The Dirty ‘Deid’ Part 2: The Side of Myself (and Others) I Couldn’t Believe

The Dirty ‘Deid’ Part 2: The Side of Myself (and Others) I Couldn’t Believe

Living in a trailer at Al Udeid means adapting - quickly. The first couple of weeks, thanks to the unforgiving heat and mandatory hydration, you find yourself needing to pee constantly. While the golden rule is "don't piss in bottles," let’s be real—everyone did it. The problem? Those bottles are tiny. If you really had to go, it took at least three, meaning precision was key. But then came the real challenge: hiding them. Room inspections or unexpected visitors could turn an innocent hydration habit into an embarrassing discovery. I won’t say who did what, but let’s just say I witnessed plenty of people strategically pouring their piss missiles into the rocks or casually tossing them into the dumpster on their way to work.

The smell? Unreal. Walking past certain rooms, the stench of body odor and stale urine could knock you back a step. Some people turned their trailers into miniature fast-food wastelands—crumbs coating everything, abandoned cereal bowls still holding their last sip of milk. I’m not judging, just reporting. Back home, most of us lived normal lives, kept clean spaces, and had actual dignity. But here? The relentless grind and exhaustion stripped away the will to care.

Then came the great “get-ripped” obsession. Upon arrival, nearly everyone launched into an intense muscle-building regime. The chow hall catered to the gains: three chicken breasts per meal, six hard-boiled eggs, unlimited chocolate milk—a protein-lover’s paradise. There was even a store selling workout supplements, ensuring the dream stayed alive. But dreams had consequences. The base had a constant cloud of rotten-egg protein farts hanging in the air. Bathrooms at work? A biohazard zone.

Speaking of bathrooms, the stall graffiti deserved its own art exhibit. Some of the best dirty jokes and cartoon sketches I’ve ever seen were scrawled across those walls. Dicks. Everywhere. Comedy gold covering every surface. It got so bad that leadership had to assign people to check stalls before and after each use—which, given the bathroom stench, had to be one of the worst jobs imaginable.

And then—showers. Absolute horror. During week one, showering was less about hygiene and more about sheer survival. You had to wear shower shoes, but even then, the drains were perpetually clogged. That meant standing ankle-deep in a mystery concoction of hair, sweat, toenails, and other unidentifiable fluids. At first, every shower felt like a test of mental endurance. But strangely, as time passed, you started to accept the filth—even enjoy it. Sometimes, while drying off, you’d lose balance, put a foot down, and suddenly, bam—a random toenail stuck to your sole. Good times.

**GROSS - Gunky Rancid Oily Sweaty Stinkhole**