Little old lady who lived in a CHU...

I work on the Mobile Training Team (MTT) of the Integrated Logistics Department (ILS) out of the Contract Support Office (CSO) on Kandahar Airfield (KAF). I am entitled to housing there though I am only in residence a few days a month. I FOB hop - meaning, I hop a Dynbird helicopter and flit off to enlighten the untrained at 20 or so supported Forward Operating Bases whenever my boss spots the bat beacon sweeping the sky over Gothem (or in his Outlook Inbox) - hmmmm more  "old bat" references... I suppose I could swear off them, but they seriously amuse me. Anyway, Camp Hicks is the DynCorp Life Support Area (LSA) next to the CSO, so all the rich, powerful, starred and rockered, entitled and uber-testosteroned, live and work there...the District, Regional, and Theater level Managers, Directors and other assorted and sundry high muckity mucks. I am more in the nature of a low muckity muck, but still, I have been assigned a nice little 8X10 metal cube of a thing, quaintly named I 131, where my bed, my drawers and all the things I choose not to lug about the country with me, roost. Now, I 131, which I believe I shall henceforth begin referring to as the BAT CAVE, is on the lower deck just a scant 3 doors down from the restroom, six stalls, each with its very own door, and only a few steps farther from the communal showers, cleaned at 9AM sharp daily. Location, location, location. My little containerized housing unit (CHU) away from home has its own climate control unit and a window in the door. A small refrigerator awaits me there, patiently keeping my drink de jeur properly chilled. CHU walls are thin and without insulation, but I am a sound sleeper and own noise canceling headphones and lots of blankts. When ensconced in I 131, I must say feel at home - well except for the obvious absence of ringing phones and doorbells, blaring TVs, children, grandchildren, parental units, friends, neighbors and dogs. We do have the occasional British accented big voice public address system chanting, "ROCKET ATTACK...ROCKET ATTACK." tumbling us from our bunks and sending us sleepily meandering into concrete bunkers to wait for the "ALL CLEAR! ALL CLEAR!" announcement. Usually though, there in I 131, I can relax in privacy and darkness with with my reading lamp and stash of salty snack. When there, I am the master of all I survey - yep...all twelve of things. No dishes. No ironing. Neither floors to polish nor windows to clean. Everything with a place and everything mostly in it. My drag bag, body armor and helmet stash themselves under the bed upon arrival. My robe and towel hang on a wall hook in anticipation of my next shower forey. Yep, when in I 131, all is right with my world and I feel quite fortunate given so many others wandering around KAF totally without a CHU...or possibly without a CLUE?