Sorry for neglecting to post an
entry in the last few days. I was busy cleaning my room.
No. Seriously, for the last few
days I was cleaning my room.
“Field Day” usually conjures imagery
of outdoor games like tug-o’-war. However, in the Marine Corps, Field Day is the
bane of every Lance Corporal and below’s existence. It’s the designated day of
the week when we clean the barracks and our rooms. Now, for clarification, I
clean my room in some fashion every day. Every morning we sweep the floor, take
out the trash, lock everything away, make our racks, etc. before we can even
leave, it’s expected. Therefore, Field Day is centered on the most anal and
obnoxious cleaning I’ve ever experienced. The NCOs and staff NCOs who run
inspections aren’t looking for something legitimately unclean, such as a dirty floor or
an unclean toilet, because they would never find one. They’re after the most minuscule
piece of lint that hides in the bottom corner between your desk and the wall.
They’re after the slightly off-white color that the grout between the tiles on
your shower floor has become due to years and years of use. These ridiculous
expectations result in over 90% of the Marines on my floor routinely failing
their first inspection; they then have to clean again and try to pass another
the next morning. Here at Fort Never-Leave, Field Day is Thursday, so after we
were released we went back to the room and spent a few hours scrubbing down
everything in sight. I was in charge of the bathroom, and I’ll just say that
the toilet and I formed a very intimate relationship after I finished scrubbing
down every part of it down to the muskiest of its hidden, shadowy contours.
Another aggravating part of Field
Day is that once inspection begins, everyone has to wait outside of their rooms
until they’re inspected. Being at the end of the hallway means that my
roommates and I wait around for about thirty minutes. Therefore, we spend the
time dreading the possibility that we glanced over something and pondering every
single cranny that is most likely collecting dust at the moment. My first
inspection resulted in increased confidence in my own filter. When the Gunnery
Sergeant (who, considering his rank, should have something much better to do
than inspect my janitorial handiwork) angrily told me to look closely at a tile
and tell him it wasn’t dirty. Instead of my first reaction, which would be: ”Well,
Gunnery Sgt, I guess I can see how there are very faint water spots on this
tile, which shouldn’t really be that surprising since it’s in THE FUCKING
SHOWER” I censored myself to a brief: “Yes Gunnery Sgt, I can see it.” We
failed, partly because of the bathroom but also that they were able to rub a
bit of lint off the bottom a lamp. We were told that we were going to be
inspected again the next morning at 0620 after PT. Remaining diligent, I opted
to forgo a shower and woke up promptly the next morning at 0400 to correct
these blemishes. We failed again, and along with half the platoon would Field
Day again that night (Friday). After taking an enraged shower, my roommates and
I went down to the shitty army store and bought some heavy duty cleaning
solvents and scrubbed the shower into submission (we even had help from one of
the class guides). The chemical process left me a bit more than light-headed
and I think I saw God for a few seconds (she is Black btw).
This third inspection passed us, to
the apparent irritation of the Gunnery Sgt (who at this point seemed to relish our failure). I didn’t feel accomplished as much as a felt like buying a box
of donuts and eating the whole fucking thing in about ten minutes. Thankfully
for my health, the store closed long before we were done with inspection. This
sort of Field Day makes me ponder the effectiveness of the training we’re
receiving. I understand the importance of paying attention to detail, but when
it goes so far that the process of wiping down the cleaned tiles of my shower
result in them becoming dirtier due to lint from the towel, I can’t see the
benefit. The boots here can be fooled into believing that the mystical and magical
fleet will have similar standards, but I know better. The only obvious result
is a bunch of miserable junior Marines, as a continuously failing room can lead
to restrictions on liberty (free time) or paperwork leading to greater
administrative punishment. For example, because my roommates and I didn’t pass
the first time, if we fail next week we’re put on phase 1 liberty, which means
we can’t change out of uniform or go past certain perimeters on base. I guess I’ll
be spending a lot of time Thursday unintentionally huffing chemicals.
Pondering the perspective of the Gunnery Sgt and others who designed this
policy, I can refer to the comic series Terminal Lance (which is usually hilarious
if you understand the context):
http://terminallance.com/2013/07/12/terminal-lance-277-late-nights/
In other news, I pick up welding
class this Monday. November 22nd is my projected graduation date. I
also get to make an appointment with the neurologist on Monday, and they'll determine
see whether or not I’m capable of working with my hands (whats the worst they could do, send me home? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHHHHHHHHH). Though I’ll be busier
I’m certain there will be enough downtime to write a few entries per week. As
long as there are still people who are interested in reading. I actually,
scratch that. I don’t need you. If I’m not writing blogs I’m probably either staring
at a wall or making elaborate lists of the types of alcohol I will drink when I’m
home. And seeing that there is a finite variety of spirits in the universe I’ll
end up losing my mind before the wall becomes any more entertaining, so I’ll
keep blogging.
READER SHOUT OUT: Alyssa Nydegger is
a girl and does not have lice and I miss her eating ice cream with me when I
get rejected.
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