Have you ever had one of those days where nothing went your way? You know. The kind of day where you just could not catch a break to save your soul. Well, I experienced a day like that very early in my military career. My Platoon Sergeant sent for me and asked that I report to his office. I went to see him on the double. He said, “PFC Masters, I need you to go to the motor pool to dispatch a deuce and a half.” Naturally, being the inquisitive type, I said, “Why do I have to be the one to do it? Did I screw up or something? Why can’t somebody else do it?” He said, “You are going to drive for the Post Confinement Facility today.” I said, “Isn’t Pvt Lockhart supposed to do that? Why do I have to do his job?” “Well, son, look around. Do you see him anywhere? Cuz I sure as hell don’t.” Great. Big “G” a little slime on the “8.” Great. “But Sarge, tonight is nichol night. You’re going to screw me outta nichol night.” “Nichol night” at Nichol’s Alley in Columbus, Georgia, was every Wednesday night where beer was five cents a beer all night long and shots were only twenty-five cents a shot. Hell, beer only cost five cents every night from 8 to 9 PM. Then, it was just fifty cents a beer the rest of the night. The only place you could get beer cheaper than that was in the day room at the company back on post at Fort Benning. But who wanted to do that? Nichol’s Alley was where it was happening. There was the wet tee-shirt contest that always packed the house and college night on Thursdays. I met a girl that I started dating thanks to college night. My baby powder toting room-mate even met his future wife at Nichol’s Alley. Now, my night was shot to shit because I had to drive the Post Confinement Facility “crooks” around to all of their extra duty sites. Swell. Just dandy. But my pleas were raining on deaf ears. Sarge said, “What the hell is nickel night?” “Come on, Sarge. Can’t someone else do it. Why the hell did I get picked anyway?” “Cuz you showed up first to formation.” “That’s it? I showed up first? If I were one of those sick, lame, or lazy bastards that is just now rolling out of the rack, I would not have gotten picked?” “Yep. Pretty much.” “Well, that sucks. You’re screwing me out of five-cent beer all night long just because I got here first. What kind of bullshit is that?” “Bullshit? What kind of bullshit are you feeding me? You can’t buy beer that cheap anywhere.” “You can at “Nichol’s Alley on Wednesday nights.” “Bullshit. You’re lying.” “No, I’m not, sarge. In fact, you can even get shots for twenty-five cents all night long on Wednesday nights at Nichol’s Alley.” “Quit your damn bullshitting, PFC Masters, and get your ass down to that motor pool.” Our perpetual private decided to take a day off and not report for duty, so I got stuck pulling his worthless duty. All because I was first to formation. It was a prime example of another exercise in futility.
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