When I went to Pensacola to photo school, I got sent to the mess hall to fill in the time until my class formed up. It was supposed to be for only a week or two, ended up being a month or two.

We slept in a bunkroom in the same building, because we needed to be up at 0330 to get breakfast started. I don't think we had any days off all the time I was there.

All we temporary, cheap help did was fill the milk dispenser, make the coffee, swab the decks, operate the institutional toaster and scrub down the griddles after meals.

The MAA's would bring in the prisoners from the brig ahead of the regular meal schedule, get them fed and out of there before everyone else showed up. They weren't allowed to speak to or otherwise interact with anyone else.

There was a second class commissaryman who bunked in the bunkroom with us, his name was Yancey. I think maybe he was supposed to be petty-officer-in-charge. Scuttlebutt had it that he'd been a chief at one time, but got busted down to 2nd class. We each had two lockers for uniforms and personal belongings. One of Yancey's was usually about a third full of empty Smirnoff vodka bottles. I never saw anyone who had it as bad as he did. Every morning, before he got out of his rack, he'd reach over to his locker closer to the rack and pull out a fresh quart bottle of Smirnoff's. While still in the rack, propped up on one elbow, he'd chug half of that quart bottle, then he'd shake his head and swing around to put his feet on the floor. He'd then chug the second half and the empty would go in the locker where the empties went. He'd then reach in for another full one and, sitting on the edge of his rack, chug half of it before standing up. He'd work on the remainder of that bottle the rest of the morning, drinking from his coffee cup with just enough coffee to color the vodka. One morning, he wasn't there, he'd never come in the night before. Next time we saw him was a few days later in the brig line. He had a bare spot on the sleeve of his chambray dungaree shirt where his 2nd class crow had been. He'd been busted down to E-1. Amazing schitt for a young guy from rural Northern New York to see.

Mathew 22: 37-39