When your SEL is giving you the hairy eyeball, there is probably a reason why. And part of that might have something to do with you saying "I will personally inspect my entire command" when said command consists of slightly over one thousand souls.
I might add that this is after said command has already been inspected by division heads. So chiefs and senior chiefs have already given up what could have been a normal morning to inspect everyone in the near dark at a different location than usual. Everyone's done this already in recent memory.
Why are we repeating this evolution?
I guess we clearly have nothing better to do than get up at oh dark thirty on the Monday after Halloween weekend to go to a place we've never been before with the rest of our department and get there an hour before he does and get heightlined by an OCD first class.
Yup.
Oh- and this isn't going to be a 'Good shoes, hm... you'll do' inspection. This is going to be a "What is your seventh general order?" inspection.
Again, really?
With all respect, the vast majority of us have been out of bootcamp for more than one year, will never stand such a watch and have our heads filled to the bursting point with other JOB RELATED bits of info that will help us carry out the mission.
Rargh.
'Cause this guy wants to make admiral. Or he hates us all or something. I mean, there were something like five DUIs right after he took command so I could see why he'd be pissy, but consider the fact that all of those people are on the way out- and we're not! We're the more-or-less good ones who can be trusted to show up for work on time, do our job and not complain until we get home.
And then he goes and does something like this....
It's just a little contrary to good order and discipline if you ask me. Which of course no one has.
Also, it doesn't say much about his faith in his department heads- doesn't he think they can be trusted to do a good job?
It's special. So very special...
Showing posts with label uniform angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label uniform angst. Show all posts
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Improv + packages= NOT cool...
Okay, I have to rant here because if I do it in real life it'll get messy. WTF...
I asked my parents to send me some uniform items that I had to ship to them in the messy/confused process of moving myself and all my earthly goods to Ft. SINYF. I gave them specifics- coveralls, NWUs, ballcap. Nothing more, less or other, please. Then I remembered that I still had a package I was waiting for- a small one that I'd had sent to them. It was a custom made keychain. I asked for that to be included. For some reason unbeknownst to God or man, my dad thought I needed my crocs.
Let me elaborate on these crocs. They are a hideous shade of green- like Kitchenaid green. I bought them for about five dollars when they were no longer the hip thing. I bought them not because they ever were the hip thing, but because I was going off to summer camp and needed some shower shoes. Recap: they are cheap, hideous and not-cool. Why the hell did he feel the need to add them to the package and NOT my keychain?
Noobody knows...
I'm not happy about this. I called and asked my mom if I'd mentioned crocs at any point in the list-making process and she said no, but that Dad thought that I needed them. My dad has a history of thinking I need things that I have no earthly use for. He has the best intentions but it drives me nuts when his thoughtfulness is so completely screwy. I mean, I will never forget what happened when I was in first grade.
I was not a fan of breakfast at that age, I never really had time for it, I thought. A large part of the morning was Mom running a comb through my hair to get all the knots out and braid it so I could go to school looking halfway decent. I didn't need or want breakfast. At all. I might be persuaded to eat some oatmeal but that was it. My dad was concerned.
It was a day like any other. I picked up my pink backpack with my name written on it in shaky red sharpie and headed off for school. My lunch was in my lunch box and I was a relatively happy camper. I took the bus to school, stuffing my backpack between me and the side of the bus for added comfort. I dropped said backpack a few times at school because I was a clumsy kid, and then I hung it up and forgot about it until it was time to go home. And then the most irritating kid in my class, a white-blond twerp who probably thought that 'tact' was something you used to put up posters said "Hey, your backpack pooped!"
I stared at the nasty looking brownish smear on my beautiful pink backpack and a horrible feeling filled me. Something of mine was defaced, and not by me! The injustice of it all hit me like a hammer. I'd ruined things on my own more than once. I regretted those things, I felt so miserable when that happened, but it was my fault, I'd been the sole instigator. That another person with the best of intentions but the very worst of execution had ruined one of my things brought little me perilously close to tears. I came home and yelled at my dad for ruining my backpack. Now I feel a little bit bad about that, but still kind of not. If he'd treated me like a grownup, asked me if I wanted breakfast, what I'd like for breakfast, if I minded if he packed me a breakfast, I would have told him: "I would love some awesome organic dry cereal, or maybe a granola bar. That would be very yummy. You can put it in my lunch box and I'll eat it on the bus."
But there was no asking. There was no communication there was just a perceived problem and a messy, unfortunate solution, because I was a child.
When stuff like this whole package shebang happens, I feel like a child again. And I hate it with every fiber of my being.
Update: This post was going to languish forever in my 'edit posts' page. I thought I'd overcome my baser nature and decided to give the parents a pass as they're old and senile and if you want anything done right you've got to do it yourself. I was going to do that until I opened the other bags in the package.
They sent me a Navy ballcap all right. A Navy ballcap with an elastic headband and '1-800 Navy' embroidered on the back of it. I don't remember getting it from my recruiter but it probably came in my Navy backpack that I got for free after signing up. That was the straw that pretty much broke the camel's back. We'd packed all my earthly goods into four boxes that we shipped (at their expense, so I should try very hard to be more charitable) to their house. In one of those damn boxes is my actual Navy ballcap, the one I went through Battlestations to get. I know it's not a trident. I know it could be worse- they could have mailed me my 'Recruit' ballcap. They could have... I dunno. It's just so damn frustrating. I was really looking forward to getting to wear my coveralls at long, long last, but no such damn luck. I called, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but the phone rang and rang, so I called Tbro instead and ranted to him. He told me (pretty nicely) to quit whining and that he'd call and ask them about sending me my ballcap... at this point I think I may just buy a damn command ballcap. Or forget about it until the fourday when I can go and get my damn ballcap. I just want to throw a temper tantrum. This is as close as I'll get to doing that. I desperately want to though, I'm so pissed off that I'm not sure this is going to be enough. I seriously want to go out there and start hitting things.
Oh- and one final insult. In another well-intentioned but completely stupid gesture, they sent me my purse. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. I have TWO damn purses out here, and none of the THREE that I have now is within the damn regs. Not a single flipping one. I've had it, I've had it, I really would like to run around screaming now. I know, I sound like a complete and total ingrate, but I don't care. I'm so sick of being treated like a child. I know, part of the way to avoid being treated like a child is to stop acting like one. I know that having the temper tantrum I want so desperately right now would be part of acting like a child. I know I need to get everything I own from their place because right now that's still a dependence on them- free storage. I just don't want to move the books! They need to stay somewhere temperate and safe. I don't know what to do. I can't have that much stuff. I know I'll be able to downsize once I get there. I'm thinking of pulling everything that I hate but have kept because of Mom or another relative and taking it to the thrift store. Get rid of the ugly, get rid of the guilt, get a good dinner afterwards. I think that's a pretty awesome plan.
I hate improv in packages.
Gentle readership, it is HIGHLY unlikely I'll ever ask you to send me random crap that I've left at your house. And honestly, since you're not family and you don't treat me like a child, if you DID send me the wrong stuff, I'd be sad, but I wouldn't be pissed like this. Honestly.
And if you ever just want to send me random stuff, that's cool too. I gladly accept books, sweets and cash. ;)
I asked my parents to send me some uniform items that I had to ship to them in the messy/confused process of moving myself and all my earthly goods to Ft. SINYF. I gave them specifics- coveralls, NWUs, ballcap. Nothing more, less or other, please. Then I remembered that I still had a package I was waiting for- a small one that I'd had sent to them. It was a custom made keychain. I asked for that to be included. For some reason unbeknownst to God or man, my dad thought I needed my crocs.
Let me elaborate on these crocs. They are a hideous shade of green- like Kitchenaid green. I bought them for about five dollars when they were no longer the hip thing. I bought them not because they ever were the hip thing, but because I was going off to summer camp and needed some shower shoes. Recap: they are cheap, hideous and not-cool. Why the hell did he feel the need to add them to the package and NOT my keychain?
Noobody knows...
I'm not happy about this. I called and asked my mom if I'd mentioned crocs at any point in the list-making process and she said no, but that Dad thought that I needed them. My dad has a history of thinking I need things that I have no earthly use for. He has the best intentions but it drives me nuts when his thoughtfulness is so completely screwy. I mean, I will never forget what happened when I was in first grade.
I was not a fan of breakfast at that age, I never really had time for it, I thought. A large part of the morning was Mom running a comb through my hair to get all the knots out and braid it so I could go to school looking halfway decent. I didn't need or want breakfast. At all. I might be persuaded to eat some oatmeal but that was it. My dad was concerned.
It was a day like any other. I picked up my pink backpack with my name written on it in shaky red sharpie and headed off for school. My lunch was in my lunch box and I was a relatively happy camper. I took the bus to school, stuffing my backpack between me and the side of the bus for added comfort. I dropped said backpack a few times at school because I was a clumsy kid, and then I hung it up and forgot about it until it was time to go home. And then the most irritating kid in my class, a white-blond twerp who probably thought that 'tact' was something you used to put up posters said "Hey, your backpack pooped!"
I stared at the nasty looking brownish smear on my beautiful pink backpack and a horrible feeling filled me. Something of mine was defaced, and not by me! The injustice of it all hit me like a hammer. I'd ruined things on my own more than once. I regretted those things, I felt so miserable when that happened, but it was my fault, I'd been the sole instigator. That another person with the best of intentions but the very worst of execution had ruined one of my things brought little me perilously close to tears. I came home and yelled at my dad for ruining my backpack. Now I feel a little bit bad about that, but still kind of not. If he'd treated me like a grownup, asked me if I wanted breakfast, what I'd like for breakfast, if I minded if he packed me a breakfast, I would have told him: "I would love some awesome organic dry cereal, or maybe a granola bar. That would be very yummy. You can put it in my lunch box and I'll eat it on the bus."
But there was no asking. There was no communication there was just a perceived problem and a messy, unfortunate solution, because I was a child.
When stuff like this whole package shebang happens, I feel like a child again. And I hate it with every fiber of my being.
Update: This post was going to languish forever in my 'edit posts' page. I thought I'd overcome my baser nature and decided to give the parents a pass as they're old and senile and if you want anything done right you've got to do it yourself. I was going to do that until I opened the other bags in the package.
They sent me a Navy ballcap all right. A Navy ballcap with an elastic headband and '1-800 Navy' embroidered on the back of it. I don't remember getting it from my recruiter but it probably came in my Navy backpack that I got for free after signing up. That was the straw that pretty much broke the camel's back. We'd packed all my earthly goods into four boxes that we shipped (at their expense, so I should try very hard to be more charitable) to their house. In one of those damn boxes is my actual Navy ballcap, the one I went through Battlestations to get. I know it's not a trident. I know it could be worse- they could have mailed me my 'Recruit' ballcap. They could have... I dunno. It's just so damn frustrating. I was really looking forward to getting to wear my coveralls at long, long last, but no such damn luck. I called, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but the phone rang and rang, so I called Tbro instead and ranted to him. He told me (pretty nicely) to quit whining and that he'd call and ask them about sending me my ballcap... at this point I think I may just buy a damn command ballcap. Or forget about it until the fourday when I can go and get my damn ballcap. I just want to throw a temper tantrum. This is as close as I'll get to doing that. I desperately want to though, I'm so pissed off that I'm not sure this is going to be enough. I seriously want to go out there and start hitting things.
Oh- and one final insult. In another well-intentioned but completely stupid gesture, they sent me my purse. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. I have TWO damn purses out here, and none of the THREE that I have now is within the damn regs. Not a single flipping one. I've had it, I've had it, I really would like to run around screaming now. I know, I sound like a complete and total ingrate, but I don't care. I'm so sick of being treated like a child. I know, part of the way to avoid being treated like a child is to stop acting like one. I know that having the temper tantrum I want so desperately right now would be part of acting like a child. I know I need to get everything I own from their place because right now that's still a dependence on them- free storage. I just don't want to move the books! They need to stay somewhere temperate and safe. I don't know what to do. I can't have that much stuff. I know I'll be able to downsize once I get there. I'm thinking of pulling everything that I hate but have kept because of Mom or another relative and taking it to the thrift store. Get rid of the ugly, get rid of the guilt, get a good dinner afterwards. I think that's a pretty awesome plan.
I hate improv in packages.
Gentle readership, it is HIGHLY unlikely I'll ever ask you to send me random crap that I've left at your house. And honestly, since you're not family and you don't treat me like a child, if you DID send me the wrong stuff, I'd be sad, but I wouldn't be pissed like this. Honestly.
And if you ever just want to send me random stuff, that's cool too. I gladly accept books, sweets and cash. ;)
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A Historical Post/ Requiem For My Utilities
Wrote this a while ago, but am not going to retcon the date so as to avoid confusion. So yep, it's historical, not current.
Tonight I am writing a requiem for my utilities. In preparation for PCSing, I cut them up and threw them out. And I am sad. To those of you who wore utilities and didn’t like them, I don’t think there’s much I could say that would make you like them. Yes, the waistband hit around bellybutton level, and criticism was leveled at the ‘janitor’ look of the utilities. And tonight I’m not here to take on the idiocy of camo that blends you in with water when you go overboard (I've since been informed that when on the flight-deck or anywhere else that you could fall off from, you get a dye pack that is supposed to dye you and the water you end up in a a fetching and unnatural colour to help search and rescue, but I'm a skeptic). That’s for another post. This is a memorial of my utilities.
Utilities, blueberrys, janitor suits, they had many names- mostly unflattering. Mine were issued to me a distant February ago in a large room with watchful RDCs and inept people who told us our sizes. No sooner were we fitted than our utilites were whisked away to have our nametapes put on them for the purposes of laundry/identification/etc. We got them back a few days later and our little bootcamp selves were first of all, overjoyed to get out of PT gear, which was all we had worn for what felt like forever, and second of all, in for a world of hurt as far as maintenance went. Many nights I would spend staring blearily at an iron and willing it to iron my utilities perfectly without my actually having to move. But while some told horror stories of broken buttons and IPs, I was afflicted with neither in any of my four sets. We wore them with our highly polished boots for everything. You’d think then, that when I cut them up I would get some sort of delight and happiness at seeing the things I had clumped about in non-stop for two months and then at intervals for the next many months finally phase out. But you’d be wrong.
Because one of the good things that even the haters can agree on, I hope, is that when you got to put on that Navy ballcap, your perspective on everything shifted a bit. ‘Recruit’ was no longer literally plastered over your head at nearly all times. It now said ‘Navy’ and it was cool. Also, it was cool because it had your rank on the sleeve if you were a petty officer. And honestly, that uniform went through basic with me. It was kind of like the neighborhood dog when you were a kid. It barked at you and you had nightmares about it chasing your bike and biting you, but when you grew up, went off to college and came back, you saw that it was old and a softie and was more scared of you than you ever were of it. And with the utilities, you put in an effort. I saw lines that were the product of lots and lots of ironing that I did or bartered with others to do. And I thought of all that effort, all the painstaking little details, as I cut them all up.
All?
Well… perhaps not quite all. Sentiment has compelled me to retain one pair, perhaps for work around the house? Or something. I dunno. All I know is I have one perfectly folded pair of utilities that I can’t quite bring myself to throw out yet. And I don’t know how I ought to feel about that, only that it is in fact the case….
And that is all.
PS- I graduated today… Yeah. More on that later.
-End Historical Post-
Tonight I am writing a requiem for my utilities. In preparation for PCSing, I cut them up and threw them out. And I am sad. To those of you who wore utilities and didn’t like them, I don’t think there’s much I could say that would make you like them. Yes, the waistband hit around bellybutton level, and criticism was leveled at the ‘janitor’ look of the utilities. And tonight I’m not here to take on the idiocy of camo that blends you in with water when you go overboard (I've since been informed that when on the flight-deck or anywhere else that you could fall off from, you get a dye pack that is supposed to dye you and the water you end up in a a fetching and unnatural colour to help search and rescue, but I'm a skeptic). That’s for another post. This is a memorial of my utilities.
Utilities, blueberrys, janitor suits, they had many names- mostly unflattering. Mine were issued to me a distant February ago in a large room with watchful RDCs and inept people who told us our sizes. No sooner were we fitted than our utilites were whisked away to have our nametapes put on them for the purposes of laundry/identification/etc. We got them back a few days later and our little bootcamp selves were first of all, overjoyed to get out of PT gear, which was all we had worn for what felt like forever, and second of all, in for a world of hurt as far as maintenance went. Many nights I would spend staring blearily at an iron and willing it to iron my utilities perfectly without my actually having to move. But while some told horror stories of broken buttons and IPs, I was afflicted with neither in any of my four sets. We wore them with our highly polished boots for everything. You’d think then, that when I cut them up I would get some sort of delight and happiness at seeing the things I had clumped about in non-stop for two months and then at intervals for the next many months finally phase out. But you’d be wrong.
Because one of the good things that even the haters can agree on, I hope, is that when you got to put on that Navy ballcap, your perspective on everything shifted a bit. ‘Recruit’ was no longer literally plastered over your head at nearly all times. It now said ‘Navy’ and it was cool. Also, it was cool because it had your rank on the sleeve if you were a petty officer. And honestly, that uniform went through basic with me. It was kind of like the neighborhood dog when you were a kid. It barked at you and you had nightmares about it chasing your bike and biting you, but when you grew up, went off to college and came back, you saw that it was old and a softie and was more scared of you than you ever were of it. And with the utilities, you put in an effort. I saw lines that were the product of lots and lots of ironing that I did or bartered with others to do. And I thought of all that effort, all the painstaking little details, as I cut them all up.
All?
Well… perhaps not quite all. Sentiment has compelled me to retain one pair, perhaps for work around the house? Or something. I dunno. All I know is I have one perfectly folded pair of utilities that I can’t quite bring myself to throw out yet. And I don’t know how I ought to feel about that, only that it is in fact the case….
And that is all.
PS- I graduated today… Yeah. More on that later.
-End Historical Post-
Monday, December 15, 2008
Oh, the Irony...
Well, this blog is officially resurrected. It went on hiatus due to my deciding not to join the AF after all. Things happen, y'know? So I went across the hall to the Navy recruiting office and on Dec. 4th, I swore into the USN. I will document all the details when I have more free time/free internet access. But for now, all I'll say is this- WHY?!! Why are they getting rid of the all-black enlisted winter uniform?? It was my favouritest of all the Navy uniforms... :( It looks sharp, it is stylin', and the new khaki/black combo looks like the Marines on a bad day, or the RIC. Neither of which works... >ish not happy!< So yeah. As I said, more intelligent thoughts later. Just had to get that pet-peeve out. I no sooner join the service than they get rid of their coolest uniform. >sob<
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