Tales from The Sand Box 2

Stranger in a Strange Land.

Welcome back, dear reader. I hope you’ve enjoyed this series so far. While sharing my reasons for joining seemed like a good place to start, you can now prepare yourself for a steady dive into the grit of it all. Here we go.

I said goodbye to my mom at the recruiting station and left for my new life the night before my flight to Basic Training. My recruiter drove me and one other person to a cheap motel near our port of departure. It was a somewhat moody place in Old Town that obviously made the majority of its income from Government contracts. We were given meal vouchers for the kitchen and room keys then left by ourselves for the night.

I could tell by the many fresh faces milling about the place cautiously striking up conversations that I was among fellows. Everyone was seemingly desperate to keep their minds occupied and their fears at bay so awkward conversations were struck up over cigarettes and sodas.

Something about the anxiety and the existential fear of the coming unknown seemed to inspire chattiness in everyone. I resolved to listened to their stories about poverty, about struggle, about trying to avoid homelessness. I even heard a tale or two from guys joining to avoid jail time. Yes, that still happens. Charges get dropped by judges all the time in exchange for proof from recruiters that defendants have shipped off to basic training. The war machine will get fed.

A curious note: very few people I met during my tour joined out of a sense of duty or patriotism. Even fewer professed to be college bound or had a plan of any kind for the future really. It struck me that many didn’t seem to think that far ahead. I met one or two people who had military families, they spoke with awe about legacy, and of course all of them acted as if they desperate to prove something. One enlistee I met even lamented that he was running to escape the responsibility of family. He said he figured he’d never get found in the military overseas.

I personally had none of these reasons for joining. I had my foolishly ignoble intent and my desire to be self sufficient as my motivators. Since I felt like a stranger in a strange land almost immediately I resolved to try and keep my mouth shut and only really spoke about myself if prompted to.

We all shared whatever information we had about where we were going. That allowed us to gradually lumped together. Friendly promises were made between people to watch out for one another. It just seemed natural to have a friendly face to look to during the trip so everybody found one.

That last night of civilian life was far from boring. A couple of guys that were prior service disappeared to go get drunk and find a strip club. They never came back. A couple of people decided to try and sneak off for a bit of horizontal dancing and got caught. It was a scandal among the impromptu whisper circles that were present. I found that the maturity level of the average inductee was about on par with what I was expecting and that gave me a strange comfort.

I don’t recall getting any sleep that night. I couldn’t even think about eating due to nervousness.

The next morning we were all stirred before dawn and stuck in a government van that zipped us over to San Diego International Airport. We were dumped at the departure gate with itineraries and tickets by ourselves. Many of the group had never flown before and had no idea what to do, including myself, so things quickly devolved into a mess. Due to the post 9-11 security checks and waits in endless lines our whole group missed our flight. There was a moment of panic but thankfully it passed quickly.

Once the terror we all felt at starting off our military careers on a bad foot eased we managed to get things sorted. We deliberated with a person behind the check-in counter and were all split onto other available flights, given new tickets, and sent hustling off in every direction. My now much smaller group caught our new flight and were headed off into the unknown.

I should take a moment to point out that, aside from a few trips to Arizona and Mexico, I’d never left the West Coast in my life. The only things I knew about the south, particularly Georgia, were things I’d seen in movies and read in books. As a result I found myself both excited and unprepared for the reality of the American South.

Looking back now I can confirm that it is true that things are bigger in the South. Especially people and they are also stranger than you’d think. They called Carl's Jr. Hardees for one, people moved much more slowly for 2. For 3 at the time people smoked pretty much everywhere. Also when I stepped outside, despite it being April, the air was noticeably wet and it was a stiflingly warm night. Everything was the same but felt different in a lot of ways. I found that I was feeling culture shock for the first time in my life.

I still remember the trepidation and nervousness of that day like it was last week. My guts were in knots, my brain was fried by lack of sleep. I was perpetually excited about this new adventure. Our group got lost several times navigating the labyrinthine and massive Atlanta Airport. We arrived just in time to board the bus for Basic Training. Many of us discarded our cigarettes before boarding and were lamenting the coming nicotine fits as we took our seats.

The driver was a gentleman of color in a finely aged scaly cap, slacks, and a silk button up. He looked to be 150 years old. He stood up from behind the wheel and addressed us.

He said, “I'm supposed to tell ya not to smoke and I’m not supposed to put on a movie during this drive, forget that. Y’all are about to be in the gawdamn Army, smoke 'em if you got em. enjoy yaself a movie.”

I groaned about having thrown mine away but figured I had better get used to being smoke free. The driver sat back down, cranked the beast up, and we were on our way. We zipped through Atlanta and onto the highway to make the long drive to Macon, Georgia.

After hours of choking on clouds of smoke and watching a couple of comedies we arrived at Ft. Gordon. As soon as we hit the gate the movie went off and the butts went out. Everyone fell silent.

Men and women in uniform with slung rifles were our first taste of military life. They came on the bus and counted us. As they looked us over I swear they were smirking at our fresh, fearful faces. Something about the gazes they gave us said they were sadistically savoring the palpable terror leaking off of us green recruits.

We pulled past all manner of things that were strange and alien such as airborne jump training towers and massive obstacle courses that looked haunted in the dark. Soon the bus pulled up at a little village of angular, short buildings. Waiting for us were a cadre of terrifyingly large, serious looking men in camo and stiff, brown and round hats.

As we filed off they started to bark orders. Not screaming like R.Lee Ermey but booming loud, clear, and very seriously.

“Welcome to the RECBN, or Reception Battalion,” announced a stern faced drill sergeant with a slight stutter. No one dared comment on it.

The Drill Sergeants slowly sized each of us with challenging stares as we waited in line. They took us into a building and started processing us into the U.S Army.

First step was called Amnesty.

“No one cares what you accidentally brought with you, put it in the box and forget about it. You’ll never see it again, “Drill Sergeant Stutter said.

Each of us stepped into a booth that felt akin to a confession booth with a slot in the wall. Prohibited items were dropped with no questions asked and we were all shuffled on to the next station.

We were formed into lines and shuffled into a room full of hair and stinking of burning skin. Everyone had to have our heads shaved. Barbers sat each of us down and quickly reduced our heads to stubble with machines that were half clipper/ half vacuum. They worked with no mercy, ignored people’s gasps and cries of pain. They butchered out knots, dug into scalps, and sheared off any kind of wart or bump that got in their way. Many of us left that horror chamber holding paper towels to our bleeding heads as we got shuffled off to the next station.

After that everything became a blur of exhaustion and nervousness mixed with boredom waiting in lines to get various tasks completed and given a rules and behavior briefing. Finally we were shuffled off to trailers full of bunk beds and left in the dark with instructions to be ready in the morning.

I don’t think any of us got any sleep that night, especially after one guy hada grand mal seizure due to what was probably an undisclosed detox. He fell off his bunk screaming, hitting his head on the way down, I can still remember the sound and it makes me shudder. He was carried out on a stretcher and I don’t think we ever saw him again.

The next few days were spent being issued items we’d need for Basic Training. They took us into a small Post Exchange and outfitted us with all brand new things. Of course they charged us for everything against the checks we had yet to be paid.

Most of us brought along things like deodorant and socks that the recruiters recommended on a packing list. We were told to discard them and purchase the approved versions that were no different. I remember watching dozens of people throw away perfectly good clothes, shoes, and hygiene items because the government only allowed certain brands. The absurdity and wastefulness of this act was not lost on me.

After a week or so of sitting our asses, fighting boredom, and eating they gave us all a basic fitness test. It sorted out those that had any modicum of physicality from those that didn’t. There were a surprising number of failures but I was not one of them.

I remember doing 20 pushups, maybe 30 sit ups, running a mile in less than 8 minutes and thinking it was an Olympian task. I laugh about it now but thinking back to that day I felt proud and passing meant I’d achieved some sort of feat. Little did I know it was just a half assed way of weeding out the truly weak among us before we hit the gauntlet of Basic Training.

That’s all for now. Stay tuned for the next installment.