Snacko: The Best Worst Job in the Air Force

In our recent discussions about Air Force squadron organization and your career progression both as an officer and as a pilot, I’ve intentionally withheld details on what may be the most important non-flying pilot job of them all: that of Snack Officer or Snacko. We’re going to do justice to this critical position today.

Flying squadrons are busy places. The pilots who fly there love their jobs enough to work long hours without even realizing it. They’re so busy studying, mission planning, and flying that they don’t always have time to run out and eat a big meal. They need something to sustain them during their marathon mission planning sessions and debriefs, which means that most squadrons have a snack bar. Somebody has to make sure this snack bar is stocked, and that person is usually one of the junior pilots in the squadron.

At its most basic level, Snacko is a terrible, thankless job. It’s the kind of job where doing everything right means you don’t get noticed, but screwing up one little thing will have all hell raining down on your cranium before you know what’s going on.  Although doing well may not lead to immediate praise, it will unquestionably set your initial reputation within the squadron.  So, in the immortal words passed down through several generations of combat aviators, "don't suck!"

Table of Contents

1. The Bad - Story Time
2. The Good
3. Beyond The Snack Bar
4. Maximum Effort
5. Balance

The Bad - Story Time

As a proud former Snacko, let me give you an example. The realm of the Snacko usually doesn’t stop at the snack bar door. You’re also in charge of the squadron’s Heritage Room (aka: bar) and any other forms of refreshment in the building.

The men and women of the world-famous 34th Bomb Squadron at Ellsworth AFB, SD, drink a lot of coffee. I was responsible for a coffee pot that lived in the hallway where all the Flight Commanders’ offices were located. I was not a big coffee drinker at the time and when I first got the job, I figured that the first coffee drinker to show up in the squadron would brew the first pot every morning. Oh, how I was mistaken.

The next morning someone from that hallway bellowed, “Who’s the Snacko right now?”

You see, as a new pilot in a flying squadron, you’re so inconsequential that you don’t even have a name. Many squadrons refer to their new pilots as FNGs. Ours was a little more welcoming. The squadron is the Thunderbirds (the kind that actually go to war) and so we noobs were called Eggs.

Someone bellowed back, “I think it’s Egg Depew.”

Great. I sheepishly reported to the Flight Commander hallway and acted contrite while my patriotism was brought into question based on my dereliction of duty. From then on, I made coffee every morning.

Everything went smoothly for a while, which means that nobody paid any attention to me. Then, one day, the coffee ran out!

You see, not only did the crews of the 34 BS drink a lot of coffee, they only drank a very specific type. Vanilla Hazelnut, hand ground by the Snacko at Costco. I know what you’re thinking: that’s pretty frufru for a bunch of combat aviators. I thought the same thing. That didn’t stop the hell from raining down like a salvo of 2,000 lb GBU-31s.

It’s not like I’d tried to cause a problem here. I didn’t realize we were low on coffee until I’d gone to make some that morning. We had a large canister of emergency coffee, Folgers or something, and I’d made a pot of that. I needed to do something, maybe study jamming techniques and countermeasures for use against the SA-8, and was planning to make a coffee run later that day. I chose poorly.

“What the **** is this ****!?” soared from the Flight Commanders’ hallway. I knew better than to wait for whomever it was to come find me. I wandered over there and took my lumps. The dude actually spent about 5 minutes telling me why it was so important for me to make his vanilla hazelnut coffee.

Yes, in case you’re wondering, I’d trained my entire life for this job. I’d worked hard in high school, spent four grueling years at the US Air Force Academy, graduated from the $1,000,000 training program called UPT, then completed a B-1B initial qualification course that I conservatively estimate included burning 300,000 gallons of jet fuel. America had put all its hopes and dreams into me, and here I was getting berated for brewing the wrong kind of coffee.

At this point, you may be thinking that Snacko sounds like one of the worst jobs in the Air Force. Given the context we have so far, you’re probably right. In fact, the warrior philosopher rock band, Dos Gringos, has a song all about this. It’s appropriately titled, “At Least I’m Not the Snacko.” (Warning: Standard Extreme Vulgarity!)

Although this job can absolutely suck, I actually believe that Snacko is the best job in the Air Force. There’s plenty of good to balance the bad.

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The Good

In a flying squadron so busy that it needs its own snack bar, life can get a little intense. It’s okay to leave for lunch, and you’re expected to spend enough time at the gym to stay fit. However, any time a young pilot isn’t in the squadron, someone will wonder why. Too much wondering about you is a bad thing.

The Snacko, however, is immune to this danger. That snack bar doesn’t stock itself, and I made a run at least once a week to Costco (or was it Sams?) I’d usually take a friend with me, and we’d return with a pickup truck or SUV loaded to the windows with flats of cokes, and boxes of every snack you can imagine. It was always a big show to park as close to the front doors as possible, walk through the squadron recruiting fellow Eggs to help carry stuff and make trip after trip through the squadron’s hallways carrying everyone’s favorite snack.

Unloading is only half the battle. Once it’s in the snack bar, you have to arrange everything so that it looks nice and remove excess packaging to the dumpster. This process takes a while, and you’re physically in the way of anyone looking for a snack until it’s over. It’s true that you almost never get praised for doing a good job, but that doesn’t mean your efforts aren’t noticed.

Not only are your efforts as Snacko visible, you execute your duties by spending the morning away from the constant crush of the squadron. You can stop for some (real) coffee, or breakfast, or whatever, and you’re regarded as going above and beyond for the squadron while any other pilot skipping out for a few hours would be considered lazy. It’s nice to get that break every week.

Although people will usually act like they don’t notice your work, their praise isn’t always absent. Every once in a while, I’d overhear someone wishing for a certain type of drink or snack that wasn’t sold in flats of 72 at Costco. I’d take a few extra minutes to stop by a regular grocery store and pick up Wild Cherry Pepsi or Master’s favorite flavor of Hot Pockets, and quietly make sure the new items were visible on the shelves or in the fridge. Invariably, when I did this, the person who wanted that item would track me down and thank me.

A lot of people are under the false impression that two people following each other on Twitter, Instagram, or LinkedIn is a significant form of networking. I think that absent any meaningful personal interaction, being linked on social media does very little for you. However, the networking that happens when one of the pilots you look up to thanks you for making sure he has Diet Cherry Vanilla Doctor Pepper, is real. It’s you showing that you care about another person’s desires, that you’re a team player, and that you’re good at your job. Guess who’s going to pick you to be his copilot when he heads up to Red Flag Alaska for two weeks of awesome flying?

No other pilot in your squadron has this type of opportunity. Being the Snacko can do things for you that will make all the other Eggs jealous.

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