Tell us your funny stories

[Monello]

San Diego NTC 1983

I was at the Master at Arms shack using their engraver to mark my new watch. A very young sailor comes in with a story of woe. Someone in town stole his wallet. Actually he gave his wallet to someone to hold. And here's his story but first a little back story.

In the early 1980s enlisted E-3 and below needed to be in uniform when leaving the base for liberty. You went down to the YMCA and changed into civilian clothes then put your uni in a locker.

So sailor boy is in uniform in downtown SD. He's approached by a Lieutenant that is carrying a holy Joe, guard mail envelope. He calls Ricky Recruit over and says he needs his help. The LT has to go into a building but for some reason he can't bring in the envelope. He needs hayseed to hold the envelope while he goes in. The stuff in the envelope is very important. Vada, vada. Just before going into the building the LT says and to make sure you don't take off, give me your ID card as insurance you don't take off. The newby agrees. Then the officer says better yet, you may not care about leaving your ID, so just give me your entire wallet. It's the day after payday before the days of direct deposit. The kid agrees to hand over his wallet because for the past few months the Navy has instilled in him an obedience in authority. Especially authority that wears gold on their cover.

20 minutes goes by and the LT never shows back up. The kid opens the envelope and finds a bunch of junk papers. He reports the incident. I'm listening while trying to play off like I'm not. 1 of the people he is speaking with goes over to a filing cabinet and pulls out an 8 by 10 picture. He asks the kid if this is the guy who scammed him. He replies yes.

Some guy with a uniform he probably bought piecemeal at local thrift stores has been fleecing sailors as a part time job. He got this kid for a few hundred dollars. I never heard what happened but I'm sure the kid never got his money back.

Who says crime doesn't pay?

 

[edinsomd]

The difference between a sea story and a fairy tale is a Fairy Tale starts with "Once upon a time" and a Sea Story always begins with "Now his ain't no sh!t..."

Now this ain't no sh!t.
There I was, on the first leg of a UNITAS Det, where we exercise with our South American friend’s Navy's. Usually a coveted detachment, especially the last leg which is held in Rio, for reasons that are obvious. Coveted because the per diem was generous and the accommodations were usually 4 star hotels and high end restaurants. Usually, that is, unless one is on the first Unitas leg, as I was. My P-3 crew and I were billeted in the famous Bundy barracks in Puerto Rico (open bay, no window screens, floor fan to move the air), and had a dining choice of the Navy chow hall or the Exchange’s greasy spoon. To add insult to injury, on our in-chop brief, they issued us ration cards for booze and tobacco. Something like two fifths of hard liquor and 10 cigars a week. Completely unsat, as I had planned to stock up on the unbelievably low priced Bacardi rum and stogies for the trip home. What to do….
Hmmm, seems the “ration card” was merely an 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper, with check off blocks at the appropriate items. I looked at the ration card.
I then looked at the Xerox machine in the corner.
20 copies later, and I was eventually able to pretty much fill a cruise box with cases of rum and boxes of Nicaraguan stogies.
I guess the first leg of Unitas wasn’t so bad after all!

Then there was the emerald I scored in Panama, but that’s another story.

 

[Monello]

This took place overseas in the mid 1980s.

We got our mail at work. A guy I worked with got 6 letters from the credit union. He overdrew his checking account. What he would do is go the the ATM and check his balance. If he had money, he'd withdraw it and go party. Even though he had checks that hadn't cleared. Each over draw was for very small amounts. Each cost him a $15 penalty. So in total $90 in 1 month when we didn't get paid all that much.

I had overdraft protection on my credit union checking account. This was instead of bouncing a check, the credit union would float me a short term load. The interest on the loan was less than a penalty and didn't negatively affect your credit score. So I told my shipmate that he needed to get a line of credit. He ended up getting 1 for $1,000.

Fast forward a few months. The mail comes in again. Dude gets his credit union statement. The same guy is complaining to me that I screwed him over. I ask, "How so?'. Turns out he borrowed all the money in his line of credit. He was making minimum payments of around $20 a month. He figured it would take him years to pay off his loan. Somehow I was the bad guy in all this.

From that day forward I never told anyone "This is what you should do". Instead I say "Here's what I do".

 

[Monello]

The difference between a sea story and a fairy tale is a Fairy Tale starts with "Once upon a time" and a Sea Story always begins with "Now his ain't no sh!t..."

Now this ain't no sh!t.
There I was, on the first leg of a UNITAS Det, where we exercise with our South American friend’s Navy's. Usually a coveted detachment, especially the last leg which is held in Rio, for reasons that are obvious. Coveted because the per diem was generous and the accommodations were usually 4 star hotels and high end restaurants. Usually, that is, unless one is on the first Unitas leg, as I was. My P-3 crew and I were billeted in the famous Bundy barracks in Puerto Rico (open bay, no window screens, floor fan to move the air), and had a dining choice of the Navy chow hall or the Exchange’s greasy spoon. To add insult to injury, on our in-chop brief, they issued us ration cards for booze and tobacco. Something like two fifths of hard liquor and 10 cigars a week. Completely unsat, as I had planned to stock up on the unbelievably low priced Bacardi rum and stogies for the trip home. What to do….
Hmmm, seems the “ration card” was merely an 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper, with check off blocks at the appropriate items. I looked at the ration card.
I then looked at the Xerox machine in the corner.
20 copies later, and I was eventually able to pretty much fill a cruise box with cases of rum and boxes of Nicaraguan stogies.
I guess the first leg of Unitas wasn’t so bad after all!

Then there was the emerald I scored in Panama, but that’s another story.

I would go over to the coast guard base in Puerto Rico. They sold half gallon bottles of name brand rum for $6 back in the day. I gave them out for Christmas presents. I didn't feel the need to say how much I paid for them.

In Naples they had an amazing Asti Spumante that went for 95 cents a bottle. I miss those days.

 

[Bonehead]

My fist trip as a merchant marine was on a cargo ship C4-2B5, in the north Atlantic with a deck cargo of deuce and a half trucks bound for Jordan. The ship ran into a storm and we pretty much stayed in place for 36 hours as the ship got beaten up pretty good. We lost the majority of the trucks overboard, maybe 4 or 5 were left from the 20 we started with as deck cargo. When we finally got to Jordan the locals jumped in each truck and tried to start it, if it ran they drove them away if not a bulldozer shoved them off the dock into the water. They didn't even bother to salvage anything from the trucks. Beautiful crystal clear deep water with 4 trucks leaking diesel and lube oil from the bottom. Crazy.

 

[edinsomd]

This is going back many moons, but has anyone ever been deployed to Lajes Azores and visited George the Crook (at least that's what my squadron called him).

VP-49 in the mid-'80s. Split deployment between there and Rota, Spain. Good hunting there!

 

[black dog]

Yesterday afternoon my son and a few family members were sitting at the picnic tables next to the movie theater at MCRD Parris and he was telling us about some of the funny rememberable moments in the last 13 weeks.
One was about his rackmates first letter from his Marine father, after the young man's name on the letters address dad had written " Birdman " so during mail call his name was yelled with adding birdman at the end.
After that when the young recruit responded the any DI his response was Cacaw,,, Drill Sergeant..

Oh, and Monello, Cruzan rum in the bargin bin was 99¢ a fifth in the late 70's.

 

[edinsomd]

My APU license was tacked up on the wall at George's. I think you mean Casul Verde, a "green" wine there IIRC. Good times!

 

[DoWhat]

There I was at 38k ft. cruising around 380kt.
Flying a boring mission in the Med (backseater) in an EA-3B.
I ended up falling asleep, dreaming of getting back to sunny Sig for that nice ice cold beer (and many more).
During my little nap, I was not fastened to my seat, which is also your parachute attached to your torso harness.
Next thing I hear is a BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!
Plane is going down, rumbling all over.
I snap awake, drool flying and attached my koch fittings to my parachute and put my hand on the harness release handle, ready to bailout.
After a few seconds of the rumble and downward motion, the aircraft smooths out.
We call up front to the Pilot, “What the f**k is going on?”
He said he was sorry about the scare.
He let us know that the Nav was getting back in his seat, after using the piss tube, and hit the gear handle.
Gear dropped at 38k feet, flying at 380kt.


The Nav bought the beer that night.

 

[gary_webb]

My nightie was in the net hanging from the ceiling. All my running mates signed it, including the Master Chief - Gary was here (he wasn't).

I cannot recall.

 

[gary_webb]

Really Gary? Really? You flossed your teeth with the ribbons.

Loose lips sink ships.

 

[edinsomd]

A joke told over the P-3 Intercommunication System (ICS) on conference 2. The extra ICS channel was great for not stepping on important comms among the crew, and was used often on long flights for entertainment. Here tis:

So the big tall Texan walks into the cantina in Old Mexico, and asks what's on the menu.
"Today's special, senor, is mountain oyster, very fresh!"
So he orders up a serving. They're the best thing he's had in a very long time! So he asks exactly what a "mountain oyster" is.
"Senor, it is the testicles of the bull killed in the arena by the Matador today!"
Well not exactly home cooking, but the big tall Texan wasn't home, and they WERE right tasty

So the next time the big tall Texan is in town, he stops at the same cantina. Asks if more of those mountain oysters were to be had.
"Si senor, they'll be right up. Very fresh!"
When served, the big tall Texan remarked that these mountain oysters were much smaller than the ones he had before.
"Senor, sometimes the bull, he wins."

 

[Monello]

Putting shoe polish on the newbies hearing protection. Dumb and funny at the same time. It's a good way to gauge someone's sense of humor.

 

[Monello]

I PCSed and was expecting household goods. At the time the Navy was going to privatized housing, so they rented 100 units in a brand new, 300 unit complex a few miles from base. I was on the ship and the quarterdeck had 1 phone line.

I guess someone in house hold goods transposed my apartment number. I get a call on the QD. It's a guy I was stationed with about a decade ago. Somehow he got the phone call that HHGs were on the way. He told them he wasn't expecting a delivery. The caller said aren't you Monello Awesome? He said no but I know him. So my old shipmate was able to track me down, call the ship and tell me that my HHGs were an hour out. That guy ended up being my neighbor for a few years.

 

[Bann]

A joke told over the P-3 Intercommunication System (ICS) on channel 2. The extra ICS channel was great for not stepping on important comms among the crew, and was used often on long flights for entertainment. Here tis:

So the big tall Texan walks into the cantina in Old Mexico, and asks what's on the menu.
"Today's special, senor, is mountain oyster, very fresh!"
So he orders up a serving. They're the best thing he's had in a very long time! So he asks exactly what a "mountain oyster" is.
"Senor, it is the testicles of the bull killed in the arena by the Matador today!"
Well not exactly home cooking, but the big tall Texan wasn't home, and they WERE right tasty

So the next time the big tall Texan is in town, he stops at the same cantina. Asks if more of those mountain oysters were to be had.
"Si senor, they'll be right up. Very fresh!"
When served, the big tall Texan remarked that these mountain oysters were much smaller than the ones he had before.
"Senor, sometimes the bull, he wins."

Ewwwww.

 

[edinsomd]

So there AWANEd was, onboard Naval Air Station Jacksonville, FLA (NAS JAX, or just JAX) on Day 2 of Helicopter Rescue Swimmer School.
It was called a Practical Evaluation, where the instructors would see if any of us could actually swim, which is kind of key to become a Helicopter Rescue Swimmer.
An aside, passing SAR School was really not an option for me, as we were told if failed, our next stop would be ship's company as a non-rate, meaning get familiar with deck grinders and paint brushes, or aircraft chocks and tie-down chains, depending. They'll pick the ship's number, you can pick the color, as long as it's haze gray.. Neither option charmed me much.
So, after chow we mustered at the pool in our shorts and tee shirts, now stenciled with a number and name. No fins or dive mask allowed. The swimming pool, OK, training tank, was 50 yards in length and 12 feet down, everywhere. No splishy splashy shallow end. 12 lanes were described by dark tiles. The eval itself was one lap (up and back, 100 yards) of breast stroke, side stroke, and elementary back stroke, where your hands never break the water's surface, easy.
I had been on swim teams since I was 8 years old, and raced for our high school's team. We got to State level, but were crushed by a team of mutants who I swear had webbed toes and gills. Really cute young ladies, though, which had a big input on my swim team participation.
Anyway, my turn in the tank. This is a timed event, too, so just finishing doesn't mean you pass. It means you MIGHT get another shot.
I jumped in, and started, making good time with the breast stroke (I used to race the 100 and 200 meter breast stroke events) the went to the side stroke, which was easy, but nothing I'd spent a lot of time doing in the past, and then the elementary back stroke, sort of a breast stroke, flipped. Boring. I was well ahead of the clock. Then it hit me, I could impress the instructors with my swimming expertise by finishing the last 50 yards doing the butterfly, a fast double overarm stroke with a dolphin kick. So I did.
What a bad mistake.
I popped out of the tank all happy and was met by three instructors.
"What the F do we have here? Mark F-ing Spitz??!!"
"Why are you F-ing up MY Navy practical eval, AWANEd? Are you a F-ing commie??!!"
"I think F-ing Mark Spitz here needs to meet the Blue Baby!"
Oops.
I had managed to single myself out for special attention by the instructor cadre, not a good thing. I got the Blue Baby.
The Blue Baby is a 10 pound dumbbell weight, and cannot get wet. Doesn't sound like much, until you have to swim with it. I was "awarded" 100 yards with the Blue Baby, and a ridiculously short time to complete the swim. I opted for the now not so boring elementary back stroke, and completed the 100 yards well past the allotted, impossible time.
So, up on the deck for some extra PT because I didn't meet the Blue Baby time, and repeat the Practical Evaluation, because I "contaminated" the first one with an unapproved swim stroke. I didn't opt for the butterfly finale, this time. And I did pass just fine. Lesson learned.
The rest of the class was kept busy with push-ups and flutter kicks and what not while I swam. They weren't especially happy with me, but the instructors would have found another reason to PT them.
It was going to be a long eight weeks.
And guess what my nick name was for the duration?
F-ing Mark Spitz.

 

[Monello]

This happened at Naval Aircrewman Candidate School in 1988. It's a 5 week course. Lots of PT, swimming in the beginning. Probably around the 2nd week we are in ranks of 3 across and 15 deep, the entire class. We have 1 female in the group. On the sidewalk in front of the building, each row is positioned on 1 of the sidewalk cracks. We are 15 cracks from the front porch.

We are told that we will exercise and at the end of each successful turn, we will proceed forward 1 sidewalk crack. When the first row reaches the porch we will be all done for the day. It's early afternoon so we are all motivated to get finished.

First command is to do 14 jumping jacks. Easy, no sweat. Except that after jack #14 a few people flap their arms up as to do another. They catch themselves and try to quickly bring their arms and legs back together. But they are busted so we have to do it all over again. We can't move forward just yet. They add a few more repetitions, something around 23 or so. Again some numbnutz twitches when he should have stopped.

Did I mention it's a bit warm in Pensacola, FL? So this continues with the command to do 28, 33, 41, 49, etc. We are still in the same place where we began. The count is now 81. People are getting frustrated, cursing under their breath. I told those around me to focus on the number. We finally manage to stop as a group. We move forward and now the first rank has to do flutter kicks while the other rows still do the jumping jacks. Again the count is some random number that isn't a multiple of 5 or 10, but it's back down to a low, manageable number like 13 or so.

You would think with all the difficulty we had the first time around that people would get it in their heads to pay attention to the count. But NO. The same thing happens. We fail to stop in unison. The number climbs. The guys doing flutter kicks are really pissed. They are cursing out loud now. It's the same 4-5 people that keep screwing it up. Time is now a blur. Instead of thinking about knocking off early, I start to worry that we may never get off that sidewalk.

I have to hand it to the person who came up with this evolution. Human nature is an amazing thing to study. They dangled us a carrot but we couldn't manage to capitalize on it. We spent most of the rest of the afternoon doing exercises. They didn't cut us any slack. It was either done correctly or it was done over again with a few more repetitions added for good measure. Boy, those were the days.

 

[Bann]

It was going to be a long eight weeks.
And guess what my nick name was for the duration?
F-ing Mark Spitz.

Yeahhhhh, standing out in these types of trainings or schools, etc. are always a recipe for "special attention".

But that's a great story!

 

[edinsomd]

The instructors hammered us with "teamwork" too. Funny thing, though. On the Final Practical, the graduation exercise where I jumped into the tank to "rescue" three survivors/instructors with increasing levels of aggression, there was no "team" there with me. That last drill culled four from the class, overall about a 70% wash-out rate over the course.
Sometimes it's all on one's own self.

 

[edinsomd]

Yeahhhhh, standing out in these types of trainings or schools, etc. are always a recipe for "special attention".

But that's a great story!

Thanks! I may have a couple more.

"Now this ain't no sh!t..."