Question: How do you get a person who wants to know the reason why things are done and doesn't want to get hurt to instantly follow orders and put himself into harm's way?
Answer: The United States Marine Corps has developed a system to accomplish this very task in 13 short weeks.
The system is so effective that upon completion the Marine will not only instantly follow orders and put himself into harm's way... he'll do it enthusiastically!
Today is Saturday, at least I think it's Saturday, one of the DIs said it was Saturday. I've been here for 3 days and it feels like 3 years. The first thing I noticed about Paris Island is the humidity. It's like 98% humidity here all the time. We got here at 2 in the morning... sorry 0200 (probably gonna get quarterdecked for that! What is quarterdecked you ask? I'll get to that later!)... and it was 85 degrees and humid as hell. I told you that the biggest, baddest looking black man I ever saw was our Indoc Drill Instructor. When he came onto the bus he didn't yell. I was ready for yelling. I was ready for a tornado to hit us. That didn't happen. What he did instead was worse. Way worse. He stood at the front of the bus and in a bass monotone said, "Shut your mouths and listen up. When I say go, you will grab all your trash and get off this bus and get your lousy feet on those yellow footprints over there. Do you understand? (This was a rhetorical question.) GO!" After he said he proceeded down the aisle encouraging the young men on the bus to move quickly. Bear in mind that what I actually mean by encouraging was that he grabbed shoulders, shirts, maybe even hair and pushed whoever wasn't moving fast enough toward the door. When we got the to yellow footprints we were told to lock our disgusting bodies and listen. He barked a series of orders at us while telling us that we weren't good enough to be here but over the course of 13 weeks we would become worthy. Right then the magnitude of 13 weeks hit me! This wasn't even day one and it was the longest day of my life.
After the pep talk, it was time for haircuts. Once we ordered to do so we raced into the building and lined up heel to toe at the door to the barbershop. There is another way to describe heel to toe, nut to butt. That's how close to the guy in front of and behind you is. Uncomfortable doesn't do this justice. The barbers are so old that each one looks like he has both feet in the grave and is just waiting for the right time to collapse into the coffin and call it a day. Each has trembling hands, thick black glasses like coke bottles and long white coats. Everyone is getting there head shaved. We all knew this so it's not a big deal. What is a big deal is the fact that these barber shop wraiths drag the clippers over your scalp like they were reincarnated indians out on the plains. I could feel the tracks on my scalp and I can see spots of blood on everyones head.
Next up is paperwork. It's gotta be nearly 3:30 or 4:00 am... I mean 0330-0400.. and everyone has been up since 0530 yesterday, this is the perfect time to fill out paperwork. At this point it is clear to me that I have signed my life away for the next four years so I can't imagine what I am signing now. The DI is not in an answering questions mood. It is entirely possible that I just signed away the rights to my firstborn child. At one point I think I signed up for the GI Bill. (What the F@#$ do I need the GI Bill for I just graduated from college!?!?!? Then again maybe if I'd taken school more seriously I wouldn't have thought this was a good idea!?!?!)
Now that the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed it's off to get our basic issue. We march down the hall and into a room where there are two aisles divided by two long tables with little dividers like voting booths. We are ordered to file down and line up in front of a cubby. Once there we are told to strip down to underwear and put everything else into the brown paper bag on the table. We are given tape and a marker to seal up the bag and write our info on it. Sad to think that all my stuff fits into a paper bag and I won't see it again for 3 months but whatever. Then we meet a large foul tempered man who seems to enjoy yelling at us and calling us "recruits" like it means "assbag". We all go through the lines and are issued three pairs of cammie blouses (shirts), cammies trousers (pants), two pairs of boots (one combat and one jungle), two cammie covers (hats) three pairs of green shorts, two packs of three brown t-shirts, three packs of black and white sock sand one pair of gofasters (gray sneakers), and two web belts. We shuffle back to the cubby and change. We are ordered to roll up the trouser legs and drape them over our boots. We are told to leave our sleeves down. It is my humble opinion that we look like complete idiots. Our uniforms are kept looking sloppy to remind us that we are sloppy. The gear we aren't wearing is loaded into a white mesh bag.
Our beast like guide on this morning from hell informs us that is time for chow. So we line up and begin to walk, not march, to chow. Little do any of us know how far away the chow hall is. It is still dark and the street lights have an other worldly orange tint. This is the first real glimpse of the place I will call home for the next 13 weeks and I gotta say that I'm not feeling any better. It is so humid that just walking is making me sweat and that attracts the bugs. And this was only day one!!!
