In the mid 1970s, I was one of the first U.S. Army female tractor-trailer drivers stationed in Germany.
I transferred out of the 3rd Platoon because my sergeant and I didn’t get along. He was of the belief that females should be barefoot and pregnant.
In 2nd Platoon, I asked my new sergeant if I could do the mail run to Belgium. I was told no, because the Army only had male mail guards, and to save money on hotel rooms they sent a male driver and guard.
Later I found out that our group had its own room at the hotel, so I was allowed to make a Belgium run. We were paid extra because there were no mess halls where we were going. But I would have driven there for free. If you were on the Belgian side and it was a holiday, you were paid double, due to the borders being closed to truck traffic.
The runs on the German side had to wait until after the holiday before heading to Belgium.
I drove to the mail place to pick up the mail guard and mail trailer. We stopped at the embassy in Bonn, which was the capital of West Germany. We drove into Luxembourg, Holland and then Brussels, Belgium. We passed a Waterloo sign and I began hearing “Waterloo,” the song by ABBA, in my head.
On the way we also passed the impressive Supreme Head Quarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) building.
After dropping off the mail trailer we went and checked in at our hotel, which was very modern with a lounge, restaurant, outdoor swimming pool and gift shop.
The guard and a hotel worker wanted me to take them into Brussels so they could go partying. I said no, either they could call a taxi or party at our hotel. I didn’t want to ruin it for another female to be able to do the run.
The guard and I went to the hotel restaurant and ordered dinner. He ordered “steak tartare,” not knowing that is a pound of raw hamburger meat with a raw egg in a bowl on top and condiments on the side. I ordered a rich, thick Belgian stew.
Our server brought out the steak tartare, and the guard’s face paled when he saw the raw meat. The guard told the server he wanted it cooked.
A couple of minutes later, the server came back out with the meat browned. I told the guard that it would take more than a few minutes to cook the meat through, but he didn’t believe me.
We went back to his room to eat dinner. The steak was still raw. He went back to the restaurant. I went to my room.
When I got back to base in Germany, my sergeant asked me how things went. I gave details of the drive and described how clean the people were — including that the hotel had a room with a toilet and sink, and another room with a bathtub and place to wash your feet before getting into the tub.
The sergeant’s face turned bright red. He then had to explain to a small-town girl what a bidet was.
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