Unless you’ve been around and about the Camp LeJeune Base for years, you’re bound to get lost looking for specific buildings. That’s a statement that automatically seals my fate. I have the worst sense of direction. It’s a running joke in my family that I could get lost in a paper bag with a flashlight. When Evan and I were dating, as short as that was, his very first gift to me became my second best friend in the world – Garmin (aka, a gps system). That should tell you something right there. April of last year, Evan was gone for some training op (surprise, surprise) and I was left the task of going to the Tax Center to take care of our tax returns. I was so excited about having this responsibility, because it meant that I would be going on base all by my self, and it wasn’t just to go to the Commissary. I looked up the address of the base tax center, hopped in the car, and plugged the address in my Garmin. Little did I know that gps systems will only take you to the base, but that’s the farthest it will get you. I thought the thing was broken when I went through the front gate, and then all of a sudden the little car on the screen looked like it was driving in the middle of nowhere. Garmin, in her annoying monotone voice, kept saying, “Please make a U-turn. Make a U-turn. U-turn!”

“I can’t!” I screamed back. I can only imagine what the people in the cars next to me were thinking. To punish Garmin, I turned her off. Then, the freak-outs started to begin. Where in the world is the tax center? How am I supposed to find it?! I only know how to get to the Commissary! I could ask someone. No! They would know I’m a newbie. I need to stay in the car. Oh, I wish Evan was here! *gasp!* We’re never going to get our tax return money and it will be all MY fault! And so on… Before I drove much farther, a bright idea occurred to me. I decided to turn Garmin back on, just in case. Bing! The little car on the screen suddenly started driving on real roads again. So, apparently you can’t turn the gps on until you actually get on base. Happy again, I started singing with the radio as Garmin smoothly took me around a corner and down a street to… a lot between two buildings, neither of which were the tax center. That alone ruined my relationship with Garmin. The buildings’ numbers were somewhat in the same general range, so I decided I would hoof it. I grabbed what I needed and exited the car. I started down one end of the street, peering very hard at the buildings, looking for a tell-tale sign. I probably looked like a suspicious stalker. When that end of the street produced nothing, I turned around and walked the other way. Somehow along the way, I got lost and found myself in the middle of a bunch of barracks buildings. Marines who were standing around and chatting stared at the poor lost woman as I walked by. Instead of asking me if I needed help (which I obviously did), they just continued to watch. I felt like they were waiting for me to do something exciting. Nothing exciting about a lost woman wandering aimlessly, people! Look away! Look away! After about twenty minutes of walking in circles, I was still lost. I felt my face get hot with embarrassment and anger, as pregnancy hormones rushed in. I whipped out my phone and began feverishly texting Evan. I was an anxious, tired, emotional, hormonal, sweaty, feet-hurting, pregnant wife. You can imagine how happy and nice those text messages were.

After what seemed like hours, I finally found the car again. I yanked open the door, threw down my purse, and slammed the door shut. “I’m never agreeing to do something on base ever again!” I said out loud to no one. As I started heading back down the street in the direction I came, right at the corner that I had turned on sat a small building with a very large yellow sign that read, “Tax Center.” Humbled, I parked the car and gently pulled out my phone to recant all my messages to Evan. I learned some valuable lessons that day:

1. Never fully trust Garmin. She’s not always your best friend.

• Always call ahead for directions before going somewhere on base, but be sure to ask to talk to a female. No offense, but the male Marines give horrible directions.

• Don’t text your husband while under the influence of pregnancy hormones.

• The guy at the front desk couldn’t care less about your “getting lost” story.

For those unfamiliar with what the Commissary is, it’s the grocery store on base. Generally, they carry foods for outstanding prices, and if you have coupons, you can generate some pretty good steals. My first Commissary experience wasn’t too bad. It was our second week as a married couple, and I hadn’t gone there yet. All excited about this new way of life, I felt like I was missing out on an important aspect of the military lifestyle. So, I practically begged Evan to take me, and he did, to appease my curiosity and, I’m sure, to get me to shut up about it. It was just like any other grocery shopping trip, except I had to show my ID before buying anything. That seemed simple enough. I couldn’t wait to go again. But, because of how far we lived from base, we hardly shopped there. Several months later, while Evan was gone for some training, I decided to appease my eagerness and do a solo trip to the Commissary. There are three things I learned about the Commissary that day:

               1. Never go on a payday.
               2. Never go on a payday FRIDAY.
               3. Never go solo.

Having to go look for an available cart should have been my first clue. I found an abandoned one cock-eyed on the curb. Mumbling about “lazy people who can’t walk a few feet to put a cart away,” I yanked the cart up on the sidewalk and waddled my way into the building. (I was quite pregnant at this time.) The scene that unfolded before my eyes as those sliding doors opened forever changed the way I had viewed the Commissary up to that point. It was not the fun little grocery trip Evan and I had taken before. I wasn’t sure if I had walked through the doors of the Commissary or a chaotic circus. There were mothers juggling two carts (pushing one and pulling another), with kids hanging off the sides like little monkeys. There were people practically running down the aisles, barely able to keep a hold on their carts. I wanted to ask where the big give-away was.

I cautiously approached the first aisle, just to be barricaded from both directions. Both individuals stopped to look at things on the shelves. I would have gone around the one in front of me, except that the aisles weren’t big enough for double-wide carts. I was stuck. I turned to the items on the shelves next to me. Mmmm, goya beans. Not exactly what I had gone to the store for. Eh, might as well grab a can or two so I don’t look like a complete idiot. Once I was free, I dropped the cans off in another aisle. There was no way I was going back to the barricading bean aisle. I quickly realized the only way I was going to survive this shopping trip was to find everything as fast as possible and hope I got what I needed. I went to the back of the store to get some cream cheese. I saw a long line of people standing next to the pre-packaged cheese section, so I pulled my cart in amongst the people. Nobody was moving or even looking at the cheese. In fact, they were all glaring at me like I was some intruder. Confused, I looked at the lady in front of me and asked, “Excuse me, is there a line for the cheese or something?” The woman laughed, “No honey, this is the line for check-out.” I pulled out and went to the back of the line, figuring I could grab the cream cheese on my way past it.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I stared at the line in front of me. The line started at the zig-zag section in the front and wrapped all the way around the frozen foods side of the store to the back. Every person had a cart that was overflowing with groceries. I looked at my measly half-filled cart and groaned. As the line moved, I began seeing items that I had forgotten, across the way. I didn’t dare leave my cart or move at all, for fear of losing my spot. By the time I reached the front, an hour and a half had ticked past, and I had written out my to-do list for the next week and was mentally writing a petition to the Marine Corps for a separate check-out aisle for pregnant women.

Once I was free of that nonsense, I called Evan and said I’d never go there again. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Babe, you went on a payday Friday. That was probably the worst thing you could have done,” he laughed.

“Well, that would have been nice to know before I got my pregnant butt stuck in there for over two hours.”

Now, I always go to the Commissary on a non-pay weekday, with somebody.

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