Upon arriving at the Kadena airport and stepping out of the terminal, I quickly noticed that something was not right; in fact, something was terribly wrong.

All the motorists were in a dire state of confusion: like glassy eyed zombies they were speeding up and down the wrong sides of the road.

I was quick to realize that these people needed help fast! I instantly sprung into action: running full speed out into dangerously fast moving chunks of metal — and at great risk to my own self, I proceeded to flag down the closest automobile.

I breathlessly informed the surprised looking driver of his grave mistake. His face briefly blanked with confusion, and then, noticing my sponsor wildly tugging on my arm, he smiled and informed me that I too would pick up his hazardous habit during my stay here.

A few days later my sponsor took me to the newcomers’ briefing. I entered the classroom expecting an in-depth driving course to take place.

 I was surprised when the instructor described Japanese street signs for 20 minutes and handed me a driver’s license.

 At that point I began to feel a tiny bit anxious about driving on the wrong side of the road.

After all, it is quite common for me to blindly ram into fellow motorists and a few random pedestrians while driving on the right side; I couldn’t imagine the carnage of my driving on the other side.

 I tried to comprehend the cost of my insurance after a few weeks of driving. And my mind wandered to traffic tickets: It would be quite easy to mistake a triangular Japanese stop sign for an American yield sign.

The costs associated with driving mistakes here really started to worry me. I began sweating profusely. I asked my sponsor to drive me to the shoppette so that I could buy a case of beer. I have always viewed alcohol as a quick fix for any problem, and I have been classically conditioned to turn to booze when faced with hardship (real or perceived).

The very next day I purchased a well used car – cheap. I got behind the wheel, took a deep breath, and pulled out onto the road. I instantly had a large conflict between my thinking judgment and feeling judgment.

Quite simply, I felt that I was completely insane for being in the wrong lane. But after considering the high costs of running over every single car on Okinawa, my thinking judgment won.

 I sat up straight and began plotting out my next move. I turned on my blinker to make a lane change and, to my surprise, my windshield wipers started flapping back and forth at an insane speed.

 I quickly realized what happened and began squirted windshield washer fluid in an attempt to cover up my mistake. I noticed the Americans in the car behind me smirking knowingly.

 Feeling slightly flustered, I turned on my blinker and gunned my junker into the next lane. After ten minutes of driving, I was nearing the base. In the back of my mind, I realized that I had been hearing an odd noise for the last couple minutes.

Snapping out of my driving trance, I glanced in my rearview mirror and realized that there was either an ice cream truck or an ambulance right on my tail and it was the source of the two-tone noise.

 I quickly pulled over and waved the vehicle past me. I felt somewhat disturbed by my selective perception and pledged to pay more attention to what was going on around me.

Once back on Kadena, I felt much more comfortable with my driving: due to wider roads and less traffic. Feeling adventurous, I decided to try to find the Base Exchange.

After an hour of searching and asking friendly pedestrians, I finally found the B.X. Feeling quite proud of myself I pulled into the parking lot and noticed the world’s largest traffic jam near the front door. Upon farther examination, realized that today was payday, and the traffic jam was nothing more than overweight wives fighting over the expecting mothers’ parking spot.

After three hours of trying to get around the large women — sitting in their cars with their blinkers on, I decided shopping was not such a good idea. Feeling a bit daring, I decided to back up the way I came and go home.

Operant conditioning surrounded my learning experience. I continually felt that something bad could have been presented if I had made a mistake. The only real good that was obtainable was the ability to effectively drive my self around with minimal incidents.

And latent learning was obviously involved in the memorization of Japanese street signs. The ones I could remember really helped me out with my operant conditioning learning aspect; In fact, not being able to recognize the signs would have jeopardized my whole driving experience.

My first solution to enhance the learning experience is the remove the learning experience. Why not standardize driving everywhere? It would solve the problem.

In today’s modern world I can play checkers online with some guy from China. How is it that we can’t even reach an agreement on which side of the road to drive on (the right side)?

I think that the country with the most intercontinental nuclear cruise missiles should get to decide for everyone. Seriously, my driving experience was not that bad. I picked up the whole concept rather quickly. Within a week driving on the left side was nearly normal to me. I do have a few ideas that would improve the process.

 I truly think that a visual aspect combined with verbal instructions would enhance the learning experience. For instance: a verbal briefing warning about the dangers of the kamikaze motorcycle riders off base would have been helpful, and maybe mentioning the three car rule (Once a stop light turns red, expect three more cars to speed though it.); however, you can only absorb so much from slideshows and videos.

The best way to learn how to drive on the wrong side of the road is to drive on the wrong side of the road.

Minnow the man-eating shark was battle worn; deep scars covered his body. The large gash above his eye had been given to him by an unwilling dolphin dinner;

He could barely see out of it anymore. Old age and much violence were taking turns kicking him in the tail.

He swore at the painful ache in his fin. Years ago, a large monstrosity had whacked him as he was skillfully stalking a plump swordfish. It had been a rather unpleasant experience and Minnow frowned at the thought of it. His mental frown quickly turned into a wrinkly grin as he thought of his revenge on “the thing.”

He had never seen anything like this “thing”; in fact, it didn’t even really look like any “thing” Minnow had ever seen. However, it was obviously a very aggressive pregnant mother of some sort because it whacked him, first of all, and then lay motionless, floating to the sea bed while spewing out air bubbles and nice tender babies. How delicious.

A rumble from his tummy interrupted his thoughts. He turned back to the task of finding lunch. He could have sworn he had that sneaky tuna, which at the last minute clumsily avoided his mighty jaws. Nothing could outsmart Minnow. He had never gone hungry as far back as he could remember. He gritted his powerful teeth in frustration and set out to find food, and he knew just the spot, the edge of the world.

Minnow the man-eating shark had arrived and dinner would shortly be served. He spotted his quarry milling around the edge of the world, frightened to enter in too far. They just paced about and a few even laid down in surrender. They looked delicious.

He would have to lure one of them out to him somehow. Minnow had a plan.

Curses echoed from his lips as his belly stuck fast on a sand bar. His trap was set.

Minnow squirmed about and feigned helplessness while cursing even louder. One of the strange creatures stopped and pointed at the stuck shark.

“Honey! Honey! Look at that little whale!”

“I think that’s a shark.”

“He is stuck in the shallow water.”

“So? What do you want me to do.”

“Nothing I guess. It is just so sad watching him struggle like that…wait a minute — that hippie is running out to him”

“Wow, what a retard. Back to my nap…”

The man-eating shark’s plan was working. Minnow laughed to himself. Someone was coming. He flapped his mighty tail and nothing happened. Cursing his old bones he flapped it again and this time harder. Finally with the help of a large wave, Minnow slid off the sand bar and torpedoed towards his prey. He tore the creature apart and devoured it. It was delicious.

The sergeant shouted, “Double-tiiiime…harrch!” And we marched faster. Everyone knew this was going to be a bloody raid. You could see it in their eyes. Families torn, lives shattered, good soldiers lost; all in the name of conquest. We were hunting giants, and this was definitely giant territory.
Two frightened recruits were whispering back and forth and trying to sound brave. If only they knew.

“I think we are getting close.” Jeb said from beside me. He and I went way back. Our first raid had been the worst experience of my life. We had been marching much like this when out of nowhere we were ambushed by a young giant off our right flank. A brutal, bloody battle ensued. I don’t remember much except Jeb pushing me out of the way of a flying boulder. Unfortunately his brave attempt was unsuccessful and the boulder knocked us both senseless.

I was revived by warm blood running into my mouth and ears. Gagging, I struggled to get to my feet but a pile of body parts covered me. I screamed in disgust, terror, and confusion. A Herculean strength came over me and I stood up. I saw Jeb’s body a few feet away. He was still breathing. I revived him, and together we started the long journey home.

We ritually stuck together during battle from then on. We were inseparable, closer than brothers.

I looked over at Jeb; he had a grin on his dusty face. “Talk about groundhog’s day – do we have to continue marching into battle until we die?”

My eyebrows rose as I contemplated what he was saying.

“Know what I mean? We were lucky enough to survive the last battle, and the ten before, so we are forced to try our luck once more. The only way out of this evil cycle is death; otherwise, we march on.”

He had a point.

We marched on. My feet were getting sore and I tried to guess where the giant would be, but I saw nothing more than a few footprints.

“Halt,” the sergeant cried out. We stopped. I knew the routine. Nine times out of ten we just stopped because the scouts had found our target. The ground shook. I was right.

Jeb and I exchanged looks. We were ready. I looked around and wondered if we would all be dead soon. We tried to rest up for the charge.

“Preppaaarrre to charge!”

“Charrgge!!”

We charged.

“Ouch — what the…!”

“What’s wrong Curt?”

“I just got bit by a fire ant — they are all over me!”

Bill set down his fishing pole and strolled over to his truck. “Hang in there dude, I think I have some ant killer back here.”

Curt stomped around and slapped himself repeatedly.

“Found some.” Bill walked over to Bob and sprayed him down.

“Turn around.”

Curt complied.

Bill sprayed his back.

The ants fell to the ground twitching.

“Let’s move over some.”

“Ok” Curt replied as he slapped at the occasional stray ant that the spray had missed.

I arrived in Afghanistan early January. It was a brisk, cloudy day and I could barely make out the majestic snow-capped mountains surrounding Bagram through the shimmering haze.

The guy I was replacing eagerly showed me to my living quarters, which was a seven by eight foot room with a brown, soiled mattress tossed in the corner. Oh, great, I thought to myself, this is going to be interesting.

I smelled the strange smell later on that night while I lay in bed reading a novel, my eyes watered and I gagged. I couldn’t take it. It smelled like a rotting corpse covered in poop.

I exploded out of my room and sprinted for the door at the end of the hall. As I passed the last door on the left, I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep the puke in.

Whatever that hellish scent, it definitely seemed to emanate from that room.

After recovering myself outside, I decided to investigate the smell. I pinched my nose and took a deep breath before closing my mouth like a bear-trap.

I was ready.

I softly tapped on the poo door. “Ahhhrrrmmm, hhgggrrmm,” was the response. It sounded like flem being collected and launched onto the floor. I cringed and knocked louder. “Yeah…come in!”

My lungs felt ready to burst as I opened the poo door. A heat wave struck me like a fist, propelling my backwards.

I recovered and stepped inside only to be surrounded by cigarette smoke. My face turned red and my eyes bulged out of my head. I needed air. I sucked a cautious breath through my mouth: It tasted awful but seemed remotely breathable.

“Hey, want some coffee?”

“No thanks,” I replied as I examined the person standing in front of me. He was about 5’5 and 180 pounds. He looked friendly.

“How about a Newport?”

“No dude, what the heck is that smell?” I asked as I looked him up and down.

He swished saliva around his mouth and hawked up another snot ball “What smell? It is probably just you upper lip. You should go wipe the shit off of it.”

I sighed in exasperation. “Look man, I live right down the hall, and I can’t sleep with the horrid odor coming out of your room.”

He glared at me through glassy eyes and then lit up another Newport. “You know buddy, I have a list for people like you. Yeah. It is my to-kill list.” He turned and spit nearly hitting a trashcan. “Congratulations, you just made it to the top.”

I cringed and backed out of his room. This guy has issues, I thought to myself. I absently swatted at a fly buzzing around my head and dashed outside to get some air.

Later on that night, after spraying a whole can of air freshener, I was finally able to get some sleep. I tossed and turned most of the night and envisioned smelly dwarfs and angry, buzzing flies.