The election night dump……….. An essay by William Marshall

This was the night of the hanging chads.  Remember that election?  Bush and Gore.  We were on Peason Ridge.  We had a rotation in town.  We had tuned into the local TV station on our Sincgars radios.  We were chatting about it on the radio.  Burnley was next to me, we had made a little OC parking off to ourselves.  It was raining like never before.  Of course, Its always rainy and muddy at Peason Ridge.  We were close to the drop zone but not on it. 

It had been dumping rain on us for about three hours and wasn’t supposed to stop until morning.  I noticed Burnley open his door and throw a trash bag out. I called him on the radio, I locked him up (that’s where we went one on one with our walkie talkie’s, nobody else could hear us).  “What was that?,” I asked.  “oh, had to take a dump, trash bag in an MRE box sleeve, threw the bag out.”  “Oh,” I replied.  Thought about Burnley’s tall self, trying to make all that happen in the back of his Humvee.  I guess he took care of the bag later. 

It was the election night dump.

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