Mail Call

It's amazing – ever since I got to Iraq, friends of mine have been universal in commiserating about the hard-core suckage of the situation and also in asking for my address so they can send me things, as if month-old issues of Cosmo and chocolate candy are some kind of lifeline to civilization. I've gotten emails from old boyfriends, far-flung family members, friends from junior high, teachers from elementary school – in any other situation it'd be a little creepy, in this situation, it's heartwarming.

Mail is the single greatest thing in a soldier's life. It's a direct connection to hearth and home, a physical reminder that those we love are thinking of us (unless it’s a Dear John letter, in which case, yeesh) and a relief from some of the frustrations of deployment – can't get your favorite shampoo in theater? Have mom box it up. Dying to know Mary Alice's awful secret? With the advent of DVD burners, your Desperate Housewives addiction can be fed. Jonesing for hersheys kisses? Seven to ten days is all you'll have to wait for relief. Packages from home are sent to an APO address that routes all mail through a central office before distributing it to the bases. Mail is inspected for contraband (we'll get to that) before it's released to the units, who are responsible for getting it to the individual. The time of day when mail is delivered – known affectionately as "mail call" – is probably the best part of a soldier's day, ranking right up there next to chow time and rubber-band-on-the-doorknob time in terms of it's necessity to maintaining a soldier's morale in theater. Chow time ranks higher because one time a fistfight broke out when the soft serve ice cream machine broke during peak hours. I haven't seen anyone resort to fisticuffs over failed mail delivery, but hey, it could happen.

Packages from my parents include the usual stuff – Riesens caramels, which are little pieces of divinity in chocolate form; the entire Harry Potter oeuvre as well as the 6^th book if they know what's good for them, cute cards and posters to grace the walls of my swinging bachelorette pad; and of course, books of logic puzzles so I can geek out to my heart's content. Other people always ask me what I need, as if I'm out here in the desert with nothing but my canteen and boonie cap to protect me from the glaring sun. "Lotion…do you need lotion? Can you get lotion there?" Yes, people, remember that discussion earlier we had about the PX? There are a LOT of generals on Camp Liberty, so there are very few things I have a problem getting for myself. Lotion is not one of them…after all, the army is made up of primarily males. Sunscreen is another thing the Army generously provides – we're in the desert, it's kind of a gimme. Anything electronic, computer or video oriented, the hadjis sell reasonably priced and they are willing to haggle. So what sorts of things DO we like to get, you may be asking yourself. Good question. To answer that, I took a short poll.

1. Naked pictures of our significant others. This is technically illegal but it was the most popular answer so I feel obligated to include it. If you are planning to send naked pictures to your soldier, make sure to hide them inside a box of tampons or cold medicine or something. Porn is not impossible to come by here, but according to General Order Number 1, we are not allowed to have it. Maxim is the strongest stuff you can obtain legitimately, but for some of my guys that's like giving a heroin addict methadone – it'll keep them from spazzing but it's way less satisfying.

2. Cookies/candies/brownies. We love getting these sorts of things in care packages. It isn't that the cookies and brownies at the DFAC aren't delicious (which they are, mmm mousse-cake) but getting packages filled with perishable goodies from home makes us feel like we're at summer camp. Summer camp is much better than war. We don't have pony rides, of course, but I bet we could talk one of the locals into getting us a camel. We'd have to be really clear about what we wanted though – asking for a camel to ride could lead to an embarrassing situation if you weren't careful. Translation issues, you understand.

3. TV shows, videos, mix CDs. You can get a sketchy bootleg copy of any movie that you want here, but when you get sick of grainy quality that won't play half the time, it's nice to have real DVDs sent from home. Mix CDs, especially of current music, are also appreciated. We have what's known as "freedom radio" out of Baghdad, which is a military-run radio station that plays different types of music – the morning is country, mid-afternoon is rap and the evening is alternative rock – but it's a few months behind the times. That and listening to state-run media outlets tends to give me hives. Propaganda, doncha know.

I was talking to one of my friends online, using that delightful invention known as AOL Instant Messenger, adored by college kids and agoraphobics the world over for its ease of communication with no requirement for personal contact. She and I hadn't spoken in several months. She had to be caught up on a couple of new developments…

JMUstarbaby: Hola chica, whatcha up 2?

Paichka: I'm in Baghdad.

JMUstarbaby: Holy shit, who'd you piss off to get sent there?

Paichka: I'm in the Army, I didn't piss anyone off, except maybe God. It was just my turn.

JMUstarbaby: Well hell. What do you do there?

Paichka: Honestly nothing. I sit around, eat pudding, go to meetings…

JMUstarbaby: I should've joined the army. I like pudding.

JMUstarbaby: I could go to meetings.

We started talking about my life in Iraq. When she found out about the strict hardships we labored under, she was floored.

JMUstarbaby: No ass and no alcohol? Good god, that's like the Taliban.

Paichka: With uglier clothes.

JMUstarbaby: That is not the American way. What on earth are we fighting for?

Paichka: Write your congressman.

JMUstarbaby: I intend to.

Then came the question.

JMUstarbaby: No ass huh?

Paichka: Nope.

JMUstarbaby: Not even the battery-powered kind?

Paichka: No. It wasn't on the packing list.

JMUstarbaby: Get your mom to send you one.

Paichka: That would be an awkward conversation. "Hey mom, would you mind popping down to the porn store and picking me up a rabbit habit?"

JMUstarbaby: She'd understand. Just make sure she includes batteries.

JMUstarbaby: That'd be pretty funny. The package starts vibrating when they're inspecting it

JMUstarbaby: "Oh dear we have a bomb! Evacuate the building!"

JMUstarbaby: But no, it's just sunny's vibrator.

Paichka: That'd be tough to explain. "See I have this friend…"

JMUstarbaby: Must be easier for guys. Little lotion and a maxim and they're good to go.

Paichka: Most of the guys here have roommates.

JMUstarbaby: Like that stops them. Little pervs.

She was kidding (I think), but the thing is, lots of girls brought little friends to the theater. I'm not making this up. The subject actually came up at one of our pre-deployment meetings back at Fort Stewart. CPT Porter had just received hard copies of General Orders 1 and 2, and he was reading them to us. When he got to the part about "relationships with soldiers of the opposite sex except those that are mission related" being prohibited, he elaborated with: "So you all are clear, that means no sex." SPC Green, one of the headquarters platoon's soldiers, piped up with: "What about sex toys, sir? Are those prohibited as well?" I thought the man was going to have an aneurysm. I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee myself, but SPC Green was totally serious.

Today's take home message: guys don't have a monopoly on rubber-band-on-the-doorknob time. Women have needs, too, after all.