The Tale of Pinky

For Ann . . . .

This is the tale of Pinky the box.  It's story is inextricably linked to mine.  Pinky has in very real ways, endured the hardships that I could have endured, but was fortunate enough to have avoided.  And because the one I care most about in the world wishes to know that which has so shared my adventures, I will tell the Tale of Pinky.

It started on my first day of class at the Foreign Service Institute.  I was taking the three required courses backwards, so I started with the very detailed Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) course first, to be followed by crash and bang (first aid, driving and shooting) and then the Iraq Familiarization course.

On that first day the teacher said, "My advice is that you ship as much as you possibly can in advance.  I went over there with one backpack and one suitcase and I had one suitcase too many."  We were told that we were going to have to carry everything on our own, over sand, gravel, mud or whatever was out there.  No one was going to help.  And for those of us who would have to wear a suit on PRT missions, that meant that we had to bring an entire wardrobe with us.  Better to ship what we can.

Fortunately we had several people in the class who had previously been to PRTs.  A couple suggested going to Walmart and finding a plastic footlocker, loading it up and shipping it.  They were light, cheap, durable and fit the dimensional requirements for shipping by US mail. I had three bags, each matching the size requirements permitted for 1st, 2nd and 3rd bags on international flights.  My goal was to get rid of the 2nd bag and, if possible, the 3rd bag.

A couple of days later, Kit, Devon and I set off on a quest to find such a footlocker at a Walmart near Kit's house.  After walking around a bit we finally found what they had.  Really cheap flimsy black footlockers, or really expensive, small capacity, double walled containers that would not fit a whole bag of clothes.  Nothing at all resembling the sterilite footlockers folks had described for me and that I'd seen on the Walmart website.  I went home empty handed.  But the quest had begun.

That night I went online to try and locate a sterilite footlocker at a Walmart in the DC area.  Success - the Walmart in Alexandria had them, and I was in Tysons.  A short hop down 495 would have me set up.  So on Friday after class, off I went.  When I got there I found the same inadequate replacements that were out in Fairfax.  So I took another tour of Walmart looking for footlockers.  None in the going back to school section; none in the hardware section; none in the sporting goods section.  I decided to go back to an area that had lots of large storage boxes, but no footlockers that I'd seen.  I looked around again, and nothing.  But as my eyes passed the cash registers I saw a wall of pink and thought to myself, "No way!"  As I walked towards the checkout lines, the realization that I was indeed going to send half of my stuff to Iraq in a pink footlocker started sinking in.  I looked around for other colors - the website had grey, blue, yellow, orange and pink.  There had to be another color.  Nope.  I asked an attendant.  His response was, "They come in colors other than pink?  We've only ever gotten pink."  And that's how I met Pinky.

That night, as I loaded Pinky up with everything I could, I tried to convince myself that Pinky was, in fact, magenta.  That there was a bit of purple, just a little bit of purple, in that pink, enough to make it not pink.  Other than the fact that Magenta is also a character in the Rocky Horror Picture Show (remember that night Mark?), it's not pink.  I packed Pinky up that night realizing that, magenta or pink, sending that footlocker was going to set me up for a year of jokes at the PRT I was heading to.  Which at the time, was PRT Karbala.

I woke up the next morning and in the full color spectrum of the morning sun could no longer kid myself.  Pinky was, no doubt about it, pink.  I was supposed to head up to Len's house later that morning but for some odd reason decided I was going to do a dry run at the post office.  So I drove down to the post office, which was empty, and spent a few minutes chatting with one of the postmasters about shipping goods to Iraq.  When I asked if I could ship luggage, she said sure, but keeping the label on it was usually pretty tough.  But it would stick with lots and lots of tape.  I thanked her and said I'd be back later in the morning.

I got back to my room and struggled for a bit - was I going to repack my new suitcase and ruin it with tape, or was I going to use Pinky.  I decided that it would be a good source of laughter and may even help me bond with my new colleagues, so I taped Pinky shut, filled out the customs forms (addressed to PRT Karbala) and stepped into the shower.

After my shower, I was ready to head out to the post office and to Len's.  As I picked up Pinky I thought, "I should check e-mail one more time."  As I booted up my computer and opened my e-mail, a flood of e-mails from Iraq started appearing in my in-box.  The first from a Colonel in Baghdad, others from folks in Karbala.  They all said "STOP!!!! Don't send your stuff to Karbala.  You're not going to Karbala!"  So I spent the next hour straightening things out, via e-mail, with folks in Iraq.

The end result was I was going to PRT Diyala and that I should send my stuff there, not to PRT Karbala.  So I got the mailing address for PRT Diyala, but decided to give them 48 hours, just in case folks decided to change their minds again.  Instead of heading to the post office, I headed up to Len's.

I didn't hear anything different by the following Tuesday so after class I took Pinky to the Post Office.  I got the same Postmaster.  She said, laughingly, "You weren't kidding when you said that thing was pink!"  As we were getting all the customs forms filled out she said, "Just tell them you went shopping with your granddaughter and she said, "Grandpa, get the pink one, that way you'll think of me every time you look at it!"  I told her it was a great idea, except I didn't have a granddaughter.  She agreed that saying it was my grandson who said it would not have the same effect.  In the end, Pinky was on its way to Diyala.

A week and a half later I get an e-mail from Baghdad asking me to give the Office of Provincial Affairs at the embassy a call.  I call up and find out that they're reconsidering Diyala.  So they discussed possibilities (PRT Baghdad, Kirkuk, Mosul, or maybe back to Karbala).  I mention Pinky, and they reassure me they will make sure Pinky finds its way to me.  The next day I have a conversation with the Rule of Law team leader at PRT Baghdad and seem to hit it off, but by Friday when I leave, no word on what the embassy has decided.

In Amman Jordan, I find out that it's PRT Baghdad for me.  But Pinky is in Diyala.  So from my very first day at the Embassy I'm trying to find out how to get Pinky to me.  After a week, we get in contact with PRT Diyala.  They'll try their best to get it on the Wednesday Ring Run - a helicopter flight that hops from one PRT to the next for just this type of movement of stuff.  If there's room.  There isn't.  So another week goes by.

But finally, Pinky arrives at LZ (landing zone) Washington.  Pinky didn't even have to wear a helmet and body armor for the flight.  Pinky and half my clothes.  Now I can wear more than just the same 2 jackets at work, more ties, more shirts, more pants - I don't look the same every day.  But with all of my stuff out, what is Pinky to do.

Well, I've kind of bonded with Pinky.  And even though they have some better quality black footlockers here, I can't quite bring myself to dispose of Pinky.  So I found it a nice little home behind the TV.  A warm secluded cubby hole.  I guess I'm thinking Pinky is kind of like a dog and likes the den I've found for it.  I hope so.  And when it comes time to ship everything home, Ann will get to meet Pinky in person.

And that's the tale of Pinky.