Yesterday was a very strange day for me, and I felt I should share it with all of you. The day began as any other would. I was working day shift, so I got up around 4 a.m. and stumbled through my usual morning routine. I shaved in the dark with cold water, threw on my dusty desert camouflage and flak vest, and made my way to our command post to be briefed on the day. Nothing out of the ordinary, usual crap… it's gonna be hot, drink lots of water, suicide bomber expected, be on the lookout for such and such vehicles, get your ass on the truck.

Got to work and did the usual. I was lucky enough to be on the tank with the radio in it, so my partner and I could switch off on radio and .50 caliber gunner. When you are on the radio you can sit with your helmet off and relax a little bit. So this was my day, up until around noon.

"Peiler, you've got to be at battalion at 1630 to receive an award!" my platoon sergeant snaps at me.

"What kind of award?"

"Hell if I know, I think you are the logistician of the month," says Sgt. Washington.

What the hell is this for, I'm wondering. I'm not even in logistics.

So 1600 rolls around, and me and one other guy take off back toward the post so I can get to battalion. I imagine it's just going to be the usual handshake from the lieutenant colonel, a certificate, a quick picture of us and then I'll be on my merry way. So I'm not too worried about this whole thing. I'd been working all day in the heat, I stink to high heaven, my uniform is trashed, I've got helmet head from hell, and I missed a bunch of spots shaving this morning.

I get there on time and am greeted by my company commander. I'm asking him what the hell this is all about, and he seems to have no clue either. Well, as we're talking, about 40 officers come out and start standing around. The battalion commander, Lt. Col. Ross, comes out and greets me. "Hello Spc. PEELER, good to see you again." This man obviously only knows me on paper, considering he always mispronounces my name. So I do the dance and say hello, and that's when the world started spinning.

In walks the DISCOM Commander (a full-bird colonel, or for those of you who don't understand the rank structure of the military, a big-time boss of about 3,000 soldiers). Not only that, but then in comes Gen. Munst. He is the really big- time boss of about 15,000 soldiers. And they both walk straight up to me. Officers are jumping at the chance to kiss these guys' asses, and the Colonel actually slapped a guy's hand away so he could shake mine first. I was a little confused.

So the Col pulls me aside and starts to talk to me. Apparently he has to give a little speech about me to the crowd as he hands me my award, so he wants to get to know me. He started off by calling me Spc. Peeler. I corrected him and said, it's pronounced PIE-ler. He says, "OK, great, let's get this show on the road."
So there I am, by far the most measly rank in the room, surrounded by brass, smelling like a dead animal, scruffy and dirty. There is a camera crew filming and taking a bunch of pictures. The colonel starts off his loud speech with a thunderous "Spc. PEELER... is a great American soldier." He goes on to list my accomplishments while I've been in Iraq. He discusses Spc. Peeler's level-headedness in combat and his ability to perform under extreme circumstances. He describes some of my experiences with combat as if he had been standing next to me at some of those unfortunate times.

I'm just standing there trying to look tough in case any of these officers surrounding me think they can take me. And I'm thinking that if I ever meet this Spc. Peeler guy, I should really thank him.

After the colonel finishes his speech, everybody claps, pictures are taken, and everybody files past me to thank Spc. Peeler for his grand accomplishments. Apparently Spc. Peeler is up for a bronze star too. Good for him I say, this guy sounds like one hell of a guy! Officer after officer shakes my hand saying, "Great job, Spc. Peeler!" Of course my reply is "Thanks Sir!" with a big grin as they file past.

So when the big dog and pony show is complete, the camera crew comes up and informs me that they will be accompanying me to work tomorrow (which is in about four hours now). They want to get some action shots of Spc. Peeler hard at work so they can maybe use it on some of their military TV broadcasts. I'm sure I'll have to play the role of Spc. Peeler, since the colonel will already be on TV calling me that.

All said and done, I take my coins and certificates and go back to work. I figure I've got a great story to tell all my buddies about. (Sorry about the upcoming foul language, but this is really what happened.)

As I'm walking up to the checkpoint I see our gay Iraqi interpreter (don't ask me where they found this guy) running up to me. I can tell he is excited and I figure I know why. This guy hardly speaks any English and is constantly asking to learn American slang. Of course we are all anxious to teach it to him, but as I'm sure you can imagine, we never teach him the right words. So I take the bait as he anxiously approaches me. He wants to try out some of his new English. I ask him, "How are you today, Camal?" To which he replies in a heavy accent, "Not so great, I have very salty seamen…"

At this point I just walk away and can hear everyone dying of laughter. Apparently they also taught him "my ass really hurts," which actually means "I'm fine, how are you?" This poor fruitcake has no idea what the hell he is saying. I don't know how they give us an interpreter who doesn't even speak English.

So that was my day. Once I got back to work my platoon just made fun of me for the rest of the day. Especially when they found out there will be a camera crew following me around at work tonight. I guess we are really going to put on a show for these guys and try to scare the crap out of them. It should be great.

So that was yesterday in the life of me. Hope you enjoyed it, because I sure got a kick out of it.

Billy
aka Spc. Peeler