Don't tell me you're bashful?

Author: Bert Booth
Laughlin AFB 85-02, July-August 1984

Summer time. Hot. Hey, it's Del Rio. July average high/low is 98/75, August is 99/75. That's average. 100+ is 'ho hum, just suck it up cupcake.' Double turning—two flights a day—is even more fun. Walk in from flying and a dried prune has more moisture in it.

Walk into H flight and there's a message scribbled on the black board: drug test if your SS# ends in a '1'. Oh great.

About 4-6 of us head to the clinic. There's several other student pilots sitting in the waiting room. "Go ahead. You're not cutting in line. We can't pee."

Huh? Bashful??

This isn't the kinder and gentler pee-in-the-bottle test, this is full bore. The observer WILL observe fluid from the exit nozzle until it's in the bottle.

So we 'cut' in line and go to pee... and the tank is empty. Flying, and especially double turning, will do that to you. So we join the 'bashful' crowd trying to suck water down in the waiting area. No one's having much success.

Technician: "Guys, I close at X:00. I need those samples by then."

Someone makes the genius level question: "Can we have beer in the sample?"

"We're testing for drugs guys, not alcohol."

Off we go to the O'club next door. First pitcher down. "Anyone need to go?" Nope.

Second pitcher. "How about now?"

Heads nodding. Back to the clinic and now it's a RUSH to be first to get tested.

Bashful had left the building.