9 February 2010, Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Martel came to my table at the DFAC and commented, “You have some uniforms at Lodging. Come by and you can pick them up.”

“Uniforms,” I thought. I wondered if they were really going to arrive or if I’d be wearing and laundering my three lightweight shirts that I’d brought, expecting to drive a truck in Kuwait, for the rest of my contract.

“When did you get them in,” I queried.

“We’ve had them for a couple of days. I just forgot to let you know.” Martel’s a good guy. At least he told me the truth about why I hadn’t gotten them earlier. That was yesterday morning, one day after General Hoffman’s visit to Liberando’s and I wished that Martel hadn’t forgotten me on that day because I’d felt a little bit out of place wearing my “Dubai World Cup” golf shirt during the General’s visit.

When I retrieved the box from Martel’s office it was heavier than I’d expected. When I opened it in my room I was excited to find a warm winter parka, a wind breaker, three sweatshirts, six blue dress shirts, six tan golf shirts and six pair of tan trousers! I pulled the new parka on and felt the warmth wrap around me. Ahhhh, yes! I’d been getting by with my leather jacket and my watch cap for more than two weeks while the temperature had only warmed above the freezing point once.

“Hill Air Force Base won’t connect me.” I stood across the counter this morning as a group of soldiers pressed against the other side, all intent on checking out a phone of a computer booth to send a quick message home. The young man’s words caught my attention as he told Elmira that he hadn’t had any luck with the phone. Elmira didn’t know what to tell him so I jumped in.

“Did you try the Tooele Army Depot?” The young man looked at me to see if he’d just heard me right.

“Sir, I tried the Tooele Army Depot, but they wouldn’t pick up the phone,” he told me.

“Did you call the after-hours number?” At that moment the young man had a hint of realization in his eyes.

“No sir, I didn’t know that they had an after-hours number.”

I pulled a sheet of paper from my ID holder and unfolded it in front of him. “Here’s your number,” I said, pointing to the line on the page. “Call this number and tell them that you’re calling from Kyrgyzstan and ask if they can connect you to your Salt Lake number.”

And then I followed up with, “What part of Salt Lake City are you from? I’m from a place called Sandy. Do you know it?” You can’t imagine the surprise in his eyes when I told him that we’d lived in Sandy just a few years ago.

“Sir, I graduated from Brighton High in 2001,” the young soldier told me with bright eyes, and then he asked, “Are you L.D.S?”

“Yes, I am.” He smiled as he turned to find his phone.

Andy walked in at nine o’clock and looked around the room. “Are these two young ladies your snow removal crew,” he asked me as he looked at Elmira and Asel behind the counter.

“I guess they are today. Andrei and Rysbek have the day off.” Andy seemed a bit disappointed as he said, “Snow removal is a big deal to this base commander. Is there any way that you can take care of the walks over by the showers?” I told him that I’d sprinkle some ice melt chemical on the walks to soften the ice and then I’d shovel them off.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he watched the television screen in the big room. “Oh, yeah,” he added, “tomorrow morning you’re going to ride the shuttle into the city and meet with a realtor to look for an apartment.” I was shocked. “I don’t have any money for an apartment right now,” I complained. “It’s O.K. Just look at what’s available and you’ll have a better idea of what you can expect.” He went back to watching the program on the Armed Forces Network until he realized that I was putting on my parka and hat to take care of the walks, so he turned to leave.

“Andy, we’re running low on the ice melt chemical. Who do I need to call to get more?” He briefly turned his attention back to me. “Call Civil Engineering.” The door closed behind him, cutting off any further questions.

I stopped putting on my parka and called Civil Engineering and asked them if I could get some ice melt chemical. “Sir, we’ve already delivered a bucket of the chemical to your location.” “Yes,” I answered, “I have the bucket, but it’s empty. I need to get some more.”

After a moment my response registered on the other end of the line and he apologized, “I’m sorry, sir. Across the street from the Fitness Center is an open shed. Take your bucket there and you can fill it with the chemical.” I thanked him and hung up the phone. I finished pulling my parka on and picked up the empty bucket.

The snow was still falling for the fifth straight day and the air was frigid. My boots squeaked on the crystalline layer of new snow until I arrived at the open shed where I searched for the chemical but couldn’t see it anywhere. “Maybe I’m in the wrong shed,” I thought to myself, but there was no other shed. I looked harder until I spotted a pile of sandbags on some pallets. As I came near I noticed that there was ice melt chemical on the ground around the bags. I hefted one of the heavy bags and realized that the chemical inside was fused together in a single giant lump that must have weighed 75 pounds. I dropped the bag on the concrete to see if I could break it up so that I could take only a partial bag back to Liberando’s but it was futile. The chemical had compacted into a solid rock and I only succeeded in tearing the bag to shreds under the weight of the sharp, granular lump inside. I tried another bag and managed to break the contents into pieces which I loaded into my bucket. I lifted the bucket and felt like my elbow would tear apart under the weight, but I kept walking and swaying until I reached Liberando’s.

As I struggled back, swaying from side to side from the bucket’s counter-weight, I was watching the sidewalk ahead of me to keep from stepping on a patch of ice, occasionally looking down at the heavy swinging bucket that irritatingly rubbed against my legs. A pair of boots approached that were attached to the trousers of an Air Force camouflage uniform. I glanced up as the man passed just in time to spot a black oak leaf on his shirt placket. I looked up higher and thought that it was my friend, the Base COmmander, but I wasn’t certain in the rapid passing. These “green boys” all look the same from the chest down, but I wondered why he hadn’t said hello to me until I realized that my head was covered by a black watch cap and my face was completely covered, except for my eyes, by my tan Head Gator. I just looked like any other civilian contractor bandit to him.

“Mister, we have another shipment of water,” Elmira exclaimed as I was just about to go into Liberando’s. I turned around and looked behind me at the fork lift that began lowering a pallet of bottled water on the ground. “Mister, we need to get this water into the storage box or into the building or it will be frozen,” she said excitedly.

I’d been planning to leave for lunch, but she was right. The water had to come first since the high temperature of the day was only 11 degrees Fahrenheit. We stacked the bottles into the storage box to keep the water from freezing, but in the process I nearly froze my exposed hands right off! After we’d stacked the water and had removed it from the street outside I walked to the laundry facility next door to wash my hands and warm them up but there were no paper towels in the room, so I shook my hands off and walked back to Liberando’s.

As I took hold of the handle to open the door, my hand, still moist, instantly froze to the steel handle, leaving me feeling like Flick, the kid in “A Christmas Story” who stuck his tongue to the frozen flag pole. I pulled my hand to see if it would come loose, but it was frozen tight. I put my mouth next to the handle and began breathing on it in an effort to loosen the skin and praying that no one would throw the door open and hit me in the head. I blocked the door with my foot. My skin separated gradually from the steel handle until I was free and it was a lesson learned.

So here are the rules: “Don’t touch your tongue to the flagpole,” and “Don’t grab the steel door handle with wet hands in the middle of a Kyrgyz winter!”

“Mister, why do you smile all the time?”

I hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know. I guess it just makes me feel good.” There was a cultural lesson brewing and Elmira wasn’t afraid to give it to me straight.

“Mister, if you smile at people in Kyrgyzstan they will think you are flirting with them and they will think you are being disrespectful.”

What? I couldn’t believe it. I had to ask for a confirmation. “Do you mean that if I smile at people on the street they will think I’m flirting with them?”

“Oh, yes. You must keep a serious face all the time or you will have trouble. You look at the Kyrgyz people and you will see that they are very serious when they are walking.”

I wiped the smile off of my face, but it only lasted for a minute. I couldn’t do it. It was asking too much at that moment. “Mister, you will be in trouble. I am serious!”

This culture lesson will be hard for me.