I just stole an extra bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos from the vending machine. I only intended to buy one, but after my dollar was accepted two bags fell out. I took the dishonorable route. I never meant for this to happen, but the urge overpowered me, and now the tragic decision weighs heavily upon my soul. What I should have done is walked righteously over to the Staff Sergeant on duty and surrendered the extra bag, earning myself the title of “Dumbass-who-wastes-time-over-extra-Doritos” in addition to my current billet of “Dumbass-who-locked-himself-in-the-laundry room.”
I’ve often had trouble making small talk with fellow Marines. Part of this may be my ignorance regarding the latest trends in dipping tobacco, but with my return to the cesspool of MOS training I’ve realized that it also may be heavily due to my politics. There are still the classic apolitical instances where I’ve managed to be out of touch. I’ve found a way out of being involved in sports with the line: “I’m not very good with balls.” This prompts laughter and usually no follow up request for me to play. See what I did there? I made a joke about not being good with balls, which can be interpreted as a statement of my sexuality, and because being Gay is gross right? Right guys? That’s funny right? You’ll be friends with me if I make fun of being Gay right? (maybe I should reconsider the subtext of this messaging). This cover helps me escape the humiliation I would suffer if anyone here ever saw me try to handle balls (you know, like footballs or basketballs), because I honestly have no idea how. This last school year a bully named Chris Bero made fun of me in front of all the other 7th graders whenever I tried to play sports, crushing my self-esteem down to a level that’s now comparable with my skill.
The truth is I’m quite a bit more liberal than the average Marine here and having the tendency to wear it on my sleeve hinders my ability to take part in some conversations. I’ve had to avoid the commonplace panel of white men talking about how equal opportunity is ruining America. I’ve been the less vocal minority on gun control laws, etc.. I can get by perfectly fine not fighting these uphill battles; however, sometimes my views actively prevent me from making or maintaining friendships. For example, one of my friends was going off about his wife, and I wanted to show that I supported him because I like the guy. However, despite my intentions I couldn’t really offer the affirmation that he was looking for. In response to “My fucking wife keeps spending all of my fucking money, she’s such a bitch!” all I was able to offer was a lukewarm “Yeah man! Fuck… the… institution of marriage, man!” This is all I can offer while avoiding softer and more prying questions regarding the state of his relationship, suggesting that it’d be best to avoid derogative slurs in discussing his significant other, and offering unhelpful advice such as “maybe you shouldn’t have gotten married when you knew you were going to be away for a long time, and also you are EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD, WHY WOULD YOU GET MARRIED AT EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD?”
Seriously though. Getting hitched really early on is totally a thing in the military. The stupid part is that the system practically encourages it. Married Marines rate the basic allowance for housing (even while training with no living expenses) and it’s the only way of escaping the barracks as a Lance Corporal or below when you get to your unit. Though a Marine with the foresight to consider the Corps’ 80% divorce rate would wisely avoid this engagement, many see the instant pay upgrade and take it. When, and if I ever get married, I damn well better be over thirty and only doing it because my aging parents shamed me into it.
I should get off my high horse. I feel most of this blog has been a poorly concealed “holier than thou” attitude towards my fellow Marines. I don’t want to give the impression that my fellow trainees are politically and financially illiterate idiots. There are some, to be fair. But to herald myself as the wisest one here would be narcissistic and (more importantly) inaccurate. I’m about to prove that to everyone by the straight up retarded welds I’m likely to make next week (and I don’t mean retarded as a slur towards people with disabilities, I feel it’s apt to describe my process of converting theory into action through my hands, a process that will most likely be retarded, similar to my balls-handling). In this case, I would seek out the better welders in the class and converse over some dip, just kidding I don’t want MOUTH CANCER.
P.S. That link is gross don’t click on it. But then again what would you expect, it’s mouth cancer.
Also everything is fine, I picked up class and all we learn is safety protocols… and mop floors.