31 July 2010

Someone Please Help Me be Serious

I’m beginning my 8th week at Hotel California, and I’m beginning to suspect the Army’s bureaucracy may, perhaps, move a bit slow. 

I’m not the only one being made to wait for security reasons, and I suppose I’m even a bit lucky, as I’ve been told what those reasons are; others who arrived the same day as I are still waiting to learn what sin they’ve committed.  Having been here for several resident turn-overs now, it’s more than easy to see the narrative trend.  There are but a few.  Some arrive at Hotel California after receiving the boot from their line companies.  Usually they failed Land Nav, failed the five-mile run, or failed the History Test.  They are in denial about being at Hotel California because they are generally sure they don’t deserve such treatment for a variety of identical reasons.  Some arrive early for classing up, which only happens every three weeks.  So, people can come from BCT and sit here for about that long, and then they are gone.  Others are held over on “security holds;” that would include me.  Two things make this suck.  First, it took almost a month before anyone told me what those reasons were, leaving us to feel lame because we didn’t quite know what we were up against, though I certainly had some idea.  The second suck factor is that Hotel California is structured to suck the morale out of you.  Yes, you.  Rather than give us time to work on our security issues, or study for History or Land Nav, or work on PT, we are tasked-out to be other company’s bitches.  In short, I mow lawns for a living.  Generally, it’s so urgent we look busy, that we’re actually made to go outside and mow the same grass up to four days in a row.  I’ve seen it many times.  This week a new resident expressed disbelief on her second day of weed whacking the same patch of wilted grass, to which F and I (both here the same amount of time) assured her that much more whacking could and would commence.  Oh fate, fuck you and your lawn mower!

I know I’m more civilian than Army with just 4 months in, and I suspect that’s part of my problem.  I’m having a hard time taking this organization seriously, and I’m trying to keep that out of my mind.  But, as I watch those who came here with me head into their final weeks of OCS, while I mow lawns because Arabs taught me to speak Arabic, I’m certain that more than anything, the Army wants officers who can 1) run, and who 2) have never left god’s country.  And that’s fucking stupid.  Oh yeah, and that’s in order, too.  I listed nothing about actual leadership skills, because I see little of that as a requirement, though the literature here would dispute that. 

One good thing about Hotel California is that we get weekends off.  We don’t have to run in formation in our ACU’s, or stand in a horseshoe and listen to Rangers talk about how we lack motivation.  This morning a fire alarm foiled my attempt to sleep late, though.  I stumbled over to the DFAC and got some turkey bacon, and then came back and started some laundry.  And, guess what taxpayer? I recklessly hit the “extra rinse” button.  Yeah, I went there.  I may even take those clean clothes and wash them again at your expense just because I can.  And thanks for the sub-par A/C too.  It is technically better than nothing. 

Oh yeah, and clean your junk for the love of god.

1 comment:

  1. Good to know your junk is clean. I confess that I always use the extra rinse cycletoo, but I’ve got a more legitimate reason to do so - having mostly to do with the average levels of aged urine/feces in said dirty laundry. Besides, I pay taxes and that pays your salary, soldier. So you work for me. And if I want you to mow lawns mowed four times, you’ll darn well mow. Don’t you want to support our heroes in uniforms? You need to re-read Catch 22 and/or Gravity’s Rainbow, even if you must do so sober and without undue concentrations of chemically induced insight to inform your reading. And remember what Andy Warhol said: “I used to think that everyone was just being funny, but now I don’t know. I mean, how can you tell?”

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