Trump Bans Transgender People From Serving in the Military and I Ban Trump From Being My President
Temporarily stationed in Macedonia with U.N. Peacekeepers patrolling our red-tagged, barbed-wired barracks, I slept on a cot with a bare light bulb hanging overhead. At certain times of the day the bulb cast shadows that made me look like I had a beard. I brought my red fingernail polish and black seamed stockings and my female chaperone harrumphed me. She did not approve and I did not care. I wasn’t there for her; I was there for the troops.
I went overseas three times, tours in South Korea, Germany, Belgium, Macedonia, Serbia, Holland, Johnston Atoll, and Japan. First with the USO, and then with MWR, the entertainment division of the Army. For the trip to Serbia I was given the temporary rank of GS 15. My Army Colonel Dad was in real life a GS 14 and he laughed because I finally outranked him on something. A GS 15 allowed me to cut in line at the PX, although I never did.
After a day getting in and out of that Blackhawk pictured above and making pit stops at mountain top outposts, some with only 2 or 3 people, and all with a dog, we got trapped in a blinding snowstorm and it didn’t look like we were going to be able to land at one final outpost. We were over Hazard Pay country, Serbia, and you’re supposed to get more money for that, but no one told us so we didn’t get any more than we were contracted for.
“Do not advise to land, sir, do not advise,” said the copilot into the headset. I looked out the side door into a swirling mass of snow.
“How many flying hours have to got?”
“230, sir,” said the co-pilot.
“Well I have 2100 hours and we’re landing. See that dot down there? That’s where we’re going.”
I swear to God there was NO DOT but we landed safely. The pilot kept the chopper blades going as the other comedian and I braved the wind and snow and made it to the outpost. I say “braved” like we did something extraordinary. People reading this from Winnipeg are making fun of me right now. From my desk in Los Angeles I can hear them laughing.
After a few minutes of Where Are You Froms and How Long Have You Been Heres, the co-pilot ran in. “We have to go now, now! Now! The blades are starting to freeze and we won’t be able to get out.”
They’d attached a rope to the chopper door and the copilot made us hold on to the end of it and we were pulled in, heads down, unseeing, scared.
And we made it out.
Do you think I would have given a rat’s ass if the people in charge of my safety were transgender? How about they knew how to land a helo in inclement weather all to give their fellow soldiers some company on a lonely outpost in Serbia?
Fuck you, Donald Trump.
After the show that night, I went back to my quarters and found that sticky note on my door. I wanted to find the soldier and thank him. I took it to the post commander who said, “A soldier is a soldier, they don’t single themselves out for praise. It could have been anyone.”
Hooah.
