Having a Good Time-TN Version by Brian Whitaker
Two weeks ago morale wasn’t where it should be so Commander Quinn, CAG, went to Admiral Doolittle and asked if Crusader Squadron could have a ski trip. The Old Man was delighted to hear it, he quickly gave his approval. CAG informed us of the good news and told us that we would all be having a good time.
Thirteen nights later I was thinking how this would be my first time hitting the slopes since that bumbling eighth grader, Manny Gutierrez robbed me of a year supply of silky smooth sinfully delicious donuts! I had to repress that agony of defeat moment or I wouldn’t be having a good time on the trip.
At 0700 hours we boarded the bus; by 0745 some personnel were already having a goodtime. The alcohol was freely flowing. Ensign Bubbles was kissing her boyfriend, scant seconds later her pretty little head was sticking out a bus window and she barfed every bit of her breakfast. Remember, this is called having a good time.
0900 the Having a Good Time bus had arrived at its snowy destination. We disembarked and grabbed our equipment. Ensign Bubbles was paying the price for having too much fun. She blankly sat down on a snowy bench and took two Excedrin Migraine pills as the squadron walked by enroute to having a good time of their own. Quinn added to her misery as he walked by, pointing to the mess on the bus and asked, “You’re going clean that up ensign?”
At 1600 Commander Quinn and I were standing outside of the bus. Snow was gently falling as we checked off squadron personnel. “Cluster’s in a local hospital with a broken ankle,” I said, checking off his name.
“Everyone’s accounted for. Let’s go home,” CAG said and we walked up the stairs. He hit the airbrakes as he saw the moaning passengers. “Sweet Baby James, Lieutenant!” Quinn exclaimed, “It looks like everyone’s suffering from a trigeminal attack.”
I smirked at the pitiful sight; suddenly I was hit with a mischievous thought. My smirk turned into a devilish grin. “It’s because they were,” I quickly projected my voice to a near ear shattering level, “HAVING A GOOD TIME!”
The squadron grimaced and winced, several personnel held their pulsating temples. They moaned and groaned about me raising my voice, it was making their pain worse. I carried on, “CAG and I have been talking to Admiral Doolittle. You’ll be given tomorrow off.” The inebriated squadron breathed a sigh of relief until I finished, “However, we will have a three mile squadron run on Wednesday. It would behoove you to go to bed and get some rest instead of HAVING A GOOD TIME tomorrow.”
The low moans continued as I smugly sat back down in the front seat of the mobile infirmary. CAG was impressed. “Excellent job Lieutenant, I didn’t think you had it in you. You’re learning.”
“Maybe next time they’ll think twice before they accuse me of faking a TN attack.”
Thirteen nights later I was thinking how this would be my first time hitting the slopes since that bumbling eighth grader, Manny Gutierrez robbed me of a year supply of silky smooth sinfully delicious donuts! I had to repress that agony of defeat moment or I wouldn’t be having a good time on the trip.
At 0700 hours we boarded the bus; by 0745 some personnel were already having a goodtime. The alcohol was freely flowing. Ensign Bubbles was kissing her boyfriend, scant seconds later her pretty little head was sticking out a bus window and she barfed every bit of her breakfast. Remember, this is called having a good time.
0900 the Having a Good Time bus had arrived at its snowy destination. We disembarked and grabbed our equipment. Ensign Bubbles was paying the price for having too much fun. She blankly sat down on a snowy bench and took two Excedrin Migraine pills as the squadron walked by enroute to having a good time of their own. Quinn added to her misery as he walked by, pointing to the mess on the bus and asked, “You’re going clean that up ensign?”
At 1600 Commander Quinn and I were standing outside of the bus. Snow was gently falling as we checked off squadron personnel. “Cluster’s in a local hospital with a broken ankle,” I said, checking off his name.
“Everyone’s accounted for. Let’s go home,” CAG said and we walked up the stairs. He hit the airbrakes as he saw the moaning passengers. “Sweet Baby James, Lieutenant!” Quinn exclaimed, “It looks like everyone’s suffering from a trigeminal attack.”
I smirked at the pitiful sight; suddenly I was hit with a mischievous thought. My smirk turned into a devilish grin. “It’s because they were,” I quickly projected my voice to a near ear shattering level, “HAVING A GOOD TIME!”
The squadron grimaced and winced, several personnel held their pulsating temples. They moaned and groaned about me raising my voice, it was making their pain worse. I carried on, “CAG and I have been talking to Admiral Doolittle. You’ll be given tomorrow off.” The inebriated squadron breathed a sigh of relief until I finished, “However, we will have a three mile squadron run on Wednesday. It would behoove you to go to bed and get some rest instead of HAVING A GOOD TIME tomorrow.”
The low moans continued as I smugly sat back down in the front seat of the mobile infirmary. CAG was impressed. “Excellent job Lieutenant, I didn’t think you had it in you. You’re learning.”
“Maybe next time they’ll think twice before they accuse me of faking a TN attack.”
Other Short Stories by Brian Whitaker
Cherokee Hat Trick
The Pharmacy
Gabepentin
Shakespeare My TN Buddy
Having a Good Time-TN Version
1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit
Going Down
Cherokee Hat Trick
The Pharmacy
Gabepentin
Shakespeare My TN Buddy
Having a Good Time-TN Version
1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit
Going Down
Photo used under Creative Commons from quinn.anya
