Day One-ish

Remember I said, "I was starting to think that Basic and AIT was not going to be too bad since the Drill Sergeants at the airport were so patient and lovely "…. I was very wrong about that. It turns out there may have been something in those round brown hats that makes these friendly and caring NCOs turn into some earthly spawn of a demon. Keep in mind that this was still coming from the perspective of a civilian kid. I was a kid sheltered in life and had no idea what he was getting himself into. Maybe it was something in the USO at the St. Louis airport; perhaps it was just that life finally gave me an uppercut to the chin trying to hit that knockout blow! 

               So, you may be wondering what happened; how did those friendly people turn into demon spawn exactly? Well, see, here's what happened. I was minding my business with about a hundred other kids (ok, trainees, we are trainees, and I will start using that phrase). Some of us were telling stories of grandeur, spinning tall tales of our excellent, perfect, or not-so-perfect lives. All in an attempt to be popular in our new world, or maybe they were attempts at covering up their soon-to-be apparent personality and physical fitness shortcomings.   Anyway, I was there playing a game of spades with random people when the first demon Soldier with a round brown hat (from now on, will be called Drill Sergeants) kicked out a wooden door. The hinges bent outward with the forceful kick, and it scared all of us in the room. Although, I did catch some USO volunteers chuckling behind their hands out of the corner of my eye.  Seeing a room full of people being jump scared is funny to volunteers.

               Not that seeing the civilians chuckle made the situation any better for me. I was still scared shitless. I know now, because hindsight is 20/20, that it was all a setup, and the USO personnel were in on it. And I genuinely believe that door the Drill Sergeant kicked in was probably "destroyed" very often. It was all part of a big game, an ever-complex way to make us afraid, concerned, worried, and prepared for all kinds of crazy shit the Army throws at you.   However, it was likely just a way for the Drill Sergeants to blow off some steam and not completely lose their minds.

               So, the bus ride to Fort Leonard wood from St. Louis airport is about three of the most intense hours of my life (at this point, at least). Myself and all the other trainees crammed onto the bus, tight as a can of sardines, and sat silently. I was staring out the window or trying to actively avoid looking at the Drill Sergeants at the front of the bus. Some of you who have not served may wonder why we tried to avoid looking at the Drill Sergeants. Well, it was straightforward; we learned while trying to form a simple line standing at the airport's attention position that the Drill Sergeants were neither friendly nor kind. Shocking, I know. They were like walking, talking (yelling) thesauruses of anger, and word combinations I did not know were possible.  

               Just a quick example: One trainee could not figure out how to place his feet at a forty-five-degree angle with his heels touching. The Drill Sergeants quickly zoned in on him and started verbally laying into the kid. That is when I learned that you do not look at a Drill Sergeant unless specifically told to. You only reply to them well, always. And that this trainee was forever going to be called  "soup sandwich." Soup Sandwich was the trainee's name for the next three or four weeks.

Back to the bus ride. We just looked out the windows and not at the Drill Sergeants. They radiated anger and seemed to stare through our souls and inflict fear in most of us. Some of the trainees dared spare a glance at them on the ride. I am not sure what happened to those trainees, but it was like shooting a flare in the night. As soon as they looked, the Drill Sergeant went off in a crazy and seemingly uncontrolled spray of words, saliva, and movements. Some of which I still think was not natural. Like how in the hell does a full-grown man in a uniform leap over two bus seats and use the overhead bins to climb halfway through the buses in a matter of seconds? Yes, it seemed that happened straight out of a B-rated exorcism film.

               We finally arrived at Fort Leonard wood at about 0800 in the morning. Honestly, I don't recall eating on the bus or when we arrived. We likely had snacks at the USO beforehand. I remember thinking it was time for breakfast and hoping our first stop was at a restaurant. Fun fact:  restaurants for trainees are called dining facilities. Or DFAC for short. And they are free—kind of. You lose your basic allowance for substances (BAS), but you get three meals daily. Not the best food in the world, but better than nothing. And you get a whopping five or ten minutes to eat! So yeah, it kind of sucks in training for food sometimes. More on that later.

               Where was I? yes, we arrived at a central processing center. It was up on a small hill surrounded by trees with a long parking lot and what appeared to be sand volleyball courts to the side. They were not sand volleyball courts, we later found out. We, trainees, got off the buses and hastily got into a formation of four deep and ten people long. Called a platoon, we learned there were four platoons in our company. So, math that out, and we have 160 trainees at the beginning. The Drill Sergeant was all up in everyone's faces yelling at us, fixing things, and setting up privates to be swarmed by the other Drill Sergeants. It was terrifying for me. We spent about forty minutes attempting to turn in unison as a platoon. Just a simple right face. Then another ten minutes of learning to file by columns. The only thing that made the filing by columns shorter was the fact we had a set time to be in and out of the processing facility.

               Remember a bit back I mentioned the trainee named" soup sandwich"? Well, he was in front of me during this whole process. At first, I thought he was a bit unlucky in front of me, but then a thought crept into my head. An idea that I believed was terrific; maybe my best thought yet! Even better than when I told my parents I was staying at my buddy's place, and he told his parents he was staying at my place, and we camped on the beach with some friends all night. Way better than that. My thought was with him in front of me, he would likely get all the Drill Sergeants pissed at him before me, and they would skip yelling at me because they would be yelling at him or too tired to yell at me.

               I was wrong.

               So, we filed into the processing center, and the Drill Sergeants first separated us into two groups—males on the left and females on the right. Then, the same went for the Drill Sergeants; the males were with the males and the females with the females. Later I learned why they try to keep the sexes separated as much as possible. Separating the sexes was an attempt to reduce complaints, accusations, and actual sexual harassment and assaults from occurring. Not a bad plan. 

First-stop haircuts! My first and last free haircut in the Army! The barber room was solidly cream in color and had an overbearing smell of barricade. The smell was so strong it seemed like they sprayed barbicide all over things when no one was in the room. For all I know, they probably did. Smells clean must be clean, right? As the males file into the room, the first few are led straight to a chair. The civilians there set the kids down almost in unison. It was so cool looking, I thought. All the aprons fly over the trainees in unison too. Again, so cool looking. Then the Drill Sergeant announced that we were getting a haircut precisely as he has; he whipped off his Drill Sergeant hat (the round brown hat) and declared loud and clear that his cut was called "the great equalizer."

  He meant bald. He meant very bald, like shaved down to the scalp bald. 

               Some of us knew it was coming. Some still had longer and styled hair. Most of us immediately accepted this as the rule of the land. The barbers worked with such speed and precision shaving privates (hahaha, get it) that the first ten were done in seconds, it seemed. Then the next ten went in the chairs and out again within a matter of seconds. Then the third set of ten had the same results. Same quick speed and proficiency. Such a beautifully oiled machine in that room. Then my group of ten was shuffled to the chairs. We all sat down, and the barbers started doing their job and shaving us bald. Except for this time, one of us decided to ask them for something else "a fade on the side, please," he said. What a foolish thing to do.

               I looked at the trainee next to me, who said he wanted the fade, and low and behold, it was soup sandwich. I saw the Drill Sergeants head at the exit whip and hone in on soup sandwich like it was blood in the water and he was a hungry shark. The Drill Sergeants' lips parted, and an evil smile replaced the stoic grin which was there the whole time. I read the Drill Sergeant's name on his uniform, and it said Culp. Drill Sergeant Culp just stared at soup sandwich and smiled that evil smile as our heads were shaved. And internally, I was glad it was not me. I was delighted this kid was taking attention away from me. I was glad I was not his battle buddy, as the term was called. 

My head was shaved, and I felt like, well, still scared and nervous. But I was glad I was not soup sandwich. I can tell you that for sure. I did note that it was quite a bit colder without hair. But, being from Michigan, I knew I would adjust eventually. Or get a nasty sunburn. 

Being unceremoniously ushered out of the barber room back into the long hallway, I noted that everyone was standing in line waiting to go into what the Drill Sergeants called "the stabby room." This did not sound too fun to me. Who calls a room "the stabby room," and what takes place there? The strangest part was no one coming out of "the stabby room." That was odd because the barber room had people coming out, albeit without hair. 

I entered the "stabby room," sat on a chair, and filled out some paperwork detailing some basic administrative information and what immunizations I knew I had. That is when I realized "the stabby room" was immunizations. By the way, I am terrified of needles at this point in my life. So I was not comfortable in the "stabby room." Unfortunately, at this point, I was lost in my terrifying thoughts of needles and overlooked the trainee next to me being called up for the assembly line of immunizations. The next thing I know, two medics are yelling at me to get my ass up and over here so they can jab me a bunch. 

That is not a pleasant thought for me.

I reluctantly stood up and walked over to the medics. Each one positioned themselves on my sides and proceeded to have the most carefree conversation ever while jabbing countless needles in my arms. It went something like this: 

“Hey man, what do you want to do tonight? (Jab two needles in my right arm?”

“Ahh, I don't know; let's go to Jimmy's and get some food and beer (while jabbing two more needles in my left arm).”

“That seems fine to me; man, stop fucking moving, trainee (jab two more needles in my right arm).”

“Hell, ya, bro, let's get the last few FNGs done and start partying (jab two more in my left arm).”

“Ok, kid, you moved a shit ton, so you will bleed out of your arms for a while. Now drop your pants for the last one. Hey, you want to do this one? I stuck enough of these nasty people in the ass today.”

And that is when I panicked. Why in the hell are they sticking a needle in my butt. Like what purpose does this serve? Are they messing with me? Nope, not messing with me. I see them lose their patience fast, and a Drill Sergeant starts to walk toward me with an evil grin. That may have been the fastest I ever pulled my pants down (still to this day). I stood with my pants at my ankle. I was waiting for the worst moment of my life at this point.

The medic on my left sighed and grabbed a needle. He said, "look, kid…I don't enjoy this, ok maybe I do a bit. But I need you not to move, or the needle will break off in your butt, and that sucks for you. So be still and be aware this will feel like peanut butter being injected into you. On the count of three, ok? One….” And that is when he jammed the needle in my left butt check. And sure enough, I felt like running like the wind. But I didn't. I stood there and sucked up the pain and embarrassment and wanted it all done. I'm not too fond of needles. The thick peanut butter substance was slowly injected, and the needle was removed. Not broken, I might add. 

I pulled my pants up and quickly exited the room after waiting in a holding area for 15 minutes.  Which is why I saw no one come out of the room at first. From there, we all went in and out of multiple rooms doing paperwork, signing up for life insurance and education benefits, and getting our ID cards and our ID tags as quietly as possible while avoiding the death stares of the Drill Sergeants. Finally, we got our uniforms and name tapes in the last room.   Somehow these civilians looked at each trainee and knew what size they needed. We shuffled along and got our first combat boots and a backup. Everything moved like a well-oiled machine, smooth and quick. We even went into the amnesty boothes. Think of them like a confessional where we were instructed to deposit all prohibited items. Those items included knives, guns, alcohol, mouthwash, over-the-counter medicine, books, magazines, and sex toys. That last one threw me off a bit. Who would bring sex toys to basic training (a lot of people do, apparently)? That done, we were shuffled back outside in our brand-new uniforms, still sporting the new tags too, which is when it happened. That is when we, as a company, met our real Drill Sergeants. 

They were waiting there like sharks in the water attracted to blood. They were waiting for us, waiting for their new trainees. They are waiting to establish dominance over us and change us from slow civilians to military killing cogs. Their first mission was to make us not look "brand fucking new like a shiny barbie and ken doll." How did they do this, you may be thinking. Well, remember earlier I mentioned the sand volleyball courts. Well, those were not for volleyball. They were for us, for the trainees; they were sued to make us not look brand new. This is when we learned how to do front-back-go's and roll left and roll right. We did those things until we were not new looking according to the drills sergeants. It may have been ten minutes or two hours. I really can't remember. It all is a blur of pain, sweat, and some tears from others. But, I vividly remember a Drill Sergeant Culp saying to soup sandwich that we would be here until everyone's new uniforms were a bit frayed and all the damn civilian smell was gone.

That was day one-ish. Well, not actually on day one of basic training. But day one-ish, to the best of my memory. So, thank you for reading, and next time we will talk about the one day we spent in WW2 barracks.