Operation: WTF (Day 89)

Thanksgiving from the Dark Side

I have now experienced it all.  Growing up, it was always Thanksgiving with the immediate family.  Very rarely did we invite any one over.  Less rarely did we go to someone else’s house.  Once or twice, we ate out for Thanksgiving.  Once, we had that traditional Thanksgiving with the WHOLE family, including grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles.  I’ve had a Thanksgiving potluck on the few occasions I’ve had to work on the holiday.  I’ve even had Thanksgiving at home alone, a one person feast in front of my computer.  Now, I’ve had a Thanksgiving in a war zone. 

It seems like any other day.  There’s really no festive air.  I don’t have the luxury of too-early Christmas decorations to bemoan.  I didn’t get the chance to grocery shop and see all the Thanksgiving fixin’s on display.  In my humble barracks there is no scent of pies baking.  It just doesn’t feel like Thanksgiving, but it is despite clear skies and mild temperatures.

They did their best, though to get us in the spirit of things.  The chow hall put on quite a spread, but it’s not home, you know?  At home, I don’t have to line up outside waiting to get in.  My mother don’t ask me for my ID card and my signature in order to eat.  There is definitely no foreign national at the stove, fixing my plate for me.  That’s just the nature of the beast.  They decorated the place and begrudgingly I will admit that it was nice.

There was a huge cornocopia with real fruit displayed as a centerpiece.  There was even ice sculptures.  Who doesn’t like ice sculptures?  But the baked ham, the large tin of green beans and even the turkey reminded me that I am not at home.  (We don’t eat any of those things at Thanksgiving.)  At first I wasn’t even going to go to dinner, but thanks to the rule about having a battle buddy everywhere you go, I had to go with my roommate. 

In a way, I was kind of glad I did.  Who wants to be laying up in their bed staring at the ceiling, alone, on Thanksgiving night?  That’s just sad.

I ate a ribeye and shrimp cocktail for dinner.  Followed up with a huge hunk of cake and some ice cream.  I made my dining partners say a prayer, because that’s what we do at home.  The ribeye was dry but I ate it anyway.  As I chewed on the tough meat, I looked around.  I was having Thanksgiving dinner with two people I don’t know that well only because the situation necessitated it.  There were other people that sat alone.  That meant they had come with someone only to be abandoned.  That’s just depressing.

I was slightly cheered up because they brought sparkling grape juice.  Oh, it can never replace a good red, but it was the thought that counted.  After dinner was over, I didn’t get geared up for Black Friday shopping, instead I went back to the barracks to take a nap before my night watch began.  Before I drifted off to sleep I told myself that no matter what time of the year it is when I get back home, I’m going to have myself a real Thanksgiving.

Operation: WTF (Day 56)

Random Quotes

You hear a lot of random things when you are eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.  Sometimes people just come up to you and say the damnedest things.

Two days ago I was hanging out in the barracks when I overheard this:

Oh my God, when are we going to be authorised to wear civilian clothes?  I mean, I don’t have any titties, but I want to show them off.

Really?

Here’s something I caught wind of when I was cleaning up in the office:

You know what the worst rank in the Army is?  Sergeant-Major.  You know why it sucks?  Because of the whole no-fraternisation thing.  If you’re enlisted, you’re not allowed to mess with any of the officers, but if you’re senior enlisted, you’re not allowed to mess with any of the junior soldiers.  So where does that leave you when you’re a sergeant-major?  Up shit’s creek, that’s where.  Have you seen some of those female sergeant-majors?  It’s like woof!  Coyote ugly all over again.

Yeah.  I tried hard not to laugh because I didn’t want anybody to know that I was listening in.

Here’s one last thing I happened to hear one day:

Soldier 1 (Male):  Yeah, so I lost my virginity when I was 22.  I wanted to wait until I got married.

Soldier 2 (Much, much older male):  22?  What the hell?  That is way too old.  What the hell were you thinking?

It’s one of those things that you had to know the two individuals involved.  The much, much older male soldier is in a position of leadership and it was really bizarre for him to say something like that.  Then he tried to interject when he himself had lost his virginity.  I quickly evacuated the area.  Some things are better left unsaid.

Operation: WTF (Day 28)

The Long, Lonely Road

The weekend was…. I can’t say relaxing, because if it were relaxing, I would be at Scenic Meadow Drive, lounged up in my bed with my Netflix streaming on repeat and a bottle of Rioja on the nightstand…. so since it wasn’t precisely like that, I will say the weekend was less stressful than the week preceding.

A few days ago, some NCO came around to conduct an AAR, well, it was more like a climate survey to determine how we feel about the whole situation.  It’s not like our opinion actually matters, but some people really felt better after having said their piece.  Strangely enough something did come out of it.  They decided to have Fun Day.  They’ve been working us like Hebrew slaves this past month and to reward us for all our hard work they were going to take us to a contaminated lake nearby.  It was supposed to be a day filled with sun, swimming and fun.  Hate to say it, but whoever had this idea needs to be punched in the face.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that they were even thinking about us, but seriously, it’s 110 degrees outside.  Maybe these native folk find it stimulating to be exposed to that many UV rays, but I’m good.  And then we discovered that the lake was contaminated.  I don’t know what it was contaminated with, but I heard it was unsafe.

Much like the drinking water.  So instead of going to the lake, we opted to go to the Big Wal-Mart.  How sad life is that going to the Big Wal-Mart is a huge deal, but it really was.  First, it took about an hour and a half to get there, driving through some lonely country roads, where we saw all manner of country-like things.  Cows, pigs, miniature horses, a drunk guy on a bicycle.  We get to the town with the Big Wal-Mart and it’s like… wow.  Somebody let the kids out of the attic.

I wish I had brought my camera so I could capture some People of Wal-Mart moments.  I am not really into the exploitation of children, but apparently other people are.  I saw a little girl, maybe 8 years old, with five twenty-dollar bills taped to her chest.  Then we saw two girls, ages 11 and 9, wearing hula skirts and panties.  The sad part was that the hula skirts were missing quite a bit of grass strands.  The skirts consisted of maybe five or six plastic strands of grass.  So basically they were walking around wal-mart in their panties.  I guess parents do not realise that there are perverts, especially at wal-mart.

We hung around Wal-Mart for a few hours before heading back.  The ride back takes forever.  Everything truly is bigger in Texas.  Who designed this place?  The ride home was interesting because some of the roads were blocked off due to the fires that are plaguing this state.  Some times fire crews go out to create fire breaks to keep the fires from spreading.  When we first got here you could really smell the fires but now it’s kind of died down a bit.  The ride home was like a trip to an open zoo.  We saw coyote, cows, jack-a-lope, you name it, we saw it.  I wouldn’t like to run into one of these big ass cows on these lonely sad roads they have around here.

It’s depressing, to say the least.  When the sun goes down, you can’t see anything because there aren’t any street lamps.  It’s like you’re on a road to nowhere.  The mood began so jovial when we started out but as we approached the base, it grew quieter.  I guess everybody realised that our escape from Alcatraz was only temporary, and that the long, lonely road would soon end at the dusty doorstep of our internment camp.

Operation: WTF (Day 23)

I wasn’t able to write anything over the past few days because I’ve been really busy with some classes and training, and then to tell you the truth there really isn’t much to write about.

Everyday is beginning to be like the day before.  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Friday, whatever.  Everyday is the same.  There is no difference.  Last week, somebody exclaimed, “Oh, it’s Friday!”  Okay, what does that mean?  We won’t be going to any clubs or happy hours or out to eat with friends.  On Saturday we will get up early to go to formation just like we did the day before and the day before that.  We will be given a bunch of pointless details and we will work hard in the hot sun and then we will collapse into bed at the end of the night only to get up and start all over again.

I wake up at 500AM.  Do some PT.  Head over to chow to eat a half-cooked omelet, two pieces of either soaking wet or dried up turkey bacon, and a bowl of cereal.  I will come back to the dirty barracks, wash up and get dressed.  Head to formation.  Go to class.  Sit in class.  Fall asleep in class.  Go to chow.  Go back to class.  Go to chow.  Sit in the barracks awaiting further guidance.  Do some more PT.  Take a shower.  Lay in bed.  Go to sleep.

There’s really not much else going on.  The only good thing is that part of our group has gone off to another location to do some additional training.  It has severely reduced the amount of estrogen in the barracks.  Those of us left behind are getting along famously.  No longer is there a puddle of water knee high in the showers.  You can actually get a mirror in the morning so you can wash your face and brush your teeth.  At night, when everybody is back from their duties, there is no loud carrying on.  It’s peaceful.  I don’t even have to sleep with earplugs, because all the heavy snorers are gone.

They have us sequestered on the lonely part of the base where there isn’t much activity for us once we get off duty.  There is a USO but I went over there the other day and discovered how truly wack it is.  It would be awesome if I were a 19 year old male, but since I’m not…. yeah.

The only adventure is to go to the other part of the base if you have an appointment.  You try to milk it for what you can.  You hope the appointment takes longer than necessary.  I hoped they would be behind in schedule so I can sit in the waiting room watching TV.  I am missing Dancing With the Stars.  I wanted to see Nancy Grace and Chaz Bono.  I guess I could YouTube it, but it’s not really the same.

I don’t know how much longer we have here.  We are getting conflicting information.  I think they are doing this on purpose.  You know we should be practising OPSEC when we use our social media.  We already have so many idiots posting things that don’t really have any business being posted.  I think they are purposely keeping us in the dark so nobody spills the beans about what is really going on.  On the other hand, I also think it’s because they themselves have no clue what is going on.  They are in the dark just as much as we are.

So that’s it for right now.  I’ll be sure to write more when I know more myself.

Operation: WTF (Day 15)

Cell Block #56435

 

So we have all come to the conclusion that we are in a minimum security prison.  We’ve been incarcerated against our will for a crime we did not commit.  We’re not sure how we got here, but we’re here nonetheless.  Everything that you’ve ever seen on a prison show is happening here on this block.  Okay, maybe nobody is getting shanked but I give a few more days and I may be writing a different story entirely.

I posted earlier on Facebook that the Army failed to do a risk assessment when they decided to put all these women together in a tight living space. Way back when, in the old days when the army was an all male institution they never had any issues.  Most guys when they get into it, they go out back, throw a few punches and then they laugh about it over a couple of beers.  Not so with women–we hold a grudge FOREVER.  We walk past each other, mean-mugging, talk about each other to our friends and then make not-so-quiet snide remarks when we know the other woman is within ear shot.

I am new to this unit and I am alone.  I did come here with some battle buddies, but I can’t gripe with my male buddies and after dark, they have to go to their barracks and I go to mine.  The two females I’m with outrank me and I cannot chum up with them because they have a standard to uphold.  I’m here alone.  Never more so than ever do I miss the E4 Mafia.  No matter how we felt about each other at any given moment, we always had each other’s back, especially when we were at AP Hill.  We never let another unit get away with anything.  If you mess with one, you’re messing with the whole crew.

So I just keep to myself.  It helps I’m a sergeant now because the younger soldiers kinda don’t talk to me.  I am not in their petty bickering.  It is really East Baltimore in here.  Stuff is getting stolen.  This person don’t like that person.  This person is standing too close to that person.  This person is in that person’s space.  It’s aggravating.  Then when all these hoes are PMSing at the same time, I want to lose my mind.  Today it was a junior soldier going at it with a sergeant first class.  I felt sorry for the SFC because she’s kinda small and these girls in here grew up rough.  I think they would not think twice about busting somebody in the head while they slept.  If I were her, I’d keep both eyes open.  I don’t trust them.

I can’t wait to get in country so we can go in two man rooms.  Right now, this is hell.  The barracks are filthy with white girl hair all over the place.  It smells like black girl perm, underarm pits and Tampax.  Every morning all these women are fighting over the two mirrors so they can apply black mascara that isn’t going to do anything but melt down their faces in this hot ass sun.  Why do you do it to yourself?  One girl said it was a habit.  I guess the first day you came back looking like BooBoo the Loveable Vagrant didn’t mean anything to you.  The fact that your deodorant melts off five minutes after application should be a clue.

It’s hard to maintain out here.  My hair is falling out.  I even got some grey hair.  Seriously.  This place is aging me.  I hope I don’t come home ravaged like I been rode hard and put away wet.  My skin is dry and sallow.  It’s sad.  This is taking its toll on us and that is why these bitches are in here losing their minds.  Right now while everyone is screaming at each other, I guess it’s okay.  I will get worried when I walk in here and it’s dead silent.  Then I know that bitches are plotting and it’s time for me to get out of town.

Operation: WTF (Day 13)

Never Forget

It’s Sunday.  It’s also the 10th anniversary of September 11, 2001.  I’m in uniform, I’m working my ass off and I hurt from head to toe.  Pops called because he thought we would be given the day off.  I laughed bitterly when I told him I was on my thirteenth day of working like a Hebrew.  I was just saying earlier at chow that I thought Congress should put up some legislation to make 9/11 a national holiday, but even if it were, it wouldn’t help my plight.

This unit is wacky-balls.  We’ve been putting in some major hours with only a few snippets here and there to get some rest.  If it’s not one thing, it’s something else and something else after that.  It’s a rough job and I guess somebody has to do it.  Maybe it doesn’t really mean anything to be off on September 11.  Maybe I should be working my ass off so that I will never forget some of the reasons why I might have jumped on this crazy train.  A fellow soldier said that a day off or a day on doesn’t matter because when the shit starts cooking, somebody has to be there.  Some people see it as just another day.  Some people don’t give a damn.  For some people they were so far removed from the event that they probably don’t even think about it until September 9 and the news starts rolling up all the recollections of that event.

What depressed me a little was that there was absolutely no mention of it at formation.  There were two formations:  one at 5AM and one at 0830.  There were more people at the 0830 formation but leadership did not even mention one word.  I was even more disturbed because the national moment of silence at 837 was right in the middle of formation.  There’s lots of reasons why each of us joined.  Most of us joined for money, job skills, education, lack of anything better to do.  Some of us actually joined for our patriotic duty or because we care.  Whatever the reasons are, they are personal, but I think at least 85% of us think about 9/11 and how it affects the decisions we made.  Most of us that joined knew we were going to be in some shit because of 9/11, so even if our main motivation was money, we had to think about all the risks involved in search of a dollar.

I think not saying anything about 9/11 was remiss, but it’s just one more thing in a growing list of issues I’m beginning to have, none of which I can actually do anything about except post my frustrations on this sheet of paper and hope that anybody who might read this will care.  Or not.

Operation: WTF (Day 12)

The Cow Pie

One of my favourite army activities involves live ammunition.  I have always enjoyed shooting.  It’s something I learned about when I was very small and the army has provided me with an opportunity to release my stress in a controlled environment with no jail time.  So I am perturbed that the one thing I was looking forward to ended up such a hell.

We went to the range today and it was one of the worst ranges I have ever been to.  As far my as my old unit is concerned, I always make sure to attend the October drill and qualify first-time go so that I do not have to get on the range in August when it is too hot.  I have never done well with the heat and I don’t care how much water I drink, I always seem to get light-headed, faint or otherwise out of sorts.  I hate that everybody looks at me like I’m purposely dehydrating myself.  I cannot imagine that anyone would think that I enjoy falling flat on my face at random moments.

Anyway, let’s talk about this shitty ass range.  First, we show up at the crack of dawn and that is the best way to do things.  Get out there while the air is still cool, but what do we do with this nice, cool breeze?  We waste it, talking about HOW to shoot, HOW to wear one’s helmet, HOW to do this, HOW to do that.  Seriously, one of the first things you learn how to do in the army is shoot.  No matter what your job is you are a soldier first.  I don’t think we need a basic rifleman’s instruction course again.  By the time we lay out on the firing line, it’s already 830.  We wasted two hours of cool air talking.

I try to make sure that I am in the first firing order so I can get out of the sun.  I never have any problems firing and I zeroed in 9 rounds.  The problem occurred when it came time to zero our scopes.  I’ve never used a scope before.  I don’t know anything about it:  how to adjust it, how to mount it, anything.  Instead of teaching me how to put on my helmet, they should have instructed me how to mount the scope properly.  Then they should have had the right tools to do the adjustments.  Better yet, they should have done this back in the rear so as not to waste time.

They made me get off the range because of some technical issues regarding the scopes.  That’s the first problem.  I know I have problems with the heat.  I’ve long since come to the conclusion that I need to take precautions.  Drinking water is not enough for me.  Going first, making sure I stay in the shade, making sure I rest.  This is what helps me.  Another thing that helps me is removing my gear.  I have never been anywhere that I had to stay in my gear ALL DAY LONG.  When I came off the line I took my helmet off.  This man tells me I have to put it back on.  Seriously?  It’s 1000 degrees outside and even though I am sitting in the shade, I need to take the helmet off for a little while.  No.  The only place you can take all your gear off is over where the bags are staged… in the hot ass sun where there is no shade.  That totally defeats the purpose.

By the time I was allowed to get back on the line, it was almost 1130.  At that hour in Texas, it’s the same temperature as the surface of the sun.  Then they made me coach before I fired.  So now I’m out in the sun for about two hours.  I just can’t take it.  You can call me weak, a delicate little flower, lame, whatever.  I just can’t take it.  I was seeing stars.  People were talking to me and I didn’t even know what they were saying.  It was like nobody was speaking English.  Then when I tried to rest, somebody ate me up.  I went to stand in the shade while everyone was firing and the sergeant came and lit my ass up.  He said, “You don’t just walk off and don’t tell anybody.”  But I didn’t just walk off.  I went two feet to the left to get some shade.  By that point it was already over.  I was just delaying the inevitable.

Thirty minutes later I was removed from the whole process and told to go sit down.

It was just an awful experience.  I have so much to say about the situation but I’ll save that for my retirement memoirs.

So you might be wondering about the title of this blog:  Cow Pies.  So I learned that this base is not only federally protected land because it’s an army installation, but it’s a federally protected land due to the cattle that roam carelessly around the place.  Apparently, this land is co-owned by the army and some cattle ranchers.  It is a serious crime to harm any of the cattle that you might see, and when I say cattle I mean … BIG ASS COWS and when I saw BIG ASS COWS, I mean BIG ASS COW SHIT PILES everywhere!  You would be laying on the firing line and there would be a big ass plop of cow poop right next to you.  The only good thing about the heat is that it dried out the shit right away so there was no horrid stench or flies to spread disease, but it was still disgusting.  The piles were the size of small satellite dishes, and I wish I was exaggerating but I’m really not.  I wanted to take pictures but really, who wants to look at a picture of cow shit.  That’s just overboard.  It was just everywhere.  You had to strategically watch where you stepped because then you’d have dry cow shit caked in your boots.  It just wasn’t a good look.

They had the nerve to call this place The Great Place.  Yeah, fuck that.

Operation: WTF (Day 6)

Quote of the Day

We were laying around in the barracks awaiting further orders.  Because it’s Sunday of a long weekend there isn’t much for us to do.  Any civilian instructors and full timers around here are off, leaving us to twiddle our thumbs looking for something to do.

I was dozing, half asleep, when I happened to overhear:  “So when we fly to Kuwait, will we have to fly over the water?”  I started to laugh because I knew the person who had asked the question was across the divider and wouldn’t be able to see me.  Someone responded, “D’uh!”  Then the girl said, “Is it Lake Pacific Ocean?  Will we be flying over Lake Pacific Ocean.”

Lake Pacific Ocean?

Hmmm.  Haven’t heard of that body of water.  That must be something new.  And for the record, we’ll be flying over the Atlantic.  Yeah.

Granted, the Middle East does appear to be this foreign, exotic land that nobody has heard of, but the fact is that we’ve been over there for 10+ years.  It’s kinda unacceptable not to know where these places are, especially since you will be going there.  Wouldn’t you look at a map to know where you’re being sent?  I don’t know.  I guess that’s just me.

Operation: WTF (Day 4)

If You Can’t Stand the Heat…

 

I am here, safe and sound.  We’re pretty much settled in and situated with all of our crap.  They just keep giving us more and more gear.  I don’t know where they think all of this shit is about to fit.  They really had the nerve to issue us EXTREME COLD WEATHER GEAR.  In case you did not know, it is well over 100 degrees outside.  There is not one cloud to give any sort of relief.  Everything is dried up and dead.  Somehow I doubt that I will need extreme cold weather gear… even in the dead of winter, but I cannot argue with their logic.

Everything on this base is gi-normous.  They were not playing when they said that everything is bigger in Texas.  It takes like an hour to get anywhere on the damn base.  We were making jokes about the bus breaking down and then we would have to march somewhere.  Seriously, it is not a joke though.  The heat is crucial and then they are not allowing us to carry bags anywhere because of what happened here.  It’s really sad but I’m not sure this is the proper reaction.  We have to carry around all this stuff but we can’t have a bag.  It’s like that, so I guess I’ll just deal.

Other than that, the food is mediocre.  It isn’t as bad as AP Hill.  Some of the stuff is halfway decent.  Other stuff, not so much.  I did remember to bring spices and chili sauce.  I guess I’ll be okay for now.  I asked for this, so if I can’t stand the heat, I’d better get out of the kitchen.

It Must Have Been the College Money

It must have been the money for college.  The recruiter talked about things like bonuses and special pay and your mind boggled with the possibilities.  Or maybe it was because you didn’t have any plans after high school.  You lived in a small po-dunk town with very few options and it seemed like a good idea at the time.  All your friends had plans and you didn’t want to be the only one hanging around.  Or maybe college just wasn’t for you and you needed a job skill that was transferable to the real world.  Maybe you just didn’t have anything else to do at the time and your friend talked you into it and you heard that chicks dig guys in uniform.

Or maybe you really do believe in all that stuff about God and country.  You feel a sense of pride when you look at the flag and you love to tell people how American you are.  Maybe because you didn’t ask what your country could do for you but what you could do for your country.  Maybe your father was a soldier.  Maybe your grandfather landed on Omaha.  Maybe you got inspired by 9/11.  You answered the call to take up arms in the name of peace.  Maybe you believed in the War on Terror, or maybe you didn’t even know who Osama ben Laden was before everything went down.  You don’t know anything about weapons of mass destruction.  Maybe Saddam Hussein was really a tyrant.  maybe you don’t even care.  Maybe you’ve never even given it a thought.

You just think about how long it’s been since you’ve been home and how come you haven’t gotten a care package in weeks.  You’re wondering why you volunteered again and what the consequences of that might be.  You’re thinking about the things you’ve seen and the things you’re gonna see.  You wonder if the next time you step outside that wire might be the last time.  You get that feeling in your gut when the convoy has to stop.  And when you make it back in, maybe you thank God and maybe you don’t, because you don’t believe in that kind of stuff.  Whatever the case may be, you’re just glad to be alive.  But then you hear about a buddy of yours in another company.

And you start thinking about getting back home.  You’re tired of waking up at o’dark-thirty.  You’re tired of the crappy food and the limited selection at the PX.  You miss your mom’s apple pie and going for long runs with your dog Spot.  You left the hot rod in the garage and it’s waiting for a fresh coat of paint.  You haven’t worn anything new in months and it doesn’t matter because you’re not going anywhere anyway.

And when you do get back home, maybe you come home to a hero’s welcome and maybe you don’t.  Maybe you’ll be met by protesters.  Maybe the media will follow you around when all you want is a little bit of quiet.  If you come home in one piece you consider yourself lucky.  Your body is in tact but it’s your soul that you have to worry about.  Forget about the fact that your friends and family don’t seem to understand why you keep getting called up.  They don’t know the difference between volunteer and volun-told.  You don’t even know why you’re doing it to yourself.

When you look in the mirror and ask yourself why, you can’t come up with an answer.  Maybe you like the way you look in uniform.  Maybe you’re proud of that patch on your shoulder.  Maybe you’ve achieved a goal after working so hard for so long.  You’re a pilot.  You’re an officer.  You finally got your stripes.  Maybe you feel like you’re apart of something greater than yourself.  Maybe you feel like you’re a member of a team.  Maybe when you’re with your buddies you feel like you finally belong.  Now you have a family.

Or maybe you think about all the sacrifices you’ve had to make.  You’ve missed your tenth anniversary and your wife has moved on.  Your son spoke his first words while you were gone.  You missed your daughter’s prom.  You were supposed to be the maid of honour at your best friend’s wedding.  It seems like everyone has moved on with their lives and you’re still in the same place.  Maybe it’s bittersweet and it is what it is.  Maybe you feel small, like nothing you do is making a difference.  Maybe you feel like nobody cares and you’re alone in the world.

So you go back to what you know.  You’re a Marine.  You’re a soldier.  You’re a sailor.  You’re an airman.  There’s never any rhyme or reason.  If they ask you the question you can’t quite explain it.  Maybe you do it so that someone else won’t have to.  Maybe you do it because it’s the right thing to do.  You don’t know why you care.  You don’t know why you don’t care.  There’s just something in you and you’re going with your gut instinct.

It must have been the college money because there’s no way any sane person would put up with this.  You’re thinking that your recruiter lied to you because all those bonuses and special pay don’t quite make up for all of this.  The sleepless nights, the thanklessness, the melancholy and the stress.  Yet time and time again, you put on that uniform and you head out that door to do your duty.  It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.  You figure, whatever the reasons are, and who knows the reasons why, you did it and now someone else doesn’t have to.