Learning my way around the post

This is a funny memory from my 1st week as an Army wife in Savannah, 4 years ago:

There were two gates from which you could enter and exit Hunter Army Airfield. In front of each, there was a single sign posted. It read: Heroes Live Here. Next to it flew a tiny American flag that someone had stuck in the grass. There were civilian security guards who worked at the gates and checked identification and DCALS (the military installation stickers that had to be affixed to your car’s windshield) as people came and went. People had to have proper identification and proof of auto insurance in order to be allowed through the gates if they did not have a military ID card. The first few times I drove on the post, I felt nervous; why, I wasn’t sure. I suppose it was all of the military’s formality: everything seemed so serious and so official, like handing someone your ID for entry. The first week I was there, I drove to the post to pick Max up from work (we shared his truck). I had my military ID all ready and with my window rolled down as I pulled up to the guard and handed it to him.

He looked at it, looked at me and said, pointing to his left, “Please pull right over there, Ma’am. We need to perform a vehicle check.”

A what?

Panicked, I slowly pulled the truck over to the lane where the soldiers in uniform were waiting.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, innocently, as I opened the tuck door and jumped out.

“No Ma’am,” one soldier replied, “This is a routine check.”

I stood there as they opened each door, opened each compartment, looked under the hood and in the back, checked around the tires and the gas cap. The whole thing took about eight minutes.

“Thank you Ma’am, you are all set,” the same soldier told me as he handed me my keys. I thought about making a joke about them not finding anything illegal, but looked at their serious expressions and their uniforms and decided to just get back in the truck. So I did.

“Thanks,” I called to the soldiers, as I started the truck and left to get Max, driving ever so slowly because I felt as though they were watching my every move.

Max assured me later that they were not.