The year was 2004, the place, Iraq.
We worked 12 hour shifts (sometimes more) 6 days a week, so midday chow was the thing to look forward to. It was the event. We’d pile into our squadron’s white pick-up trucks or bread trucks—yes, you read that correctly.
Bread trucks.
I don’t know if a bread truck vendor donated a bunch of them or what, but we had them, and they had been painted white to match the pick-up trucks. Hey, it was a truck that could haul stuff!
Anyway, we’d pile into them. On this particular day, it was a pick-up truck. We climbed in the bed of it; flack vests, helmets, and all, and prepared for the excitement of lunch.
As it went down the dusty roads, a spring-like breeze drifted over us. We couldn’t believe how nice and cool it was. We kept asking ourselves, how hot was it? It couldn’t be more than 80!
We had a thermostat in one of our buildings that recorded inside and outside temps (see above pic). Temperatures would get upwards of 120 degrees, so on our way back, we made a game of guessing the number. Most of us guessed in the 80s.
Ready for the big reveal? Want to make a guess yourself?
It was exactly 100 degrees.
100 on the dot.
* Footnote:
I scoured my old digital photos for something hotter, sadly I either didn’t think to snap a pic until it was too late, or I took it on my disposable camera and the photo is buried in a photo album somewhere. But this was the norm even though some days it was 120.
The nice, breezy 76 degrees inside was for the benefit of our equipment (it had to be kept cool).
The ticks you see on the wall were left by a previous Airman. They ticked each day they were there. I guess they weren’t having a good time.
