I was a stupid kid. One of my bad habits that carried over into military service was smoking pot. Within a few days of my arrival at Randolph, my first supervisor, Bob, asked me if I got high. I thought, "man, what a cool boss." Bob and I had an arrangement. He would sell me the stuff and I would smoke it. Apparently Bob had the same arrangement with several of the airmen in Micrographics, but I din't know who they were because I'm not a complete idiot--I didn't want anyone other than Bob knowing about my highly illegal personal habits.
Good decision on my part--the Office of Special Investigations (the FBI of the Air Force) planted an informant-airman among our midst to "clean up" Micrographics. The weasel... er...rather... mole attended all the parties and became great friends with Bob and another good friend of mine named Jerry who was also selling. Within a month, the airmen in Micrographics started to be discharged from the service. The OSI would put them under the hot light and tell them they had eye witnesses who witnessed them smoking pot, even if they didn't. The airmen spilled their guts under threat of courts-martial. I panicked. I went to my apartment in base housing one day and threw out all vestiges of this habit. The waiting game was terrible. Everyday another airman was pulled into the OSI's office. Would I be next? My stomach was knotted up for two weeks.
After the dust settled, twelve airmen were discharged and Bob and Jerry were court-martialed for selling. The airmen received bad discharges and Bob and Jerry both received three-year sentences at Leavenworth. Neither Bob or Jerry mentioned my name and none of the other airmen knew of my smoking habit. I swore never to touch the stuff again and am still convinced to this day that a higher power was looking after my well-being.