Two hats

So, there I was...

(Where the hell were you?)

... sitting with two of my coworkers in the DFAC last night, choking down whatever gruel they had served up, when a soldier walks up to our table, reaches under the table cloth (really plastic) at the end of the table just to my left, and pulls out his hat. He said he had forgotten it, and--apparently noticing the quizzical looks on our faces--commented that it's where he keeps his hat while he's dining (his secret stash, as he called it). We all muttered a cacophony of huh's and hmm's and oh-I-see's, thinking it was kinda weird, but whatever worked for him was fine with us. Besides, we'd all seen stranger things around here. Who were we kidding? Most things around here are strange.

The soldier left, and we went back to our meals.

The conversation had finally regained its previous flow, and about 10 minutes had passed when another soldier--apparently completely unknown to the first--reaches under the table plastic at the other end of the table, and pulls out his hat. After we stopped laughing at this bizarre repeat performance, we all paused, seemingly on cue, and pondered the possibility that we'd just been punked. Hat 1 was weird, but Hat 2 had to be a setup. I began looking for Allen Funt.

Now pause for a moment and consider where those hats were: beneath a covering on a table that has seen years and years of food spillage, together with all the dust and dirt that pervades this place. Maybe it's just me, but you'd think the Army would have dedicated a few precious moments during basic training to explain to these fine, young Grunts the storage opportunities afforded by the innumerable pockets scattered all over their uniforms.

Then again, maybe I'm just talking out of my hat.