Because I'm old(er) and I don't care anymore
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BourbonFromHeaven
First Post
Dagger75 said:
Oy
To true.
mac1504
Explorer
I was probably nineteen at the time and I was in the infantry. My unit just finished a live fire range (military excercise with real ammunition) and everyone was clearing their weapons for safety purposes when I yelled, "test fire!" (which is something you yelled before firing your weapon with blank rounds). I meant it as a bit of harmless humor.
Unbeknownst to me (but not my squad leader or lieutenant) there was a four star General (future Joint Chief) standing about 30 feet behind me. Actually the reports came in that the General was laughing, and my squad leader was turning five shades of red with steam coming out of his ears.
Unbeknownst to me (but not my squad leader or lieutenant) there was a four star General (future Joint Chief) standing about 30 feet behind me. Actually the reports came in that the General was laughing, and my squad leader was turning five shades of red with steam coming out of his ears.
billd91
Not your screen monkey (he/him) 🇺🇦🇵🇸🏳️⚧️
There are a few incidents that I remember, usually related to pyrotechnics of some sort.
We used to have semi-regular bottle rocket fights, using pvc pipe as firing tubes. We weren't too accurate, but hits were occasionally scored. What was worse was the backblast of sparks from the rocket. One night, a friend and I had taken cover behind an old pickup and suddenly noticed someone firing off their whole pack. We thought it was one of the other team firing off a salvo. Then we heard a different friend yell, "My jacket is a slag heap!" We returned with "Stuart, are you alright?" "Of course I'm not alright, I loved that jacket!"
Turns out, he had put the rest of his ammo in the breast pocket of his nylon jacket. The backblast of sparks had melted through his nylon and ignited the rest of the bottle rockets... in his pocket. Closer team mates of his said he was wildly gyrating and trying to beat out the flames. Fortunately, while the jacket was a loss, he was largely unhurt (physically, emotionally scarred, well....) aside from a few minor burns on his hand.
During another bottle rocket fight, we set the lawn on fire. It was a hot, dry summer and we were experimenting with smoke bombs as smoke grenades. But when they go off, they send out quite a flame and the lawn was too dry. We put it out with hoses but not before threatening the cultivated mushroom patch and getting in trouble.
We also used to play with model rocket engines but not so much the rocket models. We'd just attach the engines to arrows and fire them off. (Note to self: Multi-stages set up with lengths of fuse don't work well.) We learned quickly how to dive for cover. I'm still not sure how we avoided major injuries.
We used to have semi-regular bottle rocket fights, using pvc pipe as firing tubes. We weren't too accurate, but hits were occasionally scored. What was worse was the backblast of sparks from the rocket. One night, a friend and I had taken cover behind an old pickup and suddenly noticed someone firing off their whole pack. We thought it was one of the other team firing off a salvo. Then we heard a different friend yell, "My jacket is a slag heap!" We returned with "Stuart, are you alright?" "Of course I'm not alright, I loved that jacket!"
Turns out, he had put the rest of his ammo in the breast pocket of his nylon jacket. The backblast of sparks had melted through his nylon and ignited the rest of the bottle rockets... in his pocket. Closer team mates of his said he was wildly gyrating and trying to beat out the flames. Fortunately, while the jacket was a loss, he was largely unhurt (physically, emotionally scarred, well....) aside from a few minor burns on his hand.
During another bottle rocket fight, we set the lawn on fire. It was a hot, dry summer and we were experimenting with smoke bombs as smoke grenades. But when they go off, they send out quite a flame and the lawn was too dry. We put it out with hoses but not before threatening the cultivated mushroom patch and getting in trouble.
We also used to play with model rocket engines but not so much the rocket models. We'd just attach the engines to arrows and fire them off. (Note to self: Multi-stages set up with lengths of fuse don't work well.) We learned quickly how to dive for cover. I'm still not sure how we avoided major injuries.
Lessee...
- At age 13, was in the audience of "The Bart Starr Show" (a weekly TV show hosted by the then-coach of the Green Bay Packers), and asked an incredibly inane question during the Q&A segment. So, not only was I embarrassed in front of my friends (who were also in the audience), but I was embarrassed on TV across the entire state of Wisconsin.
- At age 15, kicked a hole in the wall in a fit of pique over losing a tabletop football game (APBA, if that game company means anything to any of you).
- At age 16, nearly rolled my dad's Jeep Wagoneer in a McDonald's parking lot, while driving sideways along an incline at the back of the lot.
- At age 13, was in the audience of "The Bart Starr Show" (a weekly TV show hosted by the then-coach of the Green Bay Packers), and asked an incredibly inane question during the Q&A segment. So, not only was I embarrassed in front of my friends (who were also in the audience), but I was embarrassed on TV across the entire state of Wisconsin.
- At age 15, kicked a hole in the wall in a fit of pique over losing a tabletop football game (APBA, if that game company means anything to any of you).
- At age 16, nearly rolled my dad's Jeep Wagoneer in a McDonald's parking lot, while driving sideways along an incline at the back of the lot.
sniffles
First Post
I still can't think of any embarrassing stories of my own - not that I never did anything embarrassing when I was under 21 (unless you count eloping with a guy 6 yrs. my senior whom I barely knew), but they're just not amusing embarrassing stories. 
I like this story, though, although it's actually embarrassing for someone else. When I was in 7th grade I was in "accelerated" English class, the class for the "smart" kids. Our teacher, Ms. Brown, was a crotchety old lady. I grew up in a small town in west Texas. In a neighboring small city a shopping mall had recently opened, which was a big deal for the people in my home town. Some of the wealthier farm families would take their kids out of school on a weekday to drive up to the mall. Ms. Brown hated it when they did that.
My father passed away that year. I was a bit of a tomboy and didn't own a dress my mother considered appropriate for funeral wear, so she took me and my sister out of school on a Friday to shop for funeral attire. On Monday I went back to school and Ms. Brown wanted to know where I'd been on Friday. I walked up to her desk and told her truthfully that I'd been out of school to shop for a dress. She demanded to know what occasion was so important I had to miss school to buy clothes for it. I calmly replied, "My father's funeral."
It was so gratifying to watch Ms. Brown sort of shrink down in her chair. I went back to my seat, all the other kids in the class staring at me in amazement, wondering what I could possibly have said to put a cork in the old lady.
I like this story, though, although it's actually embarrassing for someone else. When I was in 7th grade I was in "accelerated" English class, the class for the "smart" kids. Our teacher, Ms. Brown, was a crotchety old lady. I grew up in a small town in west Texas. In a neighboring small city a shopping mall had recently opened, which was a big deal for the people in my home town. Some of the wealthier farm families would take their kids out of school on a weekday to drive up to the mall. Ms. Brown hated it when they did that.
My father passed away that year. I was a bit of a tomboy and didn't own a dress my mother considered appropriate for funeral wear, so she took me and my sister out of school on a Friday to shop for funeral attire. On Monday I went back to school and Ms. Brown wanted to know where I'd been on Friday. I walked up to her desk and told her truthfully that I'd been out of school to shop for a dress. She demanded to know what occasion was so important I had to miss school to buy clothes for it. I calmly replied, "My father's funeral."
It was so gratifying to watch Ms. Brown sort of shrink down in her chair. I went back to my seat, all the other kids in the class staring at me in amazement, wondering what I could possibly have said to put a cork in the old lady.
Sebastian Francis
First Post
kenobi65 said:
Where do you think he got the idea from?
Rel
Liquid Awesome
billd91 said:
I've got plenty of these memories too including some centered around bottle rocket fights. But the one that came from my pre-21 days involved a friend (and fellow board member here)...
So we were around 15 and out for a night of minor mayhem (probably after having played a few hours of D&D). Another friend of ours had been experimenting with making a "kerosene bomb" and had brought along his contraption. It consisted of an empty mayonaise jar filled about 1/3 full with kerosene. The fuse stuck out the top and was a piece of scotch tape that he had patted onto loose gunpowder extracted from a few shotgun shells.
Having seen his share of Bugs Bunny cartoons, he knew that gunpowder burns at a nice leisurely rate so that somebody could light the fuse and then run away before the big explosion. The fuse was about 8 inches long.
Our friend who had designed this amazing device indicated that he would be happy to allow somebody else do the honor of lighting it. This task was taken up by pyromaniac and fellow ENWorlder, Speaks With Stone. He set the "bomb" down in the middle of a gravel parking lot and the rest of us backed away to "safe distance", which we estimated to be some 50 feet. Speaks With Stone then went off to light the bomb with his handy lighter.
The thing is this: Modern gunpowder does not behave like they show in the cartoons. It burns FAST. So fast in fact, that there was nothing at all like the amount of time that would have been necessary for Speaks to retreat to safe distance after lighting the bomb (or any significant distance for that matter). Instead the entirety of the fuse burnt in about 1/8 of a second and produced a flash that only managed to illuminate the shocked expression on Speaks' face and render the rest of our night vision ruined.
In the wake of this bright flash, we could see nothing. One thing that was certain was that the "bomb" had not gone off (it actually takes a fairly determined effort to ignite kerosene from my experience). The next thing we were aware of was the sound of fast approaching footsteps across the gravel and then a pause as Speaks leapt into the air and performed a flawless tackle on the would-be bomb-maker whom he pummeled for a few seconds citing the potential loss of his eyes and disfigurement of his face had the kerosene ignited as planned some fraction of a second after the fuse was lit.
We all went home after that, adrenaline pumping and resolved never to volunteer to light any homemade bombs again. I think we largely stuck to that resolution, depending on the precise definition of "bomb".
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