Common Sense Isn’t So Common

This is a continuation from my previous post, hope y’all enjoy

I have/will include some of the bad language that was said to keep this story as authentic as possible, I hope to update this particular post once more and then write a separate one to continue the story.

 

 

As the Drill Sergeant started his eruption somewhere in the sea of high decibel sounds I nervously grasped what he was saying, to get off the bus and get to the top of that hill. Imagine having a bus full of people trying to get off at the same time. People were tripping over their bags, we were engulfed in chaos. We were loudly told to form up by the number that had been assigned to us, either one, two, three, or four. I had received the number four so I was assigned to Fourth Platoon along with sixty or so other people. As soon as we formed up, the first thing that we were told was to, pardon my French, Get the fuck down and start pushing. Before I was afraid of silence at the start and now I was afraid that this experience would never stop. After doing push-ups and being told to stand up, they(Drill Sergeants)   started calling off our names and we had to reply with Here Drill Sergeant. Me being the smart-ass that I am called them Sergeants instead of the proper name, Drill Sergeants. It is as if I had been thrown into a shark frenzy, with some many of them yelling at once I was so confused as to whether I was supposed to be doing push-ups or standing up. Looking back at situations like this have made me aware of the smallest details when dealing with people.

After the shark frenzy was over we had to dump our duffel bags  in front of us so that we could be searched for contraband. Anything from a fingernail filer to a stick of gum was considered contraband. Imagine having all of your issued clothing in front of you along with everyone else’s belongings, oh how crazy it seemed at the time. Once they had searched our bags and belongings, we were given maybe twenty seconds or so to stuff everything back into our bags. Obviously many people failed to meet the time requirement and off we were doing push-ups once again. Over the course of this blog you will see that I have been best friends with the pavement seeing as how push-ups became a way of life. A confusing moment for us(people in my unit) was when our 1SG came out to talk to us. A 1SG is the highest ranking enlisted person in a unit and respect is always given to them. Obviously, we had no idea who the hell he was  so we called him Drill Sergeant, oh how I hated calling him that, for the next eternity we were off doing exercises for calling him that. We didn’t understand the concept that he was higher than them, but after an X amount of push-ups the concept became very clear and tiring to us. We were allowed to stand up and continue on with this long day. The majority of us were in decent shape before we arrived to BCT, but the combination of almost no sleep and physical activities had taken a toll on our bodies.

 

We were assigned a bay(big room) which would be the place where my platoon slept for the next nine weeks. Our buildings were anything but luxurious, two story metal buildings that looked as if they were constructed in the 50’s. The inside of the buildings weren’t much better, thirty or so bunk beds with a wall locker next to each one, a restroom with four toilets and six shower heads. This would be our home sweet home and we would come to love our home. Our day consisted of hectic classes showing us how we were supposed to make our beds every day and how our clothes would be folded. For beds the sheets had to be tight enough to bounce a quarter off of them, shirts were rolled and had to be exactly six inches with no creases in the roll, socks and underwear had to be rolled to three inches with no creases as well. Our boots, shower shoes, and pt shoes were to lined up at the top of our lockers. Everybody’s bed and locker were expected to look the same and we tried our best.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: