EOD: We take too long to respond because screw you

Dick Scuttlebutt is an Army EOD officer.

I’m going to do you a favor and not make the usual EOD excuses. “There are other units in front of you.” “There was a suicide bombing at the front gate.” “We were on another call.” “QRF was late to escort us to you.” Those things are all sometimes true, but you know the real reason EOD often takes way too long to respond to an IED, while you sit on the road waiting to get shot at? Because fuck you, that’s why.

I don’t know if you know this, but we’re kind of a big deal. People know us. I’m not just quoting Burgundy: That shit is real. When is the last time a movie about your job won Best Picture? Fucking never, that’s when.

And who would make a movie about your boring job anyway? What would an article about your job be called? Infantry: “Walk Six Hours Up a Mountain And Get Shot.” Artillery: “Premature Utter Deafness.” Admin: “The Award Locker.” Cook: “Dude, Where’s My Coffee?”

Nobody makes movies about you because frankly, you’re not as amazing as us. So recognize. We will take our time getting to you because Reasons, and just you shut up about it.

We will also do the following. We will three-quarter roll our sleeves, wear our hair way too long, put our hands in our pockets, cock sunglasses up on top of our heads indoors, and refuse to blouse our pants into our boots. We will laugh until our non-regulation undershirts are soaked with drool as your first sergeant has an aneurysm about our uniforms and our hands being permanently in our pockets. We will tell your commander when he’s being a fucking idiot, whether he far outranks us or not. And we will weasel, barter or outright steal our way into the best living quarters, best unit HQ buildings, and first pick of the best food and toiletries.

We will also bang the hottest chicks in your unit and never call them after the deployment is over.

This is no guilty confession: I’m completely unapologetic. And rightly so. On my arm I have a hundred and thirty hashmarks and twelve names. Number of IEDs, number of close friends killed. What’s on your arm? The name of some kid from the next company over, whom you barely knew? A CAB from that one time you heard shots fired in anger? Fucking barbed wire? Well, each of my hashmarks marks is a time I should have died, and each name is a buddy who didn’t make the walk back uprange. Those marks and names mean I’ve earned the right.

So I may take my time getting to you. Don’t worry, I got your 9-Line. I know exactly what route you’re on, and can probably even tell you who planted the IED and what type of setup he uses. I’ll get there when I get there. But first I’m going to finish my cigarette, take a shit, and make sure I’ve got the new Cytherea video downloading while I’m out so I can crank it when I get back.

Because fuck you.