We interrupt this program for an urgent news brief.
Chimpanzees have been recently discovered to have joined the Penguin Revolution. Chimps, in their cunning ability to woo humans with tricks then steal objects from them have been stockpiling weapons for years. A stash of these weapons was found in Sweden. A spokes-penguin for the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population, FLIPPR for short, was quoted saying, "Penguins have no need to revolt against humans, and especially have no need of aid by the genetic ancestors of humans. All FLIPPR wants to promote is equality for those of us that are vertically challenged and are forced to be clothed in formal attire."
In response to this claim, a Swedish chimpanzee was quoted saying, "OO OO, EE EE." Experts have translated this to mean, "We were paid a profit to help the penguins in their revolution against the humans. We have no ill feelings or loyalties to either. The penguins merely offered more shiny objects as payment."
This is definitely a concern as the penguins have been known to deploy "cute and cuddly" operations world-wide. We do not know at this time which side of the story to believe so we are asking people to be cautious and avoid all things cute and/or cuddly, just to be safe. It also would help to store food, and keep small children indoors. We are asking that those with the knowledge of a FLIPPR safe-house to contact the local authorities with the information immediately.
We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.
01 May 2011
Through the Mind of a Penguin Part 2
Whoever said penguins couldn’t count? I mean, opposable thumbs or even fingers aren’t needed to figure math. I’ve always had a brain for mathematics. I could figure a problem faster than most in my class, and even when I reached the upper levels like Algebra and Trigonometry, I still didn’t have much difficulty figuring out the problems. I did need a special calculator though, small buttons and flippers don’t exactly get along, you know.
Now that penguins have been integrated into society for the intelligent creatures we really are, I was able to gain a job as an accountant. Now that’s the life: surrounded by numbers all day long. Who could ask for better? Not me. Most people that hear I’m an accountant and automatically think I keep the books for FLIPPR. You see most people who know of the existence of the Front for the Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, FLIPPR for short, think that all penguins are part of it. FLIPPR is really just a bunch of tough guys that formed a penguin mafia and came up with a long name just so the abbreviation could somewhat resemble the word flipper. Really, all they are is a bunch of bullies. In all my life, I have never seen such a strong stereotype put into place. The second any penguin is seen on the street, there is automatic fear or concern for personal safety.
I see this a lot, working in accounting as I do. Someone comes in to pay their bill, sees me, and automatically they are afraid I might do something to them, or that I am going to steal their money and use it for FLIPPR funding. Sadly, they never take the time learn about the real me. I am actually really easy to talk to, and am willing to hold a conversation about anything with anyone. You know the small chit-chat that goes along with waiting for the computer to process a check and produce a receipt. Usually, my customers are lost in their own world of fear and stereotypes of species to hold any kind of a decent conversation.
I had to work hard to get to where I am today. I fought this stereotype that the other penguins created the existence of to get an honest, legitimate job. I was top in all my classes, worked and studied hard, and I always double check my figures to make sure there are no mistakes. Luckily, I came across an employer who saw my track record with numbers, and understood that the quality of an employee’s work was far more meaningful than the stereotype associated with that employee.
There was one person who felt the need to inform my boss that he had a penguin—a PENGUIN!—working for him. She went on and on about how unfaithful we are, about how all we do is drink alcohol and steal peoples’ women right from under their noses. She explained about how she had a penguin steal her purse, smacking her on the ass as he ran off. She was convinced that I was a shady figure, stealing the company’s money to finance my outside endeavors she was dead-set I had going on in my off time.
I overheard all of this, and boy did it make me feel like crap! I mean, I try to make sure I present a professional look about myself and go about my job like anyone else in the office would. Normally I am overdressed due to the tuxedo that is just part of my body. I know it’s overboard, but I can’t help it. What I look like isn’t something I can change. I was born this way. I have never made fun of someone either in front of them or behind their back because of how they looked. That’s just plain rude any way you try to dress it up as acceptable.
The day after hearing the woman’s comments, I did not want to go into work. I laid in my bed, pondering the hurtful words she had spoken. Who wouldn’t be depressed when they overhear someone saying such rude things about them that aren’t based at all on work quality, but what they are, and what they look like? I finally did go into work, late. I went straight into my boss’s office to explain why I was late. He took the time to hear me out, and then mentioned that he told her yesterday, after she was done spewing her negativity, that if she had that big of a problem with one of his employees, that he wouldn’t be able to do business with her anymore. Now, that is one understanding boss.
Now that penguins have been integrated into society for the intelligent creatures we really are, I was able to gain a job as an accountant. Now that’s the life: surrounded by numbers all day long. Who could ask for better? Not me. Most people that hear I’m an accountant and automatically think I keep the books for FLIPPR. You see most people who know of the existence of the Front for the Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, FLIPPR for short, think that all penguins are part of it. FLIPPR is really just a bunch of tough guys that formed a penguin mafia and came up with a long name just so the abbreviation could somewhat resemble the word flipper. Really, all they are is a bunch of bullies. In all my life, I have never seen such a strong stereotype put into place. The second any penguin is seen on the street, there is automatic fear or concern for personal safety.
I see this a lot, working in accounting as I do. Someone comes in to pay their bill, sees me, and automatically they are afraid I might do something to them, or that I am going to steal their money and use it for FLIPPR funding. Sadly, they never take the time learn about the real me. I am actually really easy to talk to, and am willing to hold a conversation about anything with anyone. You know the small chit-chat that goes along with waiting for the computer to process a check and produce a receipt. Usually, my customers are lost in their own world of fear and stereotypes of species to hold any kind of a decent conversation.
I had to work hard to get to where I am today. I fought this stereotype that the other penguins created the existence of to get an honest, legitimate job. I was top in all my classes, worked and studied hard, and I always double check my figures to make sure there are no mistakes. Luckily, I came across an employer who saw my track record with numbers, and understood that the quality of an employee’s work was far more meaningful than the stereotype associated with that employee.
There was one person who felt the need to inform my boss that he had a penguin—a PENGUIN!—working for him. She went on and on about how unfaithful we are, about how all we do is drink alcohol and steal peoples’ women right from under their noses. She explained about how she had a penguin steal her purse, smacking her on the ass as he ran off. She was convinced that I was a shady figure, stealing the company’s money to finance my outside endeavors she was dead-set I had going on in my off time.
I overheard all of this, and boy did it make me feel like crap! I mean, I try to make sure I present a professional look about myself and go about my job like anyone else in the office would. Normally I am overdressed due to the tuxedo that is just part of my body. I know it’s overboard, but I can’t help it. What I look like isn’t something I can change. I was born this way. I have never made fun of someone either in front of them or behind their back because of how they looked. That’s just plain rude any way you try to dress it up as acceptable.
The day after hearing the woman’s comments, I did not want to go into work. I laid in my bed, pondering the hurtful words she had spoken. Who wouldn’t be depressed when they overhear someone saying such rude things about them that aren’t based at all on work quality, but what they are, and what they look like? I finally did go into work, late. I went straight into my boss’s office to explain why I was late. He took the time to hear me out, and then mentioned that he told her yesterday, after she was done spewing her negativity, that if she had that big of a problem with one of his employees, that he wouldn’t be able to do business with her anymore. Now, that is one understanding boss.
06 January 2010
Hooah
In the US Army, there is the term "Hooah". Now, no one can ever give it a straight definition because it has numerous meanings and is used in numerous situations. It is pronounced, not "Hoo-ah" but rather very similar to the sound one makes when getting punched in the gut. All branches of the US Military have their own word, but no one can seem to place the Air Forces, at least not that I have found. The Army has "Hooah", The Marines have "Oorah", and the Navy has "Hooyah".
I am unsure of the history of this word, why it exists, or where it came from, and even a good translation is hard to come by. It is used in too many ways, for too many responses, in all kinds of situations, yet somehow the meaning is never misunderstood. A Sergeant gives orders, then says, "Hooah?" He is then answered by the Soldiers he just gave the orders to with a "Hooah!" Some other examples are "Nice day outside, hooah?" or "Man! That training was intense!" with the response being "Hooah." Or maybe "Who wants to clean the latrines?" with the response of "hooah!" while the soldiers are shaking their heads. I have even seen two people holding whole conversations with not much more than this one word.
This word, and i use that term very lightly as it is really no more than a grunt, answers all questions, relays many intentions, orders, emotions, or opinions. It seems as though the fluency of "Hooah" is directly related to the privilege of wearing the uniform. Military spouses try, and eventually catch on to some of the uses of the word, but they can always be spotted because for whatever reason, the powers of the term do not allow for them to say or use it correctly. Essentially, "Hooah" is a language in and of itself reserved for those who have made it through Basic Training. Few people truly understand it, and far less can grasp the comraderie that comes with being able to use it properly.
I am unsure of the history of this word, why it exists, or where it came from, and even a good translation is hard to come by. It is used in too many ways, for too many responses, in all kinds of situations, yet somehow the meaning is never misunderstood. A Sergeant gives orders, then says, "Hooah?" He is then answered by the Soldiers he just gave the orders to with a "Hooah!" Some other examples are "Nice day outside, hooah?" or "Man! That training was intense!" with the response being "Hooah." Or maybe "Who wants to clean the latrines?" with the response of "hooah!" while the soldiers are shaking their heads. I have even seen two people holding whole conversations with not much more than this one word.
This word, and i use that term very lightly as it is really no more than a grunt, answers all questions, relays many intentions, orders, emotions, or opinions. It seems as though the fluency of "Hooah" is directly related to the privilege of wearing the uniform. Military spouses try, and eventually catch on to some of the uses of the word, but they can always be spotted because for whatever reason, the powers of the term do not allow for them to say or use it correctly. Essentially, "Hooah" is a language in and of itself reserved for those who have made it through Basic Training. Few people truly understand it, and far less can grasp the comraderie that comes with being able to use it properly.
23 December 2009
A different Christmas Poem
Too good not to share! May we all remember those willing to sacrifice so much so we may sleep safe in our beds at night...
A Different Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Chris tmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear..
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Chris tmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Chris tmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.."
" So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
PLEASE, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many
people as you can? Chris tmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to
our
U.S service men and women for our being able to celebrate these
festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe.
Make people
stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves
for us.
LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One
Al Taqqadum, Iraq
A Different Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Chris tmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear..
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Chris tmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Chris tmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.."
" So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
PLEASE, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many
people as you can? Chris tmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to
our
U.S service men and women for our being able to celebrate these
festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe.
Make people
stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves
for us.
LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One
Al Taqqadum, Iraq
18 December 2009
through the mind of a penguin, pt 1
Why do people give us the stereotype of being mercenaries? I mean, yeah, some of us are the out-there, in your face, military type, but honestly, not all of us are. Some just want to live a peaceful life, not be involved in taking over the world, or stealing beer and women. Some of us have other talents, thank you very much.
I, for one, can tap dance. No, not as a scheme to distract people while my compatriots take their money, or inflict some kind of hypnosis on them. No, sir! I am a legitimate tap dancing penguin. The nice thing is I don't have to worry about dressing up, or dry cleaning a tux. Mine is fully attached to me, causing my clothing bill to be very minimal. Of course, I have to buy tap shoes, but you know, when those have to be custom made, they can be expensive! I mean, tap shoes aren't exactly cheap to begin with, but regular ones just don't fit flippers. But, that doesn't mean I go around getting the money for them illegally. Nope, I started out young, and tapping in just my flippers on the street corner with my hat on the ground looking for handouts. Those don't come easy people! Especially when you are a penguin and people think you are going to hurt them somehow, or turn them into zombies or what have you.
That's like one of my good friends from South America. He, like me, is on the small side, but you know, that doesn't get him down. I mean, it's better than being an Emperor penguin. Those guys have some issues. They think that they already rule the world just because the word Emperor is in their name. Talk about a complex! Anyway, back to my friend. He writes. Mostly news articles, giving the people a first hand view of what is happening on the penguin front so they can be informed. He's the one that first got people to see through that "cute and cuddly" front. Now, that took courage. He had all the other penguins up in arms against him, had hits out on him from the penguin mafia, death threats, attempts on his life. He had to go into hiding for a while there and only came out of hiding after making a deal with the Penguin Mafia Overlord saying that he wouldn't infiltrate their ranks and report their tactics to the common man again, that if the people wanted to resist the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, that they would have to figure it out on their own.
Now, the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, FLIPPR for short, in my opinion is a load of crock. What do we need liberated from? And who exactly is the Internal Penguin Population? Half of their title I am convinced is there for the sole purpose of having an acronym that sounds like flipper. Cruel to our kind on their part. I mean, it's not like we have those awesome thumbs or anything, or even fingers for that matter! Do you know how hard it is to grab a cup of hot chocolate with a flipper!
Wait. wait... Oh no! I hear them coming! First they silence my friend for his comments, and now they are coming after me! I can hear them on the steps. If anyone reads this, please....PLEASE remember that not all the penguins are ba.....
I, for one, can tap dance. No, not as a scheme to distract people while my compatriots take their money, or inflict some kind of hypnosis on them. No, sir! I am a legitimate tap dancing penguin. The nice thing is I don't have to worry about dressing up, or dry cleaning a tux. Mine is fully attached to me, causing my clothing bill to be very minimal. Of course, I have to buy tap shoes, but you know, when those have to be custom made, they can be expensive! I mean, tap shoes aren't exactly cheap to begin with, but regular ones just don't fit flippers. But, that doesn't mean I go around getting the money for them illegally. Nope, I started out young, and tapping in just my flippers on the street corner with my hat on the ground looking for handouts. Those don't come easy people! Especially when you are a penguin and people think you are going to hurt them somehow, or turn them into zombies or what have you.
That's like one of my good friends from South America. He, like me, is on the small side, but you know, that doesn't get him down. I mean, it's better than being an Emperor penguin. Those guys have some issues. They think that they already rule the world just because the word Emperor is in their name. Talk about a complex! Anyway, back to my friend. He writes. Mostly news articles, giving the people a first hand view of what is happening on the penguin front so they can be informed. He's the one that first got people to see through that "cute and cuddly" front. Now, that took courage. He had all the other penguins up in arms against him, had hits out on him from the penguin mafia, death threats, attempts on his life. He had to go into hiding for a while there and only came out of hiding after making a deal with the Penguin Mafia Overlord saying that he wouldn't infiltrate their ranks and report their tactics to the common man again, that if the people wanted to resist the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, that they would have to figure it out on their own.
Now, the Front for Liberation of the Internal Penguin Population Revolution, FLIPPR for short, in my opinion is a load of crock. What do we need liberated from? And who exactly is the Internal Penguin Population? Half of their title I am convinced is there for the sole purpose of having an acronym that sounds like flipper. Cruel to our kind on their part. I mean, it's not like we have those awesome thumbs or anything, or even fingers for that matter! Do you know how hard it is to grab a cup of hot chocolate with a flipper!
Wait. wait... Oh no! I hear them coming! First they silence my friend for his comments, and now they are coming after me! I can hear them on the steps. If anyone reads this, please....PLEASE remember that not all the penguins are ba.....
A story from Basic
In my half asleep disorientation, I saw the tent I was in, and the one next to mine, both belonging to my platoon. I also saw the other Soldiers and our gear, but it was blurry like I was trying to look through a piece of plastic and make out exactly who and what I was seeing, which would tell me where I was. I knew these people, but what were they doing here militarizing my room with their drab green tents, uniforms and bags of gear? And what did they do with my nice soft feather pillow?
As I was puzzling this strange, seemingly out of body experience, I saw these Soldiers grabbing weapons, helmets, and masks on their way out of the tent. I was overcome with different signals in a pattern of sets of three: shoulders touched three times, three claps in a row, and something I couldn’t quite make out shouted three times. Then a smell hit that was faint at first, but its strength grew exponentially with each second that passed. The smell was indescribable to anyone that hadn’t smelled it before, like explaining how salt tastes: sickly sweet, yet incredibly sour, sharp, and so painfully strong even in a small amount it felt like the inside of my nose had started on fire. Once you have the privilege of smelling it, it is a smell you will always recognize, even if you can't explain how it smells to someone.
A flash of memory hit from a few weeks ago when we were all being oriented to the finer details of how our gas masks worked and, more importantly, the chamber where we got up close and personal with CS gas or, as it is more commonly known, Tear Gas. That realization along with the one that it was the word “gas” being shouted in sets of three hit me at the same time. The two combining meant only one thing: the Drill Sergeants had begun their fun on the first night of the Field Training Exercise.
Reoriented after waking up a mere five seconds ago, I grabbed for my gear. The face mask was to go on in less than seven seconds; I had it mastered in five. The helmet was next because contrary to popular belief, without one you are screwed. Finally, as I was headed out, I grabbed my weapon. By this point, it was part of my body a necessary accessory to my daily outfit: without it, especially here in the field, I was naked. Luckily, the chance of me leaving my weapon behind was as likely as me leaving an arm behind.
As I was running for our designated safe zone, engineer tape in the form of a square on the ground marking our makeshift bunker, I again misplaced my surroundings. The cloud from the CS gas had caused a hazy fog to form, whiter than regular fog. The gas that touched my skin burned like a thousand tiny paper cuts with lemon juice poured on them, all over the skin that was exposed. My pores were rejecting any amount of the gas that touched it, causing a thin layer of perspiration to form on top of the burning. Because of the claustrophobia caused by the mask and the feeling of choking the gas caused due to muscle memory from the last time I felt this burn on my skin, breathing was nearly impossible.
The mask I had on had been used and washed so many times that the plastic eye pieces were so scratched that everything appeared hazy under normal circumstances. That combined with the distracting sensation of my skin on fire and the cloud of white gas surrounding me caused me to be running in the wrong direction by about 45 degrees or so. I removed my mask, thinking I was out of the cloud enough that it wouldn’t hurt me as bad, in an attempt to reorient myself. Bad idea. Not only did my sinuses explode the second the gas hit them causing me to lose what little sight I had with the mask on, but I saw briefly that I was headed straight for the Drill Sergeants’ tent.
In this situation, the last person you want to come across while alone and disoriented was a Drill Sergeant, especially one that didn't belong to your platoon. They have the power to strike the fear of God into the majority of people, as well as having the luxury of this being their day job. So, showing the weakness of being lost and alone during a training situation while in front of one of them was not something I was willing to do at that point. I heard him say through the fog, “I see you. Don’t follow my voice or you will regret it! Better start running!” in a very uncharacteristically sing-song voice. The surety of this voice, who it belonged to, and what would happen if the owner of it caught me was enough to cause some semblance of clear, logical thought to pass through my brain. The normal punishment for being caught by a Drill Sergeant while alone would only be expounded since I didn’t have my mask on like I should, and was headed in a completely wrong direction.
My only saving grace of that moment was having the training from earlier that day come to mind where, if we got lost, we were to find the line of stars that had been pointed out to us and follow it to the bunker. As this thought passed through my head, I looked up, and started running again, this time in the right direction. Half a minute, three stumbles, and a headlong trip into a ditch later and I was to the bunker, finally finding that safe zone.
As I was puzzling this strange, seemingly out of body experience, I saw these Soldiers grabbing weapons, helmets, and masks on their way out of the tent. I was overcome with different signals in a pattern of sets of three: shoulders touched three times, three claps in a row, and something I couldn’t quite make out shouted three times. Then a smell hit that was faint at first, but its strength grew exponentially with each second that passed. The smell was indescribable to anyone that hadn’t smelled it before, like explaining how salt tastes: sickly sweet, yet incredibly sour, sharp, and so painfully strong even in a small amount it felt like the inside of my nose had started on fire. Once you have the privilege of smelling it, it is a smell you will always recognize, even if you can't explain how it smells to someone.
A flash of memory hit from a few weeks ago when we were all being oriented to the finer details of how our gas masks worked and, more importantly, the chamber where we got up close and personal with CS gas or, as it is more commonly known, Tear Gas. That realization along with the one that it was the word “gas” being shouted in sets of three hit me at the same time. The two combining meant only one thing: the Drill Sergeants had begun their fun on the first night of the Field Training Exercise.
Reoriented after waking up a mere five seconds ago, I grabbed for my gear. The face mask was to go on in less than seven seconds; I had it mastered in five. The helmet was next because contrary to popular belief, without one you are screwed. Finally, as I was headed out, I grabbed my weapon. By this point, it was part of my body a necessary accessory to my daily outfit: without it, especially here in the field, I was naked. Luckily, the chance of me leaving my weapon behind was as likely as me leaving an arm behind.
As I was running for our designated safe zone, engineer tape in the form of a square on the ground marking our makeshift bunker, I again misplaced my surroundings. The cloud from the CS gas had caused a hazy fog to form, whiter than regular fog. The gas that touched my skin burned like a thousand tiny paper cuts with lemon juice poured on them, all over the skin that was exposed. My pores were rejecting any amount of the gas that touched it, causing a thin layer of perspiration to form on top of the burning. Because of the claustrophobia caused by the mask and the feeling of choking the gas caused due to muscle memory from the last time I felt this burn on my skin, breathing was nearly impossible.
The mask I had on had been used and washed so many times that the plastic eye pieces were so scratched that everything appeared hazy under normal circumstances. That combined with the distracting sensation of my skin on fire and the cloud of white gas surrounding me caused me to be running in the wrong direction by about 45 degrees or so. I removed my mask, thinking I was out of the cloud enough that it wouldn’t hurt me as bad, in an attempt to reorient myself. Bad idea. Not only did my sinuses explode the second the gas hit them causing me to lose what little sight I had with the mask on, but I saw briefly that I was headed straight for the Drill Sergeants’ tent.
In this situation, the last person you want to come across while alone and disoriented was a Drill Sergeant, especially one that didn't belong to your platoon. They have the power to strike the fear of God into the majority of people, as well as having the luxury of this being their day job. So, showing the weakness of being lost and alone during a training situation while in front of one of them was not something I was willing to do at that point. I heard him say through the fog, “I see you. Don’t follow my voice or you will regret it! Better start running!” in a very uncharacteristically sing-song voice. The surety of this voice, who it belonged to, and what would happen if the owner of it caught me was enough to cause some semblance of clear, logical thought to pass through my brain. The normal punishment for being caught by a Drill Sergeant while alone would only be expounded since I didn’t have my mask on like I should, and was headed in a completely wrong direction.
My only saving grace of that moment was having the training from earlier that day come to mind where, if we got lost, we were to find the line of stars that had been pointed out to us and follow it to the bunker. As this thought passed through my head, I looked up, and started running again, this time in the right direction. Half a minute, three stumbles, and a headlong trip into a ditch later and I was to the bunker, finally finding that safe zone.
09 October 2009
life
So, I started school the end of September, and was completely overwhelmed at how much was then being asked of me. This week, I have had kids home sick with the flu. That on top of a paper due and the first exam in the Western Civ. class that I am finding myself struggling in, is not a good combination. 8 years since I really have been in school is a long time to forget the simple basics of how to study, how footnotes work, how to retain information from a lecture. That on top of everything else going on in my life, and it's amazing I'm still standing. Better yet, because of the great friends I seem to have picked up along the way, I am able to smile.
A real, genuine smile that seems to have been plastered on to keep people from seeing the hurt, from seeing all the conflicting emotions I have had for a long time now. True friends that have asked me, and some all but forced me, to open up, to trust again and allow them the chance to help. That has helped me to grow, to recover, better than the one I have had that was telling me how to fix it, how to recover, going off of not much more than my inability to put into words what I am going through and how it made me feel, and his own feelings and insecurities.
A person can only learn lessons, recover from bad experiences, as fast as they are able. Not every person can do it the speed of light, let it all just roll off their back and be unaffected. Some situations cut deeper, hit harder, and hurt more than expected, and more than allows for the ability to let it all just roll off your back. If you push someone to recover and bounce back fast than they are able then you cause more damage than good.
I guess where I am going with this bit of rambling is that I am very grateful and thankful for those friends in my life that have allowed me the chance to do this on my own. The ones that have been there when needed, even if it is just someone to talk to about goofy stuff.
A real, genuine smile that seems to have been plastered on to keep people from seeing the hurt, from seeing all the conflicting emotions I have had for a long time now. True friends that have asked me, and some all but forced me, to open up, to trust again and allow them the chance to help. That has helped me to grow, to recover, better than the one I have had that was telling me how to fix it, how to recover, going off of not much more than my inability to put into words what I am going through and how it made me feel, and his own feelings and insecurities.
A person can only learn lessons, recover from bad experiences, as fast as they are able. Not every person can do it the speed of light, let it all just roll off their back and be unaffected. Some situations cut deeper, hit harder, and hurt more than expected, and more than allows for the ability to let it all just roll off your back. If you push someone to recover and bounce back fast than they are able then you cause more damage than good.
I guess where I am going with this bit of rambling is that I am very grateful and thankful for those friends in my life that have allowed me the chance to do this on my own. The ones that have been there when needed, even if it is just someone to talk to about goofy stuff.
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