Surviving Barstool S4 Ep. 3 | Shocking Betrayal Rocks the TribesWATCH NOW

When I Had to, I Made a Fine Fucking Bed...

Michael Lavine. Shutterstock Images.

I was in high school from 1970-1974, and hands down, the most accurate depiction of that time period is "That 70's Show". After the football season ended, I went basement-to-basement getting stoned out of my gourd with friends while listening to some great music. My taste in music varied depending on who I was with and what I was doing. With my beer-guzzling friends who were jocks, it was all hard rock and with the stoners, it was Pink Floyd, King Crimson, and Jethro Tull.

Laurent Gillieron. Shutterstock Images.

My days became very predictable. After school I'd head over to a friend's house, party all afternoon, go home for supper, head out and party all night. There was absolutely no time for homework. When I got home I'd walk upstairs, go into my bedroom and immediately yank the bedspread off the bed. Once under the covers, I'd kick the sheet and blanket hard enough to untuck the end. I couldn't sleep in a bed with any part of the sheet or blanket tucked in, everything had to be out from under the mattress. Then, I'd push one of my favorite 8-track tapes into the player, put on the huge headphones I had, plop onto my stomach, and fall asleep with wicked loud music playing in my ears all night.

For most of my senior year I listened to Jethro Tull's "Thick as a Brick" over and over again while I slept. When I woke up I removed the headphones, shut the music, got out of bed, rearranged my nut sack, and then headed to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. Next, I walked downstairs for a breakfast that consisted of two large bowls of Count Chocula. I wasn't overly concerned with nutrition, but General Mills claimed their cereal contained good percentages of the daily requirements of vitamins and minerals, and the milk was Vitamin D fortified. I was good-to-go. I ate cereal like a dog, stopping only when I was on the verge of getting sick.

While I was pigging-out on Count Chocula in the kitchen, my mother was busy upstairs tidying up my room and making my bed. Do you think I had it made? Well, every morning before she made my bed she left a signed note on the kitchen table explaining why I was arriving late for school. I definitely had it made.

Frank Trapper. Getty Images.

At the end of an incredible summer, I was off to military school, not giving too much thought to what I was leaving behind. After my shoulder-length hair was buzz-cut and I had my company assignment, room number, and my uniforms, I plopped onto my unmade "rack" and thought I would rest for a while, but then shit happened quickly. My Master Sergeant called us out into the hallway where we received direct orders on what we should do next and one of the first things on that list was making our beds.

I had absolutely no experience making beds and I blamed my mother for that, she was too good to me. My first effort was a total disaster and I received a well-deserved tongue-lashing from Master Sergeant O'Donnell. He didn't like it and he let me know by grabbing a handful of blanket and sheet and in one violent pull, he lifted all the bedding off the mattress, tossed it in the middle of the room, and then ordered me to make it again. This back 'n forth went on for days until I was fed up. The next morning I tipped the mattress up on one side and pinned the two sides of the sheet and blanket to the mattress and during the morning room inspection I waited for him to try and pull everything off. He was shocked when his first effort didn't work, he looked at me awkwardly and then tried again, this time pulling harder. When he realized something wasn't right, he snapped "Mr. LeVine, what did you do?" I came clean, explaining how I pinned everything underneath to get it nice and tight. He made me unpin it and then he proceeded to violently yank it apart.

At that moment I realized the enjoyment O'Donnell got from ripping my bed apart and making me redo it, so I started trying to make a better rack, if for no other reason than to spoil his fun. I got better, and at one point he stopped pulling it apart and even started acknowledging my vastly improved bed-making skills.

Then came the TAI inspection, an acronym for "Tuesday Afternoon Inspection". Every Tuesday afternoon there was a formal room inspection. Shoes had to be spit-shined, brass belt buckles and uniform pins polished, we wore full dress uniforms with pants that were ironed and had sharp creases, and our racks were made a little differently than those of the daily variety. A TAI bed had to have hospital corners (45 degrees) at the ends and a sharp fold at the top just in front of the pillow, revealing 4" of white sheet that was folded over the standard-issue, maroon wool blanket. I found making this bed very challenging and my first few TAIs resulted in the swift removal of my bedding by O'Donnell. I thought to myself, "Here we go again…"

Toby Talbot. Shutterstock Images.

At one point I started making my TAI beds on Monday night and then sleeping on the floor so I was ready and didn't have to rush on Tuesday. O'Donnell heard about it and after two knocks, he busted into my room and busted me sleeping on the floor. He said "Mr. LeVine, your parents spent a lot of money to send you to Norwich University, and you're not gonna sleep on the floor. Make that rack and sleep in it. If I catch you on the floor again I'm gonna give you a tour (hour-long uninterrupted back 'n forth march on Saturday morning). Warning shots fired! I had to make the TAI bed on Tuesdays, like everyone else…

At the next TAI inspection, O'Donnell tore it apart again. It was frustrating, but I practiced and started producing good-looking corners and a better-looking top fold. At one point the bed looked pretty good, but there were still some creases in the fold I couldn't smooth out. I grabbed my iron and put on the steam and pressed the fold. It looked incredible. When O'Donnell and his Cadre came in to do the TAI they were impressed and O'Donnell asked me how I was able to get such a smooth top fold. When I told him I ironed it he was even more impressed and had my entire company (E Company) walk through to see how a TAI bed should be made. Then he went downstairs and got MP Company and they walked through too. All my fellow "Rooks" hated me; I had set the bar pretty high and now they were all expected to produce flawless TAI racks.

Years later I was living on my own without anyone to make my bed or inspect it, and so I never made it, I just neatened it up. When my girlfriend came over she'd do a really nice job making the bed. I married her and 41 years later she still makes a fine-looking bed every day. Occasionally, after the sheets have been laundered, I help her. I know, it's the least I can do.

krblokhin. Getty Images.

I don't totally understand the need for decorative throw pillows, but they're part of her process every day and I gotta respect that. She makes a fine bed, comparable to my mother's, and certainly one Master Sergeant O'Donnell would approve of…