Brunswick

Time went by slowly. The barracks sucked. I trusted no one and found my Filipino folks formed a tight exclusive group that kept to itself after hours. My disjointed job along with the fucked up barracks started making me crazy... literally. At one point I did not even want to leave my room when I was not working. I was becoming aggressive, drinking too much and getting closer to “the edge” Finally my squadron arrived back from deployment. It was good to put on a flight suit again. One of the beautiful things about my job was my flight suit. I loved it because it was easy! I could wear civilian clothes, just pull on the suit, boots, a hat and I was “in uniform” plus women loved those flight suits, yeah baby!!! I walked to the hanger the first day as my barracks was only a block away. It was so good not to have to be busting my balls at the crack of dawn making breakfast. The flight line was quiet but starting to move as folks were arriving to work. I arrived at the hanger where my squadron was assigned. It was big enough for four planes (P3 Orion aircraft are fair size) and the offices were along the shell of the hanger. All the working shops were on the first floor and the administrative/officer offices were on the second floor. I arrived at my shop and met a group of guys in two uniforms. The “ground pounders” were ordnance men who did not fly, they wore a standard issue work uniform. Then the flight crew guys who wore flight suits when we could. I am gonna have to look back to see who was chief but the person who ran the shop was a first class by the name of OJ. He stood when I came in and introduced me to the crew and then said “I want to talk to you outside”