Welcome to Balad

...in a deployed location. With the Army.

So I got here on the 14th of August, see....

Around the 18th or 19th in the morning staff meeting, the first shirt (aka, first sergeant, not a rank but a position) asked for a shiny young officer volunteer to take charge of the upcoming change of command ceremony for our squadron commander. Since I had found no way to be of use in my section just yet, I volunteered. I was reassured by the first shirt and my current commander that it was a quick-and-dirty five minute thing here in a deployed location and would practically put itself together for me.

This was good because I'd never done one of these before. As an officer, I've noticed that no matter what I'm asked to do, whether it be a special project or my day-to-day job, I invariably begin at the "I have no clue what I'm doing" point, so my lack of expertise in this case was immaterial. I'd figure it out. No worries.

The shirt told me he'd forward all the info I'd need to my email account. I thanked him for all his help. Two days later, he forwarded the requested materials. It's now, oh, the 20th.

The promised materials weren't quite what I was expecting. The checklist and script he passed along to me included things one might arrange for a Numbered Air Force* Change of Command ceremony, up to and including scheduling the Air Force band. Clearly, there was much extraneous material here. I wasn't sure how I should begin and wasn't even sure when the Change of Command would be yet.

* This is one of the higher levels of Air Force structure. From smallest to largest, it goes from flight, squadron, group, wing, numbered AF, Major Command, etc.

Maj Rausch (my current commander) invited me to someone else's Change of Command ceremony on the 22nd. Watching them go through the ropes was helpful. What was more helpful was my snagging the butterbar who'd put the whole thing together and asking him for his script, invitations, etc. He emailed them to me the next day, bless him.

So I set about getting the invitations pretty and approved, which struck me as the most urgent order of business. Then there were little things to arrange, such as getting on the color guard's schedule (a special detail who do ceremonial flag stuff for various functions), public address and photography stuff (thankfully, in our squadron so no problem), reserve the meeting tent (called "Town Hall") for the function, getting with services to order the refreshments, and arranging the rehearsal. A SSgt in our squadron dropped by and offered her services in singing the national anthem a capella, her credentials being that she made it to Tops in Blue tryouts (which means she passed several preliminary competitions); I thankfully accepted her kind offer. Meanwhile, I set about tweaking the script.

On the 20th, I learned the Change of Command ceremony would take place on the 31st. That's an eleven day lead, for those who are bad at math. I went to the first shirt to ask who I talk with about arranging refreshments. He said, "Call services."

"Do you have a number and POC?"

Yes he did. So I called. I got Maj Pigue on the line. He told me I needed to fill out the special request form that had been sent to all the first shirts. So I went back to the shirt and mentioned this. He said, "Oh yeah," and forwarded me the form. I filled out the form and went back to him to get a name of someone I could send it to. He gave me MSgt Robinson of services. I emailed it to her, and she replied that she needed a copy signed by my commander, and also, they wanted a month notice on cake orders.

I explained that a month ago, I was still at home playing with my dog. She said, "Or at least two weeks." I explained I didn't know two weeks ago there'd even be a change of command ceremony, let alone that I'd be in charge of the arrangements.

What's the big deal, right? It's just a cake and some sodas I'm asking for. How hard is it to bake a cake? It isn't like they need to order a 24-port switch and a spool of single-mode fiber then arrange to a trench dug and conduit laid. No. They have to bake a cake. There are huge mongo cakes in the chow halls daily. This is not a difficult thing to manage, nor does it require any special order equipment that I'm aware of or any special skills, for that matter.

I placed my order through the AF services POC (MSgt Susan Robinson), who passed my order along to the Army, who runs the dining facilities. MSgt Robinson called me later to confirm she’d pushed the order through despite the short notice, and I could pick up my cake at DFAC #3 at 0900 the morning of. Sweet.

Cut to this afternoon. Everything's pulling together smoothly and then...I got a call (keep in mind the ceremony is tomorrow) from someone* in the dining facility informing me they might not have eggs to make the cake and I should call someone named “Lorraine” to see if she can scrounge up some eggs. Why they called me into this when it was services who made the arrangements is beyond me.

*The person was male. That's all I know. Since it's more or less standard procedure when one makes a call in the military to introduce oneself with rank, name and squadron, most people tend to slur all this together, mangling or omitting the more challenging sounds, and the result is a sing-song garble that I think of as a verbal signature. At some point, it drifted from being understandable into a standard stream of gobbledy-gook, and the utterer is often unaware it sounds like Mongolian to the listener. I got sidetracked by the egg fiasco that I forgot to ask him to repeat his information slowly, and please enunciate this time, as I usually do.

I had been completely out of the loop on this by design. The way it is supposed to work is this way: you place an official letter/request/form/whatever with the squadron/unit who handles it and they make it happen. Any complications past that level are handled by them. Unless I'm mistaken, that's why we call them POCs (Points Of Contact, in case this is a military TLA*. I forget which TLAs are normal and which are military betimes.)

*Three Letter Acronym.

Army. I swear.

I had no real options. I tried calling this Lorraine underworld figure and the number I was provided does not work. So I don’t know the name or number of the person who called me, a way to reach “Lorraine” let alone by what magic she lays eggs, and can’t find a number for the MSgt in services who was presumably my contact to figure out what the heck is going on. So I sent her an email dripping with helplessness and confusion, throwing myself at her mercy.

I already briefed Maj Rausch, our outgoing commander, about the egg deal. He said, “30 days? Do they have to grow the chickens first?”

So I'm not the only one who finds this utterly ridiculous.

Here I sit, at 1914 hours (um...7:14pm), and the MSgt has not answered my email of three hours ago. Maybe it's time to go visit her. Maybe she can rustle up some cookies or something.

(Post visit: no one in the office. Wish me luck. Or if you're the praying type, pray me a cake.)

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