No Shit, There I Was...

God, please let no one I know ever read this.

No shit privates, there I was. Fort Huachuca, AZ, 2013. I was a private myself, fresh out of basic training. Now, I was in a specialized school learning to become an Army interrogator. Pretty cool stuff. But we'll fast-forward a bit to the Fourth of July weekend. Fourth of July happened to be on a Monday.. or maybe a Friday? It was a three-day weekend, which is pretty damn rare for military: even rarer for lower enlisted soldiers.

Of course, we are all STOKED. We are all making plans with our boyfriends/girlfriends/husbands/wives that we haven't seen in months. I was no exception. I had plans for my high school sweetheart to come spend that weekend with me. She would stay off-post. Even though I had to be back in my bunk each night, I got to spend the majority of each day at the hotel with her.

In preparation for such an event, who other besides my mother sends me a box in the mail of the most deviant, sinful, lustful objects, devices, oils, lotions, and contraptions. (No, this is not the embarrassing part.) As red as my face got when she sent it, you better believe I had Pandora's Box stashed away in my closet.

The day finally came. I signed out of the barracks bright and early with my camouflage backpack on with Pandora's Box hidden deep inside. I was a free man, with a smile the size of the moon and the Devil's temptations on my back.

The weekend was just - it was phenomenal. It couldn't have gone more perfectly. It was a bummer having to sign back into the barracks each night and there were plenty of tears when we said goodbye for good, but it was truly one of the best times of my life at that point.

Except: she was 19, and she still lived with her parents. It was a pretty Christian-conservative household. When I asked her to take Pandora's Box back home with her because I was so scared of my roommate finding it, she basically said hell no.

Alright, no sweat. I'll just take it to UPS and have them deliver it back to my house. Which would have been fine, except I was working Army hours. Which meant, any time UPS was open, I couldn't go. By the time I could ever leave, it was too late.

So there it sat, in the back of my closet under my clothes, for days and days. Just taunting me. Anxiety mounting, day by day. Any time I opened my closet door, I could hear my battle buddy (cute, indoctrinated name for army friend, right?) asking, "Hey Battle, what's that box?" Even though it was in my head. Real Tell-Tale Heart style.

I had to get this thing out of here.

So I tell my best friend that I need his help. Being a young soldier, it is absolutely forbidden for you to be alone at any time - hence the battle buddy system. Since I needed to go to UPS, I needed him to come with me to drop off this mystery package. Well, because we're in school to become interrogators, he's doing me a huge favor, he's my best friend, and I'm a proud young man wanting to brag about a pretty exciting weekend, he quickly discovers what's in the box. He swears to secrecy and agrees to help me out. We schedule some time for me to have an "appointment," where I can sneak away and deliver the package.

For no justified or logical reason, UPS was still closed, despite it being a weekday during normal hours. They simply had a sign on the door that said, "Sorry, closed today." My battle laughed so hard that he cried, and I cried so hard that I laughed.

Here I am, bringing this damn box with me back into the barracks again. Except, I have a brilliant thought! Instead of toting this burden around with me for another six months, I could just toss it. It was a great time for sure, but the memories were in my head, not in this box. There was some pricey stuff, but nothing in this box was worth the anxiety it was causing me. I decided that I would toss it after chow (lunch) the following day.

Chow. Great.

Headed back to the barracks. Oh shit.

Mother. Fucking. Health and safety inspection.

All of our platoon sergeants were standing outside of the quarters, guarding the doors. All of the privates were held in the recreation area and brought in pairs at a time to their rooms. The soldiers would accompany the sergeants as they inspected the room.

Oh shit oh fuck fucking shit fuck oh god please no god

After about 10 minutes of all the privates murmuring to each other, I start to feel eyes all over me. Chuckles. Pointing. I look at my "best friend." He basically says, "sorry, it was too funny not to tell someone." Interrogators are gossipy little bitches. I would have given anything to be someone else right about now.

"Man, you privates are boring. Some cigarettes, some dip... where's the good shit? Who's sitting on the jackpot?" My platoon sergeant facetiously asked our company. "Smith's got the good stuff, sergeant" chimed one of my battle buddies, low enough for the sergeant not to hear but loud enough to make plenty of other privates crack up.

I will never be able to write well enough to illustrate my anxiety in this moment. However bad you think it felt, multiply it.

"232, let's go!" Whatever it was once you multiplied it, now double that.

My roommate and I walked to our room and saw that all doors were already ajar, closets open, drawers pulled out. Even from the doorway, I could see Pandora's Box. I didn't realize it until now, but the "discreet" packaging it was sent in: cardboard with sharpie and packing tape wrapped all around it - it looked just about as "there are probably drugs in here, sergeant" as it could possibly look. My roommate was red in the face with tears running down his face, trying his best not to blow my cover. I'll never forget how hard you tried, brother.

So anyway, that's the story of how I had to explain to my battalion commander that this 9-inch dildo and cherry-flavored lube was actually not shared between my roommate and me.