Fit to be Fried

Sounds of anarchy pumped loudly from the rental’s speakers as we pulled up to Whiskey Pete’s, where the ball was being held. We grabbed our bags out of the car and handed off the keys to the valet. Many Marines had already arrived, and more were getting there by the second. All of their bags clanked as loudly as ours did. Prepatory heavy drinking is a ritual among Marines, going back to the night before, and sometimes the morning of, checking into boot camp. It’s a sort of natural thing that everyone joining the Marines learns, mysteriously enough, without ever having to be taught. There may be some Marines out there who don’t drink, but if there are, I’ve never met them.
After checking in and gathering our room keys, my fellow travelers and I parted company. I was rooming with another armorer, and they were reserved rooms closer to the other members of their platoons. My roommate for the ball was Bryan Ray, a fellow Texan whom I’d known since boot camp. He’d been in the armory a month when I arrived on base. Like then, he was well ahead of me now, already halfway into his dress-blues when I arrived. I said hey, and offered him a Guinness from my suitcase, which he accepted. I opened another for myself, and started to get into my service Alphas. The Alphas are what you always see Marines in old war movies wearing when they’re out on the town, that Green and Khaki suit with the green and red rank insignia. Service Alphas are the only acceptable uniform for the ball other than the preferred Dress Blue Alphas, the one you always see on Marine Reservists in the Toys-for-Tots commercials, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving day Parade. You have to buy the Dress Blue Alphas yourself if you want them. I wasn’t planning on being around that long.
Three beers later, I was suited up and searching my uniform for Irish pennants (those little bits of string that poke out from the seams of your clothes) and scuffs on the patent leather on my shoes and cover. Finally, I checked my alignment and the measurement of my badges. Nothing had changed since the last three inspections we’d had to go through to get our uniforms ready for the ball. Satisfied, I headed downstairs with a fresh beer.
The halls were alive with the sounds of Marines running half dressed through the halls, frantically trying to track down someone who had brought extras of whatever item they were missing Oddly enough, none of them seemed to have forgotten their booze. I smiled at the thought as I entered the casino, and lit up a cigarette. The thing I love most about Nevada, and in particular the Vegas area, is that you can smoke nearly anywhere. Walking into that sea of green and blue that was the casino floor, I needed a smoke, or four.
Amidst the throng of Marines could be spotted the occasional Sailor from our battalion aid station. The Navy holds its own balls every year, but theirs apparently aren’t as great as ours (pause for big laugh, ho-ho), and many of them choose to attend the Marine Corps ball instead. The sailors at our BAS were there as Docs and Chaplains, as the Marine Corps had no desire to train either. The purpose of a Marine is to hurt and kill men, not to patch them up and make them feel good about themselves, after all.
I got three more beers in me before making my way to my table. Bryan was already there, as were Wes Rapaglia, a short Italian armorer who had joined at the same time we did, also out of Texas, and Willis and Anderson, two other Marines from our armory with a couple more years under their belts. Seated at the table behind ours were some of the tank mechanics from our platoon. One of them was a buddy of mine named Schwarzenbach, who had lived two doors down from my best friend in High school, but had never met because he was four years younger than we were. Funny thing is, he joined the year before I did, and already outranked me. He’d brought his kid sister along to see the ball, and Bryan was already busy chatting her up when I arrived.
Suddenly, the lights go down, and a booming voice over the PA welcomes us to the First Tank Battalion Marine Corps Birthday Ball, and would we all please rise for the National Anthem and the Marine Corps Hymn. The Band marches in and plays through both songs with everybody in the room snapped to the position of attention. Everyone remains at the POA as the band plays “March on The Colors” and the flags are posted at the front of the ballroom. When it’s all done, the voice asks us to remain standing for the chaplains’ prayer. Finally, the voice gives us permission to be seated, and four-hundred-and-fifty relaxed groans and sighs escaped simultaneously. This part is the exact same way, every year, without deviation. After everyone is seated, we’re treated to a historical vignette about the battle of Chapultapec, and the meaning of the Blood stripe on the uniforms of Marine Officers and NCOs. After that, another segment that remains exactly the same from year to year- the spotlight moves to the center as the birthday cake is wheeled out and the oldest and youngest Marines present are called to the front. They are both in their Dress-Blue Alphas, marching with drill-worthy precision, although the younger is silently mouthing “left-right-left” to his self, and praying he won’t fuck up and look like a bag of ass while representing his unit. The oldest Marine is presented with the cake cutter by the MC, and completes the symbolic gesture by cutting a piece and handing the cutter off to the youngest Marine. Though the marines used in this part change, nothing else about it ever does, or ever will. When they’ve finished, the cake is hauled away to be cut up for the buffet line, and the keynote speaker is brought out. This is usually some grey eminence of the Marine Corps, often a Veteran of either Vietnam or Korea, and occasionally, the Big Deuce. You never remember the guy’s name, and he ends up rambling for an hour about something crazy, like the motor-scooter he had in the war, or how useful it is to be able to take apart guns in the dark. Wait a minute, that’s what I did…). Once he’s made his speech, the music starts and we’re given permission to line up for the prime-rib buffet, which I have to admit, was the best spread I’d seen in years, and tasted better than the steak and lobster birthday dinner they had served at the chow-hall. In fact, I’d have to say it was the best meal I’d had all year, at least to that point. They also announced the free kegs were to be opened at that point, all two of them. A line so big you’d have thought it was a ride Disneyland formed quicker than you can say “It’s a small world”. I decided instead of braving the line for few drops of suds, to grab a beer from the cash bar outside the ballroom, and ate my dinner while it was still hot.
A while later everyone finishes eating, and gathers up their commemorative mugs. The dual-flag centerpieces begin to disappear from the tables as well. Many of the couples begin dancing, as well, and that’s fine, but I took it as a cue to make my way around the Casino. I stopped at the first bar I saw and ordered a martini. I figured at this point, what the hell, I’m in a casino, in a suit, and half-lit, I might as well have some fun. I headed over to the slots, and dropped fifty bucks before hitting a $250.00 jackpot. This made me feel even more pumped, and I decided to try my luck at blackjack. At the 21 table, I ran into Hopper, who led me over to where Keaton was sitting. I was wondering where Katt was, when a security guard approached Keaton and asked him for his key. I asked Keaton what that was all about.
“Oh, Katt wasn’t feeling well, so she went back up to the room. I still had the key, so she sent the security guard to find me.”
I wondered how Keaton could stand to let a beauty like Katt out of his sight for even a second, especially in the company of so many Marines. I didn’t dwell on it for long however, it was none of my business anyways. We hung out for a while, and I gulped down two more Martinis before I decided it was time to turn in. I bade Hopper and Keaton goodnight, and headed up to my room. Each step became harder and harder to take, and when I actually reached it, the hallway was full-on spinning. It took four tries to work the electronic lock on my door, and after success, I made my way past the couple making out in the first bed, and passed out on my own bed in a fully-clothed heap.