Welcome to the Iraq

A poster to the Donovan shares a touch of the surreality that is the Iraq:

• an Iraqi coming toward me with a drawn knife -- is looking to borrow my ceramic sharpener.

• one of my hootchmates chows down on kimchi and peppers drenched in hot sauce and then complains that the bottled water here gives him gas.

• an obscene period of time elapses between the *last* rockets smacking in and the “Take Cover” warble, but mere seconds elapse between a distant clap of thunder and the “Alarm Red” announcement.

• the same lizard that scrambles out of my way on the floor of the sim building won’t even hesitate to scoot up my pants leg the second I sit down at the console.

• right after I spent half an hour outside along the T-walls looking for a camel spider to show the new guy, I found one in the office -- under his desk.

• right after I spent twenty minutes explaining the importance of doing a polarity check on the 220-volt outlets in the office, the new guy fried his laptop because he stuck the adapter into the wall socket without checking the polarity.

• when something cat-sized runs between your legs after dark, it’s a fox -- if it’s fox-sized, it’s a cat.

• there’s a better chance I’ll be electrocuted in the shower than killed by an incoming rocket, mortar, or RPG.

• a twenty-two-year old Iraqi asked me why we’re hunting IED-planters over here when Bill Ayers is still walking loose in Chicago.