Coast Guard Rampage

I'm currently at the station taking one of my mandatory thirty minute breaks. I have to take a thirty and then work an hour. Why, you ask? I'm an extra this evening and we're not sure if everyone is going to show up for work today. If someone doesn't show, it's up to me to take over their route and make it happen. So far it's looking good, but I've learned in these situations that its a bad idea to get my hopes up.

I only have about sixteen minutes of computer time left, and I'm trying to decide what I want to tell you. I've got a great story from HR about a guy who got fired. The story has some great characters. It has the crew of a submarine making healthful beverages. It also involves a German man who used to own a large chicken. I don't think I've got time for that one.

I've got the story about how I drove my truck the wrong way down a one way street in Crystal City and had to bail out into a construction lot. I probably don't have time for that one either.

I've got it: Coast Guard Rampage!

Just last week I was making a priority delivery over at the Coast Guard Facility on Morse Code Road. Everyone is pretty casual there, so I got through security with no hassles. I drove around to the Supply Building, and quietly let myself into the warehouse. I was throwing the boxes onto a pallet jack when I heard what I would call a level two ruckus coming from the secure section bulkhead doors.

There was the usual warehouse coastie in his little blue coastie uniform teaching two other coasties some new swear words and trying to get the bulkhead door open. He was working on one of those double door / firewall combos. You know, the kind with the lock and knob on the one door, and no knob but locking pins on the other. They are relatively easy to open if you have the key and you keep your wits about you. Coastie had opened the door with the knob (good job buddy!) and was working on the other bulkhead door with the pins on it. He had unfastened the top pin that locks the door to the ceiling. But the bottom pin wouldn't budge. He started slapping the door. Then he started shaking the door. The shaking got harder and louder and more intense. It peaked about thirty seconds into the procedure with a rhythmic pounding that wouldn't have been out of place either in a dance club or the Traveler's Rest Motel on Richmond Highway.

"SHIT!" He yelled. He stood up and slowly walked away. He had gotten about six or seven paces back from the door when he suddenly turned around and grunted. He sprinted toward the door and leaped at it in what I can only describe as a Chuck Norris Junior style flying kick. Both of his boots hit at about door knob level and the bulkhead door exploded open. The bottom pin and several large pieces of door went flying across the warehouse, bounced on the concrete and then skidded to a stop. The door flew open and bounced off the warehouse wall, came flying back and almost smashed the coastie right in the face. He had managed to somehow land on his feet and was breathing heavily, and shaking slightly. The other two coasties in the room and I looked at Chuck Norris Junior with expressions that were a mixture of fear and anticipation. He slowly lifted his head and looked right into my eyes.

"Hey Courier", he called out to me. "Well no wonder the door wouldn't open. It's broken!"