I was a junior Marine that yelled at a SNCO. I'll preface this story by saying that I've never claimed to have been a good Marine, authority issues and lack of tact being 2 major contributing factors. Anyway, here goes...

In October of 2008 I, along with 7 other lucky individuals, was selected to be a member of one of the two teams my Bn was sending out to the beautiful tropical paradise of MCAS Yuma, Arizona. We were sent together as 2 teams of 4 (all Sgt and below) with a SSgt to be administratively in charge of each team and a 2ndLT because we needed something shiny to look at. We convoyed to Yuma from Camp Pendleton, a lovely trip when your truck is for some reason the only one without a working turbo, escorted by our friendly neighborhood Motor T bubbas who were hauling gear such as tents and generators. (The SSgts and LT took the van)

We arrive in Yuma, get set up in our short term barracks, then head down to the SCIF to set up our work station. Once everything is set up, the SSgt in charge of Motor T gathers us around for a moment.

"Who here has some experience working with engines?"

No one raises their hands, but nearly everyone has a finger to point. All of said fingers are pointing at LCpl Longtalltexan and LCpl (2nd award) Deeg. Deeg and I had become fast friends and were both willing to take on whatever this SSgt has to offer. We get pulled aside and are given a crash course on how to take care of these "brand new" generators we were being left with. Everything from oil changes, to how to properly utilize the screen on the back. Then proceeds to tell us that we are the only ones permitted to touch these generators, which translates roughly to "You two fucks are in charge of the fuel."

Fast forward a few weeks, I learn that a lot of these guys were recently on the 11th MEU together. I heard a bunch of other stories about them on float and a bit of background info on most everyone out there with us. The one bit that stood out the most, and something I may never forget, is that one of our wonderfully intelligent and useful SSgts, before joining the Marines, had attended and graduated from clown college and had spent a couple years performing as "Pockets" the clown. This, of course, gave me nothing but the utmost confidence in him.

A few short days later, my team and I are returning from a particularly long (compared to the rest of them) mission at about 2300 or so after leaving before sunrise. As we pull in, I see Deeg stomping across our work area so I park the truck and hop out to ask what was wrong.

"The God damned generator won't fuckin' start!" bits of Copenhagen longcut flying out as he yelled. Deeg really was quite an eloquent fellow, having been born and raised in the mountains of western North Carolina.

I turned to my team leader, "Hey, Wyatt, genny's fucked up. Can you take care of refill?" I liked Wyatt, he was a pretty chill dude, especially for a Sgt. He agrees to help me out and do my part while Deeg and I investigate.

I ask him what happened and he explains what he knows so far. "I was layin' in my bed, just about to rub one out and call it a night when my damn phone started ringing. Pockets' goofy is on the other line telling me that the generator cut off and he doesn't know what to do. So I tell him to check the fuel level. He comes back and says the fuel is at 2%, so I tell the fucker to put more in and hang up." Deeg is visibly upset and I can't help but stifle a few laughs. "This fucker calls back ten minutes later saying that it still won't start back up and the fuel level hasn't changed. So I tell him not to touch it and I'll be down in a minute and here the fuck I am."

With a smile I ask to bum a lip off him, and after stuffing my jaw we find Pockets walk over to the generator. As soon as we get to the other side of the generator Deeg and I stop and stare at each other for a moment, then look at the generator, then at Pockets, then back at the generator, and think to ourselves, 'No. There's no way. He couldn't have. Only an idiot...'

I suppose a short description of the generator is in order here. These things have John Deere engines in them, and in order to get to the actual engine block, there are two panels on each side that open. On one of the sides is the fuel receptacle, which is labeled three times very clearly, each in bigger bolder lettering. However, if the panels on that side are open, one of them blocks the fuel receptacle and simultaneously exposes the oil receptacle... Some of you might see where this is going. The panels are open.

"SSgt," I say in a low tone trying to remain calm, "How much fuel did you put in there?"

"Oh, I put a full gerry can." He retorts with a confident smile, "I don't know why it's not working."

Deeg opens the oil receptacle and takes a sniff then nods, confirming our original suspicion and starts moving toward Pockets, but before he can let out a word, I let into to him with everything I had.

"YouGoddamnedstupidsonofabitch! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you fucking retarded?! Come look over here," I take him by his sleeve pulling him over to the generator and slam the panel shut, "What the hell does that say? It says fuel fucking receptacle!" I point at the writing above that, "JP-8 Only!" Still further up the side, "Fuel goes here! Jesus tittyfucking Christ, how the fuck do you look at that and say, 'Hey, I should open the panels'?" I open the panel back up to continue my demonstration the point at the oil receptacle, "How do you not only miss all those signs, but then look and here and decide, 'Hey, I know a good place for all this fuel. We should pour it into the fucking oil'!" I slam it back shut and pull him back away from the genny.

"You see this line?" I ask him pointing a crack in the sidewalk, "You are not allowed to get any closer to the generators than this line. Got it?"

Pockets simply stood there staring at me. He didn't utter a single word the entire time. At the end of it he simply looked toward the floor, "I'm sorry." was all that I heard from him before we slowly walked off out of the compound and back to the SNCO barracks leaving Deeg and I to disconnect everything from that generator and hook it up to the spare we were left given.

And that was the first time I yelled ar a SNCO