early - the sea was angry that day my friends; like an old man trying to send soup back to the kitchen. It never stopped. We had to sand bag our living quarters (open bay warehouse with a crappy tin roof) to keep from being flooded. We kept filling and stacking bags until it was time for me to go on duty (hehehe "duty"). I show up ready for work when it is announced that "Flores needs to report to guard duty." YOU HAVE TO BE SHITTING ME! They were not shitting me; being the private meant that I had to brave the elements. I throw on wet-weather-gear and head out. This "gear" is plastic pants, tucked into rubber boots, with a giant plastic jacket over it all. The rain is coming down so hard and fast that my wet-weather-gear isn't doing much more than keeping me wet by trapping water inside. I walk over to the SOG and he tells me where to go. It is about 150 meters out (a football field and a half). The entire area is flooded. I am wading to my position. The water is now waist deep. I am seeing giant rats float past me; which strikes me as odd since all the Haitians seem malnourished -  how the F did these rats get to be the size of a French bulldog!? I finally make it to my post. It's a Conex at edge of our perimeter. A conex is basically a rail-car without wheels. I climb up top to avoid the rats and human fecal matter that's floating around. I hunker down and sit in a Tropical Storm. For 2 hours. 2 hours guarding a giant lake of funkiness. That I had walked in. Twice. The area was so flooded by the time my rotation was over, that the HMMWV couldn't make it out to pick me up. So, I got to jump back into the Hepatitis-A stew, now chest high, and wade back to work. I'll always remember walking in, soaked to the bone. I was wearing "jungle boots" at the time. They have 2 air holes near the arch, and every time I took a step, water shot out 15 feet. Sgt Glemensky saw me and burst into laughter, then in his very best Jack Nicholson impression says, "You want me on that wall you NEED me on that wall!"

Worst Detail Ever
Time is passing in Port-au-Prince and I have done just about every crappy detail that you can think of...I had to do water runs almost every day, had to guard trash, I even got to sweep the front of the warehouse so when the General visited, his HMMWV would have a clean spot to park. Life was grand. That was until I got tagged for the worst detail ever. Like any other day, I walk in ready to report for duty when I am told, "Flores, you need to head over for a detail. Report to Sgt Such-n-such."  Being the great soldier, I don't even ask what the detail is, I just set out. I find Sgt Such-n-such a few buildings down and we begin to walk. We are shooting the breeze, not talking about anything particular. We arrive at our make-shift latrines. A "latrine" is military talk for "potty." Being clever as we are in U.S. Army, we took a 50 gallon drum, cut it in half, set those halves next to each other, then placed a large thin board over them. We then cut holes into that board and voila! Instant toilets. Human ingenuity will never cease to amaze me! I figure that Sgt Such-n-such needs to drop a deuce so I hang back. He calls me over, I figure he wants to keep chatting while he drops the kids off at the pool. Looking back, I can only wish that he wanted to talk to me while he pinched a loaf. To my utter amazement, I found out that day that the dreaded "Shit Burning Detail" was an actual, and quite literal, detail. Sgt Such-n-such hands me gloves, a 5 gallon can of diesel fuel, a book of matches, and a stick. For those of you that have never lit a turd on fire, it's not as easy as you think. I had to douse the deuces in diesel then from a distance, launch matches into the drum of turds. Think of your dad at BBQ time; the old school charcoal sets. When he would go crazy with the lighter fluid, then stand back and flick matches at it...pretty much my approach. The fuel would burn up quick, I found out. So my second attempt went much like the first, except I understood why I had a stick. I was meant to stir the flaming poo. Which I did. For hours. In hot ass, wet, nasty Haiti weather. I am finally done and burn the gloves that we given to me for the task. At this point, I figure that nothing can be worse and that's why we hear so much about the "Shit Burning Detail." As I arrive back at my work place, I tell Sgt Glemensky about my hours of fun in this tropical paradise. He gets excited and says, "Oh! I had to do the same thing when I was in Korea. It was winter though, so all the crap was frozen. I had to chip it out like ice then try to light it. Took a long ass time...."

Ahhhhhhh....memories. What is life if not the summation of our experiences? I guess at that point of my life I would have been a Turd-burning-guardian-master-of-communications. Have I grown much since then? Debatable. But it was the last time I lit poopoo on fire.