Hoarders, Unite!, or, Speculation and Conjecture

The thing about being in a small community, whether a small town or a small military base (and we are both), people tend to feed off each other's energies and gossip can fuel hysteria.

A few months back I wrote about how the ridiculousness of waiting a week for bacon to arrive on the barge is what unites people here in Gitmo.

Waiting for the barge to bring groceries, clothes, cleaning supplies, gardening supplies, not to mention household goods and automobiles, is a sport of sorts here. People actually post on the roster or facebook page when coveted items (block cheese! bread!) show up at the Commissary. So in light of the recent horrific news that the barge had 22 containers that fell into the Atlantic and are unable to be salvaged, the irony of the famous Gitmo saying "It's on the Barge" hasn't been lost on anyone. At first, it was kind of preposterous---seriously, how can so many containers fall off a barge? Then it got scary. How many people have been waiting for their household goods for months, and now they are chewing their nails to the quick, waiting to see if all their worldly belongings have been destroyed? The news has been slow as to what exactly was on the barge. Again, more gossip, more hysteria.

In the haste of moving here in less than a month, we brought things that, in hindsight, should have been left with family members back in the States. As I have been busy in the never-ending quest to downsize and simplify, simplify, simplify, I have not been able to part with sentimental items. I would be crushed if I lost my favorite stuffed animal from childhood, or a necklace my grandparents gave me for college graduation, or the portrait on my dresser of my grandfather and five of his brothers in Newhebron in the early 1900s,  posing in their best clothes (some of them barefooted)---it's proof of roots, as my mom likes to say.  All those items and more are part of who I am, and remind me of people and places I miss. I can't imagine the agony those folks feel, waiting for news about their own sentimental things.

In yet another case of gossip-fed hysteria, I wish I could say that panic didn't set in for me when I realized how dire the situation is if we don't get any shipments of groceries, dry goods, clothes, and everything else, but I found myself joining dozens of other people, grabbing toilet paper, eggs, bottled water, and other necessities that we may go weeks without seeing. Usually we are a civilized lot---you see 2 cartons of eggs left, you take one. This time, people were going for it---I saw people with several boxes of cereal, cases of beer, multiple bags of dog food, etc. I wish I could say the community has faith that the Commissary will pull through and has enough items in reserve in case of a shortage, but the weekly empty shelves here tell another story.

And yet MORE news. . .

I have several people asking me weekly now about the sequestration and furloughs.

Am I going to be furloughed? Maybe. Probably. Most definitely. Not a chance.

It depends on who you ask, what's happened with Congress that day (stop laughing), and what kind of mood everyone is in.

Add the speculation and conjecture about furloughs to the gossip mill. So many of us here are government employees of one type or another, and thought of going 22 days without pay is not fun for anyone. And misery loves company, so you have to avoid the glass-half-empty folks while managing to keep your head out of the sand.  (How is that for mixing metaphors?)

It is what it is. So it goes. I'm just going to keep on running (hate it! HATE it!) and hopefully let the stress melt away.

Speaking of running---the youngest and I did a Dr. Seuss 1 mile Run Fun at the North Gate last weekend. The North Gate is the point where a select few Cubans who were allowed to continue working here used to enter US territory after the fence (and embargoes) became the norm. The last 2 Cubans retired in December to much fanfare---they were celebrities here of sorts---and it is now just another relic of the Cold War. We ran on the fence line and I couldn't help but wonder what the heck the Cuban guards only yards away in their guard towers thought about us in our Dr. Seuss costumes. I wonder if Cubans know about Dr. Seuss. Hopefully, that's not on the banned reading list or considered dirty American propaganda---although who knows. I have to say, after reading Dr. Seuss books to several classes all week, I feel like I've been through a government run brainwashing program. (I have to contain myself and not scream lines such as, "I do not like them on a boat! I do not like them with a goat!" at random moments. I need a Dr. Seuss de-tox, Sam-I-Am).

I am also signed up for a 5K this weekend. Woot! Cross your fingers that I don't fall into the Bay or whatever. I really don't even know where it is. Nobody does. We are bused from the Downtown Lyceum to the super-secret route, which will be revealed on race day.

Expect the unexpected---and make sure you tell everyone about it. Welcome to Gitmo!

Postscript: just read from an official source (yes, really) that the containers on the barge had NO personal goods (yay!), but did contain items bound for the NEX/Commissary (boo!). So no regrets for hoarding!!!