Rainbow's, Pickles, and Canned Pickles
Yeff
through back in 1984...
For those who don't have a clue what I'm talking about, when you arrive
at Air Force Military Basic Training at Lackland AFB, San Antonio,
Texas, you're called a "Rainbow". Just look at the clothes you're
wearing compared to everybody else. You positively *reek* of ROYGBIV!
And by reek I mean smell. You've never done anything this stressful in
your life and no amount of deodorant can mask that fact.
If you're unlucky - I was - you'll arrive on a Friday night. That means
you'll be wearing the clothes you had on when you arrived for the next
two days. Yum. Remember what I said about reeking?
What it's like to be a rainbow:
- You'll be stared at. Always. Partly with derision and partly with
pity. Those who entered training before you partly think they're
something special - they're not - and partly remember how hard you're
going to have it. They pity the fool (you).
- You don't know how to ground your luggage to your right foot quietly.
Now pick 'em up! Put 'em down. Pick 'em up! Put 'em down... Rinse,
lather, repeat.
- The "Snake Pit" will love you. Don't worry about whether or not the
food tastes good - your tastebuds ran screaming in fear the moment you
learned you didn't know how to ground luggage quietly:
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGueJMahOpg>
If you volunteered to be the House Mouse (Your TI tricked you - you had
no idea what you'd be volunteering for until after you raised your hand)
there's not way to make that position cool while you're a Rainbow. Say
it with me: "I'm a Rainbow House Mouse." Yeah, even the Girl Scouts
will kick your ass for that one.
- The chicks in church will love you. Well, not really. You'll be
encouraged to attend church your first Sunday there, not because anyone
is trying to convert you but because it's a safe zone. You won't be
yelled at for the heinous crime of breathing the same air as a TI and
you won't be asked to ground your pocket-sized bible quietly.
I did go to church my first Sunday, stinking to high heaven...
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTwnwbG9YLE>
Ahem.
Anyway's, true story. I'm sitting in a pew with a couple of guys from
my flight as we're trying not to attract any attention. We don't yet
believe we're in a safe zone so we're trying to become one with the
wooden seats.
Suddenly a couple of "canned pickle" chicks (more on that phrase later)
come over, sit down in front of us, turn around and give us a, "Hello,
Airmen!" They were *hot*! Okay, they were probably TDY 10s (ask if you
don't know what that means) but after the sausage fest of the past two
days we didn't care. We showed our supreme ability not to care by
staring with our mouths agape. But in a creepy way.
Then the hottest girl spoke: "Hi, we just wanted to talk to some
rainbows."
No, it wasn't my winning smile nor the size of my... feet. It was
because I was wearing stinky, multi-colored clothes and I knew what was
happening out in television land.
Being a Rainbow sucks.
-----
Next up is when become a "pickle". The benefits of being a pickle?:
- You get your hair shaved to razor stubble. Believe me when I say that
this is the worst haircut you'll ever be happy to receive. Never in
your non-conformist life have you ever wanted to look like everyone else
around you. If for no other reason than the possibility of making it to
your table in the chow hall without having to stop and have a friendly
chat at the Snake Pit.
The best part about post-haircut, pre-uniform issue? A TI can bark
random nonsense without using a single word in any known language and
you'll understand him!:
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8WwlQaObhI&NR=1>
- You get issued your uniform! See that last video? At the end? Those
are "pickles" (or at least they would've been pickles back in 1984. I
don't know about now).
A pickle is an Airman who, back in 1984, was finally issued his Air
Force fatigues. He now had his uniform. Well, most of it.
You're struttin', looking down your nose at the filthy rainbows while
waiting to get into the chowhall. They've got there heads down in their
books trying to learn the difference between a Lieutenant, a Colonel,
and a Lieutenant Colonel (Can't Read a Map, Orders a Map Read, Tells the
Lieutenant to Read the Colonels Map). Just like Gary Larson's Birds of
Prey, you know you're cool.
And then the Canned Pickles march up and your penis shrinks.
How do you know they're canned? Because they have a name tape over
their left pocket that says, "U.S. Air Force" and their last name is
over their right pocket. Your uniform has none of those things because
you're just a lowly pickle.
But at least you're not a rainbow. Rainbow's suck.
--
-Jeff B. (lost in memories)
zoo...@fastmail.fm
"Excuse me.
I don't mean to impose,
but I am the Ocean."
~ The Salton Sea
Dan
"Rainbow, rainbow, don't be blue, my recruiter screwed me too." I
never heard the term pickle until tech school when were wore "pickle suits."
I bet you never had a chow runner with a bowl of salt tablets.
Dan, U.S. Air Force, retired
Yeff
> I bet you never had a chow runner with a bowl of salt tablets.
Nope, can't say I did. <g>
Something I did see, however, was a chow runner on his first full
morning of being a pickle. I guess they hadn't yet figured out that
it's a good idea to have the Dorm Guard wake everyone up starting about
10 minutes to Reveille. You're free to go back to sleep until Reveille
sounded but most of us used the time to hit the latrine, wash our faces,
and to (quoting my TI), "Get all of our shit into one sock."
Said Airman Basic Pickle threw on his brand new uniform and ran out to
formation. He was mostly in 35-10 (hadn't yet had his trousers hemmed,
of course) but forgot one thing. His belt.
He was two flights over from us but we all had a good view. We just
couldn't figure out what to do. Their TI took over and all we could do
was marvel at the poor sod:
"Chow runner, go!... Oh. My. God."
Yep, his chow runner was standing there with his pants down around his
knees.
--
-Jeff B.
tscottme
--
Scott