#maskydoo

CS gas, that’s … this.

(text: orto-chlorobenzylidene-malononitrile /  2-chlorobenzalmalononitrile )

The drill sergeants never called it by these names. They always just called it CS. Probably they assumed we wouldn’t be able to pronounce these words. Well HA! Jokes on them. I’ve been practicing, and-

They’re right.

CS gas is a riot control agent. A tear gas. And, according to the internet, it’s really an aerosolized powder.

The more you know.

Imma keep calling gas anyway.

If you’ve never been exposed to tear gas, maybe you think all it does is irritate people’s eyes a bit and make them cry, like someone managed to weaponize the feeling of chopping onions.  

I mean yeah, the gas will do that, but it’s so, so much worse.

Day whatever of basic,

I don’t know, it all blurs together,

Aint like I kept a diary like some kind of pioneer on the Oregon trail, days away from dying of dysentery.

The drill sergeants issued us all these enormous green pouches. Inside, some ancient gas masks that look like they’re in even worse shape than my rifle, which by the way was held together with wire where a takedown pin should have been.

The upper and lower receivers were not on speaking terms. Rattled like a… well, a rattle.

And like my rifle, we were taught to take masks apart and put them back together. Some are missing pieces.

Like my rifle.

Drill Sergeant: “GAS! GAS! GAS!”

This is the command to put you mask on.

Drill Sergeant: “Gas! Gas! Gas!”

Pretty straight forward as far as commands go. Nothing left to interpretation there.

Also, there’s gesture signal. Shoulder touching. Like this. Looks goofy.

We drilled putting on those masks quick, because when their air is poison, you’d better be fast or you’re going to have a bad time.

Speaking of bad times, next we ran laps. You do a lot of running in basic, and it’s death. I hate running even on a good day. I can do pushups all day long, but cardio can pound sand. Running laps with a facehugger doesn’t improve the experience.   

The purpose of this is to prove that yes, you can in fact breathe in these things, so just quit whinging and do it, Drill Sergeants have no time for your claustrophobia nonsense.

That wasn’t a problem for me. The heat was. Running laps in Missouri, in the summer heat, with my face covered material designed specifically NOT to let air flow.

Well the good news is you don’t have worry about breathing poison if you can drown yourself in your own sweat first.

All of this was in preparation for the gas chamber.

The gas chamber was a tiny one-room building full of that nasty CS gas that we would all have to spend some time in, as a required part of training in the US military. Why?

To instill confidence in your equipment to protect you, we’re told.

Yeah… about that…

(gas mask falls apart)

We get marched into the woods, to this run down looking shack, where we would get locked in.

This sounds like a setup for a horror movie.

The room is already filled with gas. They make sure it’s nice and thick before they send us in. When we were lined up outside, masks on, I could already smell pepper. Trying to clear my mask was not working.

Not feeling super confident in my equipment right now.

So we file in, and to prove to us that our masks can protect us from the gas, what do they do?

They have us take our masks off. Immediately.

What?! How are our masks supposed to protect us if we just take them off as soon as we’re inside? I don’t know. Training people to remove their masks and just stand around when exposed to gas doesn’t seem like a great idea…

You can’t hold it forever, eventually, you have to breathe. And holy heck that is some SPICY air!

I’ve been told that CS gas works by reacting to your mucous membranes, which I basically just took this to mean anything moist will burn.

This is when I became literally painfully aware of what it means to be a lifeform made mostly of water. I regretted every drop.

Just a scratching in your throat at first, makes you cough. Then it burns. Your throat. Your nostrils. Your eyes.

Now you’re crying. Not so tough now, are ya? The tears fall and the trail burns down your face.

All your exposed skin burns more as you sweat – and if you weren’t sweating before, you are now.

Your mouth burns. Down your lungs. It even reaches your stomach. You realize a lot more of your body was exposed to the outside environment than you’re comfortable thinking of that way. And it’s all on fire.

You hack, you cough, you gasp, you cry, you snot, you drool, you puke. You’re not pretty.

Did you know CS gas use in war is prohibited by the Chemical Weapons Convention? We literally wouldn’t use this stuff on our enemies.

The trick to making the gas chamber not so bad is to remain calm, but that’s difficult to do when you feel like you’re actually melting.

Your bodys like WTF?! Alert! Alert!

Your sympathetic nervous system kicks in – you freak out. Your heart races, your breathing quickens – or tries to, and you sweat more, all of it makes the reaction so much worse.

30 seconds in, I thought I was gunna die. A minute in, I wished I would.

I think we were there for at least five. It could have been ten. Felt like an eternity. Like a preview of hell.

We weren’t allowed to leave or put our masks back on. So there we are, just choking and coughing for as long as it amused the drill sergeant.

And he was in no hurry. He was in full MOP gear, and presumably his mask was one that actually worked.

The Drill Sergeant is completely indifferent to everyone’s suffering. He walked up and down the line holding a plate to shove at everyone, like a pusher church user with a collection plate. But you couldn’t pay this guy not to waft some fresh-ly made, concentrated CS directly at your face.

But we’re not left to our misery, no. The Drill Sergeant has tasks for us.

He was doing everything he could to make the reaction as bad as possible. He wanted us breathing hard, getting our heart rates up, and sweating. And Drill Sergeants know just how to do that.

Pushups, cardio, shouting.  All things the Army loves. All things that require breathing.

But the worst was yet to come.

Y’all, I made a huge mistake not reading the entire Army manual. The task we had to complete, without making a mistake, in order to escape this horrible room was to scream-sing the Army Song.

I didn’t know the words. No one knew the full song. At most, a few of us knew some parts of it – but no one bothered to memorize the whole thing. And the Drill Sergenat was not about to help us at all.

It took us all soooo many agonizing tries to get it right. But enough of us knew enough bits and pieces to eventually piece it all together, after many, many tries.

All: “First to fight for the right… (trails off)

One Private: “And to build the nation’s might!”

Drill Sergeant: “Start again!”

All (wheeze) “March along sing our song *cough cough*

Drill Sergeant: “Louder! Start over!”

All: (Anguished wail)

This singing portion went on for a long time, and not because it was music to anyone’s ears. The patriotic tune as covered by the wails of the damned wasn’t going to make top 40, but there’s no accounting for schadenfreude for the drill sergeant. He seemed entertained.

And… as much as I hated his guts in that moment…. I get it. I totally get it.

If there was a version of American Idol, like, insane edition, where contestants had to sing their hearts out while Simon Cowell pepper sprayed them in the face…

I’d watch that.

I did not know the Army Song going in, but I sure as heck knew it by heart by the time we left.

It turns out you can learn pretty fast when it feels like your life depends on it. Still, doubt,  gas chambers will catch on as a study aid.

Teacher: “What’s the quadratic equation?”

Students: “

Side note: The Army Song doesn’t hold a candle to the Marine Corps Song. Yeah, I’m a traitor and I don’t care. Don’t at me.

So remind me again, what was supposed to be the purpose this training? Between all this singing, exercising, and not mask wearing, I forgot.

“To instill confidence in our equipment.” You know, the equipment we were not using in the one exact situation it was designed for. What does screaming the Army Song and working out in a gas chamber, puking my lungs out, demonstrate about a mask that we are not even wearing?

----

(Cut to an airplane)

Skydiving instructor: “Alright everyone, I want you all to feel confident in your equipment to protect you. So today you’re all jumping… without your parachutes.”

Jumper: Uh… it’s Ok, I trust the parachute.

Skydiving instructor: (Tosses someone) “Out you go.”

I think the methodology of this experiment is flawed, the test doesn’t do anything to support your conclusion.

I think the real reason they didn’t let us wear the masks at all was just keep us from realizing these old things have been used for every basic training company to come through probably since Nam and really don’t work.

I’m sure the newer ones fielded to the real army work just fine, but no one is shelling out that kind of dough for a bunch of newbie kids in basic. We just get the hand-me-downs..

We take them off so we don’t get the change to lose confidence in our gear.

That, or it’s just plain hazing.

Probably both.

Finally it was time to leave. We were half blind but could see daylight enough to rush for it. And if we’re not careful, rush right into a drill sergeant waiting in ambush, just standing there evidently in hopes of a collision as an excuse to shout at us some more.

In other places, I’m told this drill sergeant is a replaced by a sturdy pole, there for no other reason than to be in the way.

By the time we finally leave, we’re a mess. We’re crying, we’ve got drool and snot hanging down our faces all the way to the ground, which we’re not allowed to wipe away. We have to keep our heads down while flapping our arms to air out our uniforms, while hacking and coughing and puking all the way out.

We looked like ostriches with a plague.

And you’ll get to have that look remembered forever. There was a sneaky photographer dude I’d sometimes see following the company around, taking shots for the class yearbook and… I guess Army publicity.

He won’t get that sweet action shot of you scaling a wall, or crawling under some razor wire on the night assault course, or when you stab a dummy right in the chest with your bayonette, looking like a total bad one.

But he’ll totally make sure to capture your ugly-crying gross booger face for your siblings to laugh at when your family buy your class yearbook on graduation you’re your grandma will frame the photo and hang it on the wall, telling proudly telling everyone in her book club “that’s my granddaughter.”

And your teachers will use it to threaten their students with “This is the face of someone who didn’t complete their homework on time. This could be you if you don’t get your grades up. Get a scholarship or you’re joining the military.”

Ah yes, this is the face I want to show the world. That dangling snot rope really brings out the agony in my eyes. Gunna put that right on my Tinder profile. Yep.

(If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.)

Wikipedia suggests several methods for treating victims of CS gas exposure. Our post exposure treatment was - nothing.

Yeah. We got nothing. Just sat around in a field and waited for the effects to wear off and for life to suck slightly less.

And that’s the funny thing about it. Just a short while before, I was having probably the worst 5 minutes of my life up that point, but as soon as it was done, it was done. I felt fine.

Actually, I felt a little better than I did that morning, and not just out of a new appreciation for fresh air.

Stick 60 people from all over the country in one sleeping bay, in an environment where no matter how hard you try hygiene is never great, and then there’s that donkeyface who stands behind me in formation coughing directly at the back of my head, and sicknesses tend to get around.

Me: “Cough in my hair one more time, and I will jam this patrol cap right down your throat to feed back you your own germs.“

I don’t think many people make it through the first weeks of basic without catching some kind of bug.

One lady in our platoon even managed to catch a staph infection, like, the first week. I dunno how. Eventually, she got sent home, and I got to take her rifle, which wasn’t much better than my original one, but at least was not held together by a bit of bent wire.

Anyway, if there’s anything good that can be said for CS, it really works wonders to clear the sinuses. I was breathing better after the gas chamber than before I went in. Everything that was stuffing me up was gone.

Gotta find that silver lining somewhere.

And in this case it’s a snot lining, and you’ll find it coating the gas chamber floor.   

Me: (reading my own script.) “Ew.”

-Infomercial-

Sinus congestion got you feeling down? Don’t have time to wait around for normal medicine to kick in?

Not to worry, the US Military has the solution for you! Formally declare war on enemy boogies with CS gas! 9 out of 10 riot control teams agree, CS is the number 1 choice to make all your troubles panic and scatter in terror. Just pop one CS gas capsule and it works instantly, scientifically proven to make the sniffles the least of your problems.

Mission accomplished!”

Side-effects include:

Burning sensation in eyes, skin, mouth, and internal organs, coughing, wheezing, watery eyes, difficulty breathing, difficulty speaking, sweating, thoughts of revenge against your recruiter, elevated heartrate, snot rockets, drooling absolutely everywhere, vomiting, making this face, secondary gassing of yourself and others later when puff of CS come off your clothing, pain – like - lots of it, and regret.

Harness the power of chemical weapons today! Ask your doctor is CS gas is right for you and your entire neighborhood!

The obvious option was to do a public records search by looking up their address. I got names… but… I wasn’t entirely 100% totally certain it was really them.

I didn’t know how trustworthy the information on shady-looking public records sites would be, and I didn’t want to accidentally give the police, and eventually the court, the wrong people’s names.

I was especially confused since multiple surnames came up for Loony, and I wasn’t sure if they were different people who happened to have the same first name, or if Loony really did change her surname that many times. (It turned out to be the latter.)

So. To Facebook. I couldn’t find a profile for Toony, but I did find Loony. Good enough, now I could confirm their identities.

That was all I wanted to do. I didn’t care to go through her information, and I certainly didn’t want to contact her. I wanted as little to do with her as possible, which was partly why I waited this long to even find out their names.

I was about to click away when… I noticed something. Right to the top of her profile there were several unhinged posts that were clearly about me.

For starters, she was convinced I was stalking her Facebook, and had been for some time. These posts were deranged rants that were clearly meant to call me out, and included lines like:

“I know you’re reading this, stalker!”

I mean… now I was reading it, but these posts went back weeks, months. What the hell, lady? She thought I cared to see her facebook, but that was the first time I ever looked her up.

She even had one that was taunting me for not getting to have her husband and how she’s a special beautiful wife.

She… just has no grasp on reality at all. Imagine being mercilessly harassed by crazy people over a situation that only ever existed in their head.  

In her posts, she also ranted about how I was calling her from hidden numbers. Anytime she got a call, it was absolutely me. It MUST have been.

I don’t. I don’t think I have to tell you I obviously never called these people. I’m a millennial. I can barely be bothered to call people I actually like. I order pizza through apps just to avoid speaking to a human.

But that’s not all I was accused of. In a more recent post, she insisted that I had some habit of driving slowly past her house with binoculars.

Ummm…

I live next door to her. I drive in this neighborhood because… I live here. But I funny enough, I don’t drive past her house. I don’t need to. My house is on the corner.

And what would I need binoculars for? Their house is only a few yards from the road. Even if I wanted to watch them… I wouldn’t need binoculars for it. And I would think driving at the same time would be pretty difficult.

I don’t think I even own any binoculars.

And what a weird thing to complain about when they are literally the ones watching me. They watch me from their windows, they stand outside in the dark waiting for me to get home from work. And apparently that’s OK.

Lady. Lady. Lady…. lady. Lady. Do you live in your own little world?

I guess she just assumed that since she was so obsessed with me, I must be obsessed with her.

That’s… that’s not how anything works.

I know in an previous video I called out Toony as a viewer,  

(replay joke)

But that was obviously a JOKE. I don’t expect him to ever actually watch this. And I don’t expect he’d have the self-awareness to recognize himself if he did.

But Loony, Loony really thought I had nothing better to do stalk her, or at leas that’s what she was claiming to think on Facebook for whatever relatives of hers that would see it.

I have no idea why she wrote those things. It could be she was just lying for attention, just making it up out of nothing. For what reason, I have no idea.

Or It could be that she was truly delusional, and genuinely believed her own words. It’s possible she was suffering from very real paranoia.

I think the difference between her paranoia and mine is that I actually did have crazy, hostile neighbors.

Whereas Luna had a neighbor who wanted nothing to do with her. I’d be happy to pretend she didn’t exist. If she and Toony ever quit their nonsense, that would be the end of it.

Yet here she was, pretending it was the other way around.

Now. I don’t really care about the unflattering and untrue things she was saying about me on her page. They were absolutely insane, yes, but were not really harassment like standing around in the dark screaming at me when I get home. It’s her page. She can write what she wants. I don’t have to read it.

What I did care about though were the references she kept making in her rants to the day I’d ‘get what was coming to me.’ She said multiple vague threatening sounding things along those lines in a number of her posts about me.

So, yeah… I was right about this pattern of escalation. This nutjob clearly intended to do me harm eventually. As she said herself, it was only a matter of time.

To make matters worse is her Facebook friends and family believed her, and wanted involved. Maybe they’re similarly crazy people, or maybe they were actually decent folks but, since they only had her crazy words to go on, got a very wrong impression of the actual situation.

Either way, this was really concerning when a number of these people left comment son her rants, offering to come ‘deal with me,’ and asking Loony for my information, my name, where I lived.

Ok, so that angry internet strangers at my house metaphor I used earlier had a strong chance of becoming a lot more real than I thought. There were now strangers volunteering to physically come to my home to physically punish me for things the Feckwads were making up.

This is bad. This is real bad.

I didn’t know what to do. I was completely sickened by what I saw. I knew I never wanted look at her page again. I just wanted to close the page and never think of it again.

But… forgetting what I saw wouldn’t make it go away. The danger still existed.

And now it wasn’t just the neighbors I had to worry about. This witch has and an army of flying monkeys to send at me. Any random stranger on the block could have been with Loony and I had no way of knowing.

At this point in my life, I was already dealing with a lot of problems. And I really, really, really did not need this.

I was now alone most of the year, with my boyfriend away at work in another country. I didn’t really have any friends or family nearby. Not much of a social life to speak of. Even at work I was largely isolated. Being a security guard, I was often the only person in the entire building.

My only regular human contact was decidedly negative, which made me withdraw more.

It was like when you burn your hand, you don’t want to reach out again.

And now even had to worry about random strangers at my door.

As I mentioned before, my work schedule was inhuman. I’d work morning, day, and night shift all within the span of a week. Sometimes, these would be 12-hour shifts with only 8-hours off in between. I never had a consistent sleep times.

And when I tried to sleep, I was kept awake by daytime noises, just the unease of being alone, and by having unstable neighbors who liked to sneak around near my house at night.

The work schedule and lack of sleep weren’t great for my grades. I was, of and on, taking classes full time. Or, I was trying to, but concentration was hard. I ended up getting sick and as a result of everything, failed an important class.

My dog got sick, needing medication multiple times per day. Then my cat got sick, and needed emergency surgery. I’d drag myself half asleep to vet appointments, try to find ways to make medication times fit work hours, setting alarms to wake myself up in the few hours I could sleep to give meds, and worried constantly about how I was going to pay for it all.

I spent most of my time indoors. The construction of our homes was very much not in my favor. The way they were designed, the neighbors could easily see from their windows when I was outside. Their bedroom window had a clear view over my fence and into my back yard. And their kitchen widow could see my driveway, so they always knew when I came or left. If they saw me outside, they’d shout from their windows or even come outside to confront me.

But my windows minded their own business. I couldn’t see their property from inside my house they way they could see mine. So I had no way of knowing if they were out there until I was already out my door. I had no way of avoiding them.

So I just. Stayed inside. I was exhausted anyway.

That garden project I wanted to start? Not happening now that my yard isn’t a relaxing place to be anymore.

My dog wants to play, but she’ll have to settle for chasing the ball inside.

The grass is getting long, but I can only manage a section at a time before I’m interrupted.

Eventually, it got hard to find the motivation to do much of anything at all. I hardly even saw the sun anymore.

I’m not saying that the neighbors alone pushed me to seriously google symptoms of depression. They weren’t that powerful, and I wouldn’t want to give them too much credit. I probably would have been feeling generally pretty low anyway.

But they were an extra source of stress that I did not need on top of everything else, and contributed to making my existing troubles worse.

I mush have looked pretty pathetic. I don’t care much for malls, but I dragged myself to one one day, and I wasn’t even sure why. I guess I just wanted to be away from my house. I bought a pair of pants I didn’t need just to justify the trip. This cashier, I didn’t even know her, came around the corner and hugged me. I didn’t tell her anything, but I guess she just knew I needed it.

I should be able to feel safe in my home, but this was stolen from me. I worried about what might come next. Maybe they’d damage my property. Maybe they’d hurt my dogs. Maybe they’d attack me in my driveway or break into my home. Maybe they’d send a stranger after me.

I couldn’t know.

But what I did know, is that I couldn’t live with this. No. I wouldn't live like this. I refused.