The following is an actual report submitted periodically by an active duty sailor (don't know who, wish I did). These are important, official safety reminders and get wide distribution among all services. My personal fav is para. E.
Note: ORM stands for Operatronal Risk Managemanet:
1. ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH, DEAR FRIENDS, ONCE MORE!
A. FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS YEAR THERE'S WORD OF SOME ORM-DEFICIENT BOOB TRYING TO OUTRUN THE FOON-BALL THAT RESULTS WHEN YARD WASTE, TREE LIMBS, GASOLINE, SAILORS, AND A LIGHTED MATCH ARE BROUGHT IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO ONE ANOTHER. THIS DUDE THOUGHT HE COULD BEAT THE ODDS BY SETTING A PIECE OF PAPER ALIGHT THEN THROWING IT INTO THAT VOLATILE PILE. LACKING A CROSSBOW AND A FLAMING ARROW, SON, THIS IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA. I AM
PRETTY SURE OUR HERO FINALLY REALIZED THAT AS HE RACED FOR THE SHOWER TO DOUSE THE FLAMES AND COOL THE BURNS WHILE HE WAITED FOR
THE AMBULANCE TO ARRIVE. NO NEED TRYING TO RUN, JACK. LIKE THUNDER, WHEN YOU HEAR THAT
"FOON!" IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE. MIGHT AS WELL STAND THERE AND TAKE YOUR FRYING LIKE A MAN.
B. SPEAKING OF DOING DUMB THINGS WITH BENZINA, CHECK THIS... A MARINE IS OUT IN THE GARAGE WORKING ON THE ENGINE OF HIS CAR
AND, TYPICAL OF ALL US SHADE-TREE MECHANICS, HE'S GOT NUTS AND BOLTS, PIECES OF WIRE, HOSES, AND ENGINE INNARDS SCATTERED EVERY
WHERE. BUT, JUST AS HE'S FINISHED WITH THE REPAIRS AND GETTING READY TO COMMENCE THE REASSEMBLY OF HIS WIDELY DISPERSED ENGINE, HE
LOOKS AROUND AND NOTICES THERE'S CRUD AND DEBRIS AND PUDDLES OF GASOLINE ALL OVER THE DECK.
"HMM," SAYS HE, "THE GASOLINE IS WET, BUT THE REST OF THE JUNK ON THE FLOOR IS DRY. WET ... DRY ... WET/DRY. THAT'S IT!" SO HE REACHES FOR THE HOSE, FLIPS ON THE SWITCH OF HIS WET/DRY VAC AND COMMENCES (AS OUR BRIT ALLIES WOULD SAY) TO "HOOVER" ALL THE TRASH AND THE LIQUID OFF THE GARAGE FLOOR. SURE AND IT'S A FINE JOB HE'S DOING, TOO. THE HARD STUFF IS RATTLING UP THE HOSE AND
DROPPING INTO THE LITTLE CLOTH FILTER INSIDE THE MACHINE JUST LIKE IT'S SUPPOSED TO. AND ... SO IS THE GASOLINE. EXCEPT THE GAS ISN'T SPENDING A LOT OF TIME IN THE FILTER.
NOPE. IT'S SOAKING THROUGH THE MATERIAL, DRIPPING OUT, AND POOLING UP IN THE BUCKET BELOW, WHICH IS THERE TO CATCH SOAPY WASTE AND RAIN WATER AND THE LIKE, DON'TCHA KNOW?
ANYWAY, IT'S LYING THERE IN A PUDDLE, SLOWLY CHANGING FROM A LIQUID TO A VAPOR ...FILLING THE BUCKET WITH A WISPY LITTLE CLOUD OF INVISIBLE FUMES WHICH SLOWLY FLOAT UPWARD TOWARD THE ELECTRIC MOTOR - WITH ALL ITS BRIGHT, HOT, LITTLE SPARKS. AND, WHEN THOSE
SPARKS AND THOSE VAPORS MET, MIXED AND EXPLODED, THERE ISSUED FORTH FROM THE BELLY OF THAT VACUUM CLEANER, A FOON-BALL THAT MADE MOUNT SAINT HELEN'S LOOK LIKE A STREET-LEGAL ROMAN CANDLE. THE BLAST PASTED THE TOP OF THE CANISTER TO THE OVERHEAD. IT COOKED OUR COMRADE. IT BURNED DOWN HIS GARAGE AND MELTED THE SEMI-DISASSEMBLED '94 CHEROKEE PARKED INSIDE LIKE IT WAS A TONKA TOY.
GRATUITOUS LESSONS-LEARNED FOLLOW: IF HENRY FORD HAD WANTED SOMETHING BENIGN TO POWER HIS FLIVVER, HE'D HAVE CHOSEN CRISCO.
GASOLINE IS A BOMB IN LIQUID FORM. TREAT IT AS SUCH. IT'S NOT A CLEANER. DON'T USE IT OR STORE IT IN YOUR HOME, GARAGE, OR SHED UNLESS YOU DON'T CARE IF THOSE THINGS BLOW UP AND BURN TO THE GROUND AND TAKE YOU, YOUR FAMILY, YOUR CAR, OR (GOD FORBID) YOUR RIDING MOWER, WITH THEM.
AND ... OH YES. IF YOU SNIFF IT, HUFF IT, OR INHALE IT, IT'LL TURN YOUR BRAIN INTO CREAM OF WHEAT AND OTHER PEOPLE WILL HAVE TO
WIPE YOUR NOSE AND CLEAN THE SPITTLE OFF YOUR CHIN FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE.
BUT, ASIDE FROM THOSE FEW MINOR DETRACTORS, IT'S A PRETTY GOOD WAY TO POWER AN INTERNAL COMBUSTION ENGINE.
skipped C and D
E. AS HE STOOD IN THE LONG, UNMOVING LINE WAITING TO GET INTO THE NIGHT CLUB, IT BECAME INCREASINGLY CLEAR TO THE YOUNG ENSIGN
THAT THERE WAS NO WAY THE DOUBLE RATION OF THE COLONEL'S EXTRA-GREASY HE'D JUST CONSUMED WAS GOING TO STAY WHERE HE PUT IT.
CRAMPS, A GROWLING STOMACH, AND EXTREME DISTRESS IN THE LOWER TRACT, WERE ALL POINTING TO THE NEAR-TERM ONSET OF A CLASS ALPHA PERSONAL EMERGENCY. HE MUST DO SOMETHING AND DO IT FAST!
THRUSTING HIS HANDS DEEP INTO HIS POCKETS, HE GRASPS HIS KEYS, SPINS OUT OF LINE, AND BOLTS FOR HIS CAR. TEARING DOWN THE
MIDNIGHT-DARKENED STREET LIKE A SCALDED DOG, HE KNOWS HIS ONLY HOPE FOR SALVATION LIES IN QUICKLY GETTING TO A GAS STATION HE'D DRIVEN
PAST ON HIS WAY TO THE CLUB. WITH HIS POSTURE AND HIS PACE ALTERNATING BETWEEN THAT OF A SPRINTER AND A RACE-WALKER, HE TRIES TO KEEP HIS MIND FOCUSED ON SOMETHING OTHER THAN HIS BOWELS BY MENTALLY COMPUTING THE RATIO BETWEEN DISTANCE-TO-GO VERSES PRESSURE-INCREASE.
THEN, JUST AS HE FELT ALL WAS LOST, SUDDENLY HE SPIES A SHORTCUT AND, WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT, SWERVES RIGHT AND PLUNGES INTO A PITCH-BLACK ALLEY THAT HE'S SURE WILL CUT HIS DISTANCE-TO-GO IN HALF. ALAS, THE ONLY THING CUT WAS HIS KNEECAPS AS HE CRASHED INTO A SECURITY CHAIN SWINGING LOW, UNLIT AND UNSEEN ACROSS THE ALLEY IN THE DARK.
NOT ONE WORD IN THE REPORT ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THE ENSIGN HIT THE CHAIN, FLIPPED IN THE AIR, DID A FLYING SQUAT-LOOPER AND CRASHED FACE DOWN IN THE GRIT AND GRIME OF THE UNLIT ALLEY. ONLY THE COLD, UNCOMPROMISING FACTS: BROKEN ELBOW, CHIPPED TEETH AND ALLEY RASH ON HIS CHIN. LEAVING US TO SPECULATE AND GRIMACE AT THE PROSPECT OF AN INVARIABLY UNSATISFACTORY OUTCOME WHEN AGGRESSIVE FERMENTATION AND BOYLE'S LAW COME INTO DIRECT CONFLICT WITH THE HIGH "G" FORCES GENERATED BY A NOCTURNAL GYMNASTIC ROUTINE.
2. THAT'S ALL WE HAVE TIME FOR TODAY, MY FRIENDS. BE SURE AND KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE WELFARE OF YOUR FELLOW MAN AS THESE BRIGHT, BRITTLE DAYS OF AUTUMN GIVE WAY TO THE DARKNESS AND THE BITTER COLD OF WINTER.
UNTIL THE NEXT TIME, BE GOOD TO ONE ANOTHER. WE'LL SEE YOU SOON.//
[This message has been edited by Thud (edited 04-13-2001).]
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