On the descent into Charlotte Douglas International Airport, the plane hit an air pocket. Several passengers were flung from their seats and I hit my head on the overhead compartment. For a moment, the thought of death came as a relief. But to my chagrin, the Boeing 737 landed safely and I deboarded the plane with an hour to find my connection.
The subsequent flight into Columbia was short and deathly silent. Being a plane loaded with thirty-some fresh faced recruits, I somewhat expected to hit the ground running upon arrival. Instead we were greeted by a caricature I’d come across time and again: the mildly agitated Staff Sergeant disenchanted with military service. Unlike the Marines, where (according to the video) the training cadre are told to “hate” recruits, the Army treats theirs with a lack of interest. This was probably more of a reflection of the times, when it was becoming abundantly clear that the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, where many of the training cadre served, were going poorly. Active duty veterans were returning stateside either burned out or going untreated for PTSD. This particular Staff Sergeant was ready for bed. He reminded us that we don’t outrank him so it would be best if we simply shut the fuck up and do what he said. We sat in silence for ten minutes before the bus showed up. Everyone was carrying an obscene amount of luggage; duffle bags and mountains of paperwork. When we lined up to board the bus, I conveniently left my paperwork at the waiting area. Scared shitless, I quietly and calmly informed the sergeant that I needed to retrieve my folder.
Eyes forward, I can sense his glare. “Well go get it, dipshit,” he said. Basic training was off to a swell start.
The worst part about Army boot camp isn’t the ridiculous South Carolina humidity or the constant indignities military life puts you through. It’s Reception: that first week of processing BEFORE the official start of basic training. If you haven’t read Johnny Rico’s Blood Makes the Grass Grow Green, there’s a fantastic section on this. It is at reception where recruits are issued uniforms, given buzzcuts, and are treated as only one step above mere cattle. Fights among soldiers in the barracks aren’t uncommon. It’s to be expected. After all, it’s scared and confused 18 and 19 year olds who are occupying them. This is simply the state of affairs throughout boot camp but it’s at an elevated level in reception.
It was nearly midnight when we arrived. We were all shuffled into a large classroom and provided an introduction that I barely remember and then we were rushed upstairs and given a bunk and ordered to sleep. I didn’t rest a wink. Five hours later, we were awakened and told to shower. I had never been naked in front of other people before but at that point I didn’t care. Afterwards I had to shit. As I sat and cramped on the toilet, I looked up at the chicken scratch etched on the stall door. I never forgot it.
It read:
Here I sit, lonely hearted
Had to shit, but only farted
TO BE CONTINUED…