There’s something really nice about having clean clothes. It’s really one of those things you take for granted until you don’t have it. The first time I didn’t have clean clothes was in the Army. It’s one of those things they put you through that’s supposed to show you how much worse war will be than the comfy life you grew up with. At the end of Basic Training they take you out to the field for a whole week. The drill sergeants play the opposing force (OPFOR in Army lingo) and it’s basically a week of no sleep with the same people that have made your life hell for almost three months continuously fucking with you.
And you have only what you pack for clean clothes. You have to carry what you pack.
See the dilemma?
So I basically hated my life that entire week. I spent so much time in and out of my protective mask that I just started wearing it to bed at night to be on the safe side. I slept with my rifle after someone lost theirs to drill sergeant trickery. I jumped into the mud when one particularly sleep deprived, and terrifying, drill sergeant ordered me under a line of barb wire. And I rationalized that my uniform did not smell as bad as I thought.
It actually smelled worse.
I now appreciate hot showers and clean laundry like you wouldn’t believe. Try wearing the same clothes for a week and you will, too.
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