Living and learning in California, and being paid for it - what could be better?
I was assigned to study at the Defense Language Institute at the Presidio of Monterey. On weekends, my friends went to the beach in Carmel or I drove up to San Francisco to spend a day sight seeking. On longer holiday weekends, we drove Los Angeles.
We didn't have to drive far to find stunning scenery. The Lone Cypress is on the picturesque coastline south of the Monterey and Carmel area. Big Sur has some of the most spectacular views in the world. I spent a fortune in film for my Minolta taking many pictures.
One weekend in the latter part of the summer, my Chinese Mandarin class, most of whom were also a part of the Air Force Training Squadron stationed at DLI, attended a picnic at the Big Sur State Park. Due to the nature of the intense training we were receiving, any time away from the Institute was a welcome diversion. It was a great way to loosen up and, in the process, get to know the other people in the class without all the formalities of military discipline.
For the most part, it was a traditional cookout, replete with hamburgers, hot dogs and all the fixings. On the side there were baked beans, coleslaw, corn on the cob and watermelon. The class invited all of our Chinese language instructors. Each of them contributed to the meal, providing a sampling of the best Chinese cuisine.
As the afternoon wound down, we grew weary of playing volleyball and horseshoes. We cleaned up, packed up and loaded up our cars for our return north.
My roommate, Chris, had a car. I rode down to the picnic with him. Each of us had a few beers over the course of the afternoon. Ensuring he would be able to drive afterwards, Chris consumed much less than I did. Still, as we drove back up the coast, we both found the pressures on our bladders growing intense. The urgency to find relief consumed our thoughts and dominated our conversation.
If you have never driven on the Pacific Coast Highway, let me explain. Between Big Sur State Park and Carmel, there were exactly no filling stations, no roadside rest areas or anywhere else to stop to use the facilities. I suggested to Chris that we find a nice long lane that wound up from the highway into the coastal hills. It seemed like the perfect solution and so the next time we saw an entrance to a lane, Chris slowed down and we turned off the road. There was a fence to either side of the lane as we ascended the hill. When we reached a locked gate, we stopped. It seemed far enough off the road that no one would observe us as we relieved ourselves on the grass.
Where I grew up, on a farm in Ohio, it was natural. Whenever I was out in a field or a cow pasture and needed to take a leak, I did. The place we picked kind-of reminded me of a cow pasture back home, except for the rather steep incline of the lane's ascent from the highway to the gate.
As Chris was on the upside of his car and I was on the downside, each of us purging our bladders, another car came up the lane and startled us. It underscored the random bad luck of our choice.
Inside the car was a California Highway Patrol officer. As we learned rather quickly, the lane and the surrounding land was his. "I don't appreciate you boys peeing on my front yard."
What are the odds?
"I'm very sorry, officer," Chris said. "We didn't intend any offense. It's just there is nowhere around here to, well..."
"You boys are in the military, I take it."
"Yessir," Chris said.
"Fort Ord?'
"Nosir," I said. "We're in the Air Force. We're stationed at DLI."
"The language school."
"Yessir," Chris said.
"I was in the Air Force myself," the officer said, "Security Police. Spent my entire tour of duty in one of the coldest places on the face of the Earth."
"Minot, North Dakota?" I ventured a guess.
"How did you guess?" the officer said, then chuckled. "You've been there?"
"I've heard stories. It's one of the places they send people like us if we washout of language school. Because of our security clearances, they train us to be SP's."
"What's in Minot?" Chris asked.
"A whole lot of holes in the ground," the officer said.
"ICBM's in silos," I explained to Chris.
"Oh, those kind of holes"
"Yeah," I said.
"You know what, I'm off-duty right now. I really don't want to deal with any more paperwork today. And seeing as how you boys are in the Air Force and all, I'll accept your apologies. But, in the future, please don't pee in other peoples' front yards, okay?"
"Yessir," Chris and I said in unison.
"Drive carefully. I'll back up my car a bit so you can get around me."
"Yessir," Chris said, and then smiled. "Thank you, officer."
When we were back inside the car and backing down the lane, Chris glanced my way. "Great idea you had there, dude!"
"Hey, I couldn't hold it any longer. Could you?'
"No."
"There you go, then."
"What are the odds? I mean seriously, what are the friggin' odds?"
I was assigned to study at the Defense Language Institute at the Presidio of Monterey. On weekends, my friends went to the beach in Carmel or I drove up to San Francisco to spend a day sight seeking. On longer holiday weekends, we drove Los Angeles.
We didn't have to drive far to find stunning scenery. The Lone Cypress is on the picturesque coastline south of the Monterey and Carmel area. Big Sur has some of the most spectacular views in the world. I spent a fortune in film for my Minolta taking many pictures.
One weekend in the latter part of the summer, my Chinese Mandarin class, most of whom were also a part of the Air Force Training Squadron stationed at DLI, attended a picnic at the Big Sur State Park. Due to the nature of the intense training we were receiving, any time away from the Institute was a welcome diversion. It was a great way to loosen up and, in the process, get to know the other people in the class without all the formalities of military discipline.
For the most part, it was a traditional cookout, replete with hamburgers, hot dogs and all the fixings. On the side there were baked beans, coleslaw, corn on the cob and watermelon. The class invited all of our Chinese language instructors. Each of them contributed to the meal, providing a sampling of the best Chinese cuisine.
As the afternoon wound down, we grew weary of playing volleyball and horseshoes. We cleaned up, packed up and loaded up our cars for our return north.
My roommate, Chris, had a car. I rode down to the picnic with him. Each of us had a few beers over the course of the afternoon. Ensuring he would be able to drive afterwards, Chris consumed much less than I did. Still, as we drove back up the coast, we both found the pressures on our bladders growing intense. The urgency to find relief consumed our thoughts and dominated our conversation.
If you have never driven on the Pacific Coast Highway, let me explain. Between Big Sur State Park and Carmel, there were exactly no filling stations, no roadside rest areas or anywhere else to stop to use the facilities. I suggested to Chris that we find a nice long lane that wound up from the highway into the coastal hills. It seemed like the perfect solution and so the next time we saw an entrance to a lane, Chris slowed down and we turned off the road. There was a fence to either side of the lane as we ascended the hill. When we reached a locked gate, we stopped. It seemed far enough off the road that no one would observe us as we relieved ourselves on the grass.
Where I grew up, on a farm in Ohio, it was natural. Whenever I was out in a field or a cow pasture and needed to take a leak, I did. The place we picked kind-of reminded me of a cow pasture back home, except for the rather steep incline of the lane's ascent from the highway to the gate.
As Chris was on the upside of his car and I was on the downside, each of us purging our bladders, another car came up the lane and startled us. It underscored the random bad luck of our choice.
Inside the car was a California Highway Patrol officer. As we learned rather quickly, the lane and the surrounding land was his. "I don't appreciate you boys peeing on my front yard."
What are the odds?
"I'm very sorry, officer," Chris said. "We didn't intend any offense. It's just there is nowhere around here to, well..."
"You boys are in the military, I take it."
"Yessir," Chris said.
"Fort Ord?'
"Nosir," I said. "We're in the Air Force. We're stationed at DLI."
"The language school."
"Yessir," Chris said.
"I was in the Air Force myself," the officer said, "Security Police. Spent my entire tour of duty in one of the coldest places on the face of the Earth."
"Minot, North Dakota?" I ventured a guess.
"How did you guess?" the officer said, then chuckled. "You've been there?"
"I've heard stories. It's one of the places they send people like us if we washout of language school. Because of our security clearances, they train us to be SP's."
"What's in Minot?" Chris asked.
"A whole lot of holes in the ground," the officer said.
"ICBM's in silos," I explained to Chris.
"Oh, those kind of holes"
"Yeah," I said.
"You know what, I'm off-duty right now. I really don't want to deal with any more paperwork today. And seeing as how you boys are in the Air Force and all, I'll accept your apologies. But, in the future, please don't pee in other peoples' front yards, okay?"
"Yessir," Chris and I said in unison.
"Drive carefully. I'll back up my car a bit so you can get around me."
"Yessir," Chris said, and then smiled. "Thank you, officer."
When we were back inside the car and backing down the lane, Chris glanced my way. "Great idea you had there, dude!"
"Hey, I couldn't hold it any longer. Could you?'
"No."
"There you go, then."
"What are the odds? I mean seriously, what are the friggin' odds?"
A true story that happened in California.
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