Sheetrock Adam and the Officer Who Said "Ouch"

Either there’s been a week-long full moon, or Seattle got a batch of seriously tainted Stoli. Either way, the boys have been completely crazy lately. I have a few stories to write up, but the first one has got to be the tale of Sheetrock Adam and the Officer Who Said “Ouch”.

Until about a year ago, Sheetrock Adam was in the Army. Those of us that know him intimately now may find it hard to believe, but he managed a military bearing whether he was being drilled here in the States, or performing out-reach around the young men of the fledgling Iraqi Army. In the finest tradition of American fighting men, Adam was always good-to-go, his weapon oiled and ready to unload into the enemy.

But since his discharge, Adam’s firm military bearing has drooped a bit. First, he started hanging out at the Crescent and dancing on the bar. He got sucked into a catfight between a Filipino drag queen and a Mexican tranny at Neighbors. His boxer shorts started appearing in Curtis’ bed. And one particularly rough night, my good sweet Carlos poured a beer on him. Not a pretty record.

The one thing keeping Sheetrock Adam from going completely off the straight-and-narrow has been his post-discharge National Guard requirement. Once a month, he spends a weekend at Fort Lewis getting drilled by officers and imposing his own harsh discipline on lower-ranked enlisted men. A couple days’ worth of ramrod-straight military discipline each month was all Adam needed to keep his shoulders back and his head up. That is, until last month.

Last month after a long day of drill, Adam put on his civvies and went to the base bowling alley for a couple Budweiser Spritzers. The drinks were flowing freely, and Adam’s new sleeveless Dolce T-shirt and linen Capri pants made him feel particularly sassy. Sometime around Spritzer number 6 or 8, a man in civvies started making disparaging remarks about enlisted men. It was the typical Army trash talk: enlisted men have no fashion sense, they can’t hold their Cosmos, they’re only good for licking officer’s boots and can’t even work a breech-loader.

Well, this last was just too much for Sheetrock Adam: he’d been training on the breech-loader for months and was determined to get certified. “You BITCH!” he cried, as he came off his barstool and backhanded the obnoxious man across the face. The poor fellow fell right off his barstool and sprawled on the floor, laying there like he needed a date.

And that’s when the MPs showed up. Turns out that guys talking trash about enlisted men are usually officers. And the Army doesn’t like officers getting slapped. Poor Sergeant Sheetrock Adam is now Private Sheetrock Adam, and is just getting reacquainted with his apartment after a month in the brig. But on the upside, his fellow prisoners helped him permanently stiffen his military bearing.