Meet Mr. Jack.

Please note: *Mr. Jack will be the civilized name I use for Eric’s Platoon Sergeant from here on out.

During last weekend’s non-stop man-hunt, I had the task of playing lunch lady to Eric’s unit who had been on duty for 18 hours & counting.

Being the only wife with an international drivers license & with a car, I was tapped to make the  commissary run for everything from bottled water to cigarettes.

(By the way, they don’t sell cigarettes at the commissary, you have to go to the PX for them – something I would’ve known in advance if I was a smoker.)

Commissary:A military pseudo-grocery store. (Don’t get me started.)

PX – Post Exchange: A military mini Wal-Mart, emphasis on the mini – and not a super Wal-Mart, mind you.

As I pulled into the hanger parking lot, no less than 3 soldiers (none of whom I knew) were standing around like chicken hawks waiting for me to arrive with the goods.

Eric was nowhere in sight & a phone call to the boy alerted me to the fact that he had indeed left the hanger to go run some other errand for someone else.

I was left to fend for myself.

(Alright, I told myself…suck it up….psst, you can start by opening the car door.)

I couldn’t get the door open 3 inches before they were on me.

All barking, “Here! We’ll get that, ma’am. Oh no, you don’t have to do that, ma’am.”

For those of you familiar with military life, it comes as no surprise for a woman to be called Mrs. This or That, yes ma’am, no ma’am. And at times it can be endearing.

This was not one of those times.

As I pulled case after case of water out of the car – handing it off to the next chicken hawk in line, suddenly from across the way I hear,

“Thank you for doing that, Sweetie!”

Obviously the man couldn’t be talking to me. No one calls me “sweetie”. Not even Eric.

For you see, I’m a Texas girl and I am very capable to taking care of myself – thank you very much. I’m strong, I’m intelligent, I’m independent (by the way, I’ve got the card to prove it) & I’ll be damned if some absolute stranger is gonna call me “sweetie”.

So for the first several seconds I completely dismissed & ignored it.

Until the voice walked closer & said it again.

It was Mr. Jack – Eric’s NCOIC.

NCOIC – Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge: The boss-man.

Fudge.

Big-freakin’ heaps of fudge muffins!

I couldn’t come back with some witty reply – the man is in charge of making Eric’s life hell!

(A job he’s surprisingly good at considering how ignorant he is at everything else.)

And just then Eric hopped out of the borrowed car he was in having arrived at the hanger a minute or two behind me.

(Crap – now I really have to behave.)

So I stood there, gears spinning in my head over what to do/what to say, as Mr. Jack walked right up & proceeded to corner me in between the car & Eric.

His second mistake – I don’t know you and I definitely don’t want you standing that close to me.

Of course he was all grins,…have you seen the teeth on him?!

And like a complete idiot, I fumbled the ball. Because I couldn’t figure out what to say I wound-up saying completely stupid things…like, “Do you need the receipt this minute?”

(I mean, come on! That’s the best I could do?…ugh. I just wanted the man to back it up 2 feet & take a tic-tac.)

Wasted. Wasted opportunity for the best one-liner ever….

…as soon as I could think of it.