Kit -vs- The White Rabbit

White Rabbit has several meanings to different people, some drug related, some not. I first heard the term "white rabbit" being used as a code for "time" or "time keeper" when I was in Korea. Obviously in reference to the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland who was obsessed with punctuality for his life's sake.

In a group of people the white rabbit was the person in charge of keeping track of time. In fact, if you watch the movie Resident Evil with the cast commentary on, there's an interesting story about how each character portrayed a different character from Alice in Wonderland. The character portraying the white rabbit was a member of a swat team-type force who was skilled in computers and kept track of the team's evacuation time. When I was in Korea we had a curfew by which time we needed to be back onto the military installation. As people drinking heavily on a weekend, it was easy to lose track of time, so we would elect a white rabbit to ensure we left the club on time. I was usually the one chosen since I was extremely punctual anyway.

During the same period I was a assigned to an air-defense unit. Our mission was to defend a military airbase from North Korean missiles. It was my job to relay messages between the radar and the command center. I had to keep track of four separate time zones, and numerous air space corridors that were friendly to fly in only during certain times of the day. The job required me to wear two wrist watches and carry a stop watch. Again I held the title of white rabbit, but it was still just a reference to my position and not me personally.

At the same time I was hosting secret gatherings in my room (known to us as the Zen Room) on the weekends where me and several of my friends would take dangerous amounts of dextromethorphan and lie around the room in a drug induced state listening to weird music and having even weirder conversations. We would seal off the windows and sit in pitch blackness since the light hurt our dilated eyes and the darkness brought on stronger hallucinations. One of the many house rules was that only one person (usually me) was allowed to wear a watch since everyone was stuck in 'acid-time' and ten minutes felt like hours. When someone wanted to know what time it was, they would call out "WHITE RABBIT", then the time keeper (again, usually me) would tell them the current time. Then we would all talk about how weird it was and how it felt like hours had gone by. This went on for a while.

Most of my friends at that time didn't wear a watch to work and didn't need to because they knew that I had several. I was asked many times a day to give someone the time. Some of my friends from the Zen Room would call out WHITE RABBIT while at work if they wanted the time. This caught on really quickly even to people who knew nothing about the Zen Room or it's connection to me. They just knew that when they said "white rabbit" I would give them the current time. Many assumed it was my nick-name. Later when everyone in my unit was assigned a unique call-sign for communication over unsecured radio, it was no surprise that my call sign was "The White Rabbit." I have been stuck with it ever since.

Things I lost in the move

I’m going to South Carolina in three months. I’ll be there for six weeks which is long enough for me to want to take all my favorite stuff, but not long enough for me to need it all there. I often have to travel light or live in closet sized areas with little or no space to keep even my most important necessities. I’ve become kind of a minimalist keeping only things I have an important need of. I do however have a box where I keep a few sentimental items. It contains Christmas cards my kids sent me, a few photos, and old trinkets with sentimental value. Occasionally I’ll get a gift from someone, a knick-knack or a birthday card and I don’t really have anywhere to put it because it has no practical use, so I put it in the box. I can’t throw stuff like that away, it would weigh on my conscience. Unfortunately my box starts getting pretty full after a few years and I really don’t have the space or need for several boxes of sentimental stuff. Luckily, in the military I move about every three year. The military contracted movers take forever and they usually break something and scratch up my furniture, but I still prefer it to moving myself. They are also known to lose a box on occasion. So if you’re every wondering if I have that birthday card you sent me or the foot massager you gave me for Christmas. It was probably in the box that got lost in the move.

Desperate times...

Last night I stayed up working on a huge mound of growing paperwork that I was supposed to do this weekend. I had gotten behind because I got called in twice over the weekend to help mitigate domestic disturbances. Not that I'm any good at that kind of stuff, it's just another part of my job. Each time I got called in wasted several hours until the situation was under control and I could return to what I was doing. So last night I was trying to get caught up. I worked until 12:30 and I couldn't think well anymore. Then I hit the sack and slept like a rock. For three hours. I had to get up at 3:30 a.m. to finish up the rest of my paperwork before I had to go into work. I made good time, then got dressed and ready for work hastily. I was heading out to the car at 5:00 a.m., right on time when I realized I didn't have my phone. CRAP! I can't go to work without my phone. I'll be trying to get a hold of people all day and have no idea where anyone is or what's going on. I had to go get my phone. I couldn't find it. In a panic, I darted through the house looking everywhere I thought I might have left it. By the time I found my phone it was 5:20 a.m. I had to be at work by 5:30. I was going to be late. This was really bad. I hopped in the car and headed for the highway. I had one more chance and it was a desperate move. I got on the highway and pushed heavily on the gas, passing cars to my left and right. I paid no attention to my speed or the speed limit signs. It didn't matter how fast I went, I would never make it there on time, but I still had a chance. Then finally I saw it. Red and blue lights in the rear view mirror.

I slowed down and moved to the right lane to make sure he was pulling me over and not just trying to get around. He followed me to the curb. YES! I breathed a sigh of relief as I came to a stop and searched for my drivers license. I would be late, but I would have an excuse, and being detained by local law enforcement was one of the few acceptable excuses for being late in the Army. My boss called right as I was signing my ticket. I had to make an effort not to snicker on the phone as she started to yell at me then realized I was being pulled over. I got a ticket, yeah, but it was as good as a doctors note for being late. It will probably cost a lot in the end and half a day of defensive drivers training, but it was well worth it. And that's just how my day started. I can't even talk about what happened once I got to work. But it's just another day for me.

31 and clubbing... what's wrong with this picture?

So I'm in "school" here in Georgia and some of my classmates are in the same company as me back at Fort Hood. I usually don't hang out with anyone I work with, but this is kinda like a vacation, so I made an exception. Me and a another guy went out for a few drinks on Friday Night. We went to Hooters and had a few pitchers, then it became way too clear that he was more interested in getting wasted and trying to pick up women than having a few drinks. I'm single with nothing better to do, so I thought what the hell. I've been known to hit the club once or twice.

After hooters we went to a local bar/club that had a decent ratio of women to men... for an establishment near a military base anyway . I hadn't really thought of meeting anyone since I was only going to be in town for about 6 weeks. I really didn't need or want a short term relationship. But you never know, sometimes you meet people in the strangest place. I wondered if there might be anyone there for me to meet. I decided I would look the place over and try to start a conversation with a girl or two. I never got the chance. Instead my night went a little more like this.

My friend started by trying to see how many drinks he could down in an hour. He thought they were about to close the bar or something. He tried to get me to keep drinking along with him, but I wasn't interested. I have limits that I really don't like to cross, especially when I still gotta find my way back home. Then he spends the rest of the night screaming and pointing at every women in the place and dropping the worst pick up lines ever. I forgot to mention that my friend is 36 years old, big, tall, black, bald, filing for a divorce, has a girlfriend. He's not a bad looking guy I guess, but having any big, loud, drunk guy point and scream pick-up lines a you is probably not going to win any girl over.

He kept drinking and eventually needed to get some air, so we left the club around 2 AM. We stopped by McDonald's on the way back to the base and I thought he was going to hurl. Instead he passed out before he got his burgers and fries. I made it back to base no problem. I was stone sober by that point and he was snoring in the passenger's seat. We made it to the barracks, and I spent the next hour and a half trying to get him up the stairs to his room. We only stay on the second floor. He kept trying to open peoples car doors in the parking lot so he could puke in the floorboard.

As I watched him puke and pee about the parking lot trying to talk him into coming upstairs and going to bed, I could't help but think this was way too 'high school'. He was nearing middle age and on a trip away from his home and responsibilities... kids, ex-wife, girlfriend, job. This man has outlived his glory days and is trying to re-live his bet memories. He obviously doesn't know when to stop drinking, shouldn't even be in the club at his age. Then I realized... I'm 31, I probably shouldn't be in the club either. Sure I wasn't lying in a ball on the stairwell floor about now rambling about some girl and calling everyone "Shane." But I couldn't convince myself to believe that I had any better reason for going to clubs than he did. Trying to pass for 5 years younger than I was. Talking to girls, sometimes 10 years younger than me. I'm getting to old for the college parties and pick-up lines. I guess it's time to find another outlet for my Friday night cabin fever.