The Trip Home Part III

[More on the never-ending journey -- which it seemed like, given all the sleeping in hangars, tents, and planes, plus showering and changing socks once in five days, etc.]

There had been an issue earlier regarding my need to have my passport stamped because I was coming in on a new visa so I could work at Cato. Fort Benning doesn't typically do immigration paperwork, other than stamping diplomatic/government passports for visiting dignitaries/military officers, so they were gonna call in a DHS official specially for me, but now that I was on the R&R flight to Atlanta that would not be necessary.

Instead I breezed through customs, thanks in no small part to my "handler," and proceeded to the Avis rental counter (Hertz was out of cars if you can believe it) to get a ride to go to Benning and drop off my army-issued protective gear.

"Thank you for your service," I heard from an early-40s soccer mom type as I exited the Avis counter with my rental car keys. I was in uniform, you see -- not having had a chance to change and, in any event, still being in transit till I got home later that day -- and naturally the untrained eye wouldn't pick up the civilian designation on my rank badge. I didn't know how to respond, so I smirked sheepishly like a teenager commended on some achievement. ("Aw shucks ma'am it was nothing.") After that I was prepared, responding to every such entreaty -- and there were several -- with "my honor, ma'am/sir." (Not worth explaining that I wasn't actually in the army, etc.)

Similarly, when an hour later, on the interstate near Columbus, Ga., a copper flagged me for going 81 in a 55 zone (I honestly thought it was 70), it was probably my uniform that got him to downgrade it to 65 -- but who knows really how they exercise their discretion -- saving me points and notification to the DC authorities.

Anyhow, I got back to Benning, navigated the bureaucracy to be able to drop off my body armor and helmet -- normally one would have to wait to make formation at 0730 the next morning to accomplish this task, but, of course, I was a VIP -- had lunch with the lieutenant who had previously been my escort, and drove back up to Atlanta to catch my flight home to DC.

At the airport the security guys waived me to the first class lane, and I mentioned that I wasn't actually in the Army. "Well," the senior one said, "you're in uniform, you're comin' from Iraq, and you look beat, so go on right ahead." Fantastic.

I came home, again uneventfully, took a shower and went to bed. It was good to be back from Iraq!