I may have acquired a nickname. We were all lodged in WWII barracks on one side of the fort, preparing to head over to the other side to meet the bus to the airport. Since I was one of the few organic personnel staying there, I was partially responsible for helping run things. So shortly before we got things in gear, it happened to my knowledge that we didn't have the bus keys. Damnit.

Solution: Do two shuttle trips in the van, all the way across our sprawling base. But that meant we were behind schedule. I got the keys from the LT, hustled the passengers into the van and took off. Yeah, I was traveling well above the posted limit. But damnit, I needed to make mission. I take it personally when things I'm involved in fail. Of course, just before we hit the gate, the mission failed anyways on account of a blacked-out MP that just had to be sitting there. Lights flash. Well shit. I guess I should've expected it, since it was Friday night. Lots of drunk, dumb soldiers out there on Friday night. Lots of quotas just waiting to be made. (On the trip back and the next drop-off, I saw at least three sets of lights flashing.)

I got off without a ticket. We were all in uniform, in a GSA vehicle. I guess the guy knew I had (reasonable) cause. But obviously, I kept to the limit the rest of the way. Nonetheless, there's a bunch of guys now calling me "Speed Racer." There's definitely worse things I could be called.