The day I stood on the infamous Yellow Footprints is coming up in a few days. So today's blog post is dedicated to my sisters of Oscar Company, Platoons 4008 and 4009, and to the women who turned us into the Marines that we are today.
"How do you feel about going to boot camp early?"
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
I had a choice to make. Wait until the 22nd of January, or leave a little under three weeks early.
Feet first, I took that plunge.
Twenty-four hours.
That's what I had to settle any and all affairs that I had planned to take care of in the following two-and-half weeks.
A lot of people, I never said goodbye to. Maybe it was better that way. One of the things I learned is that when you keep moving, you don't have time think about being afraid.
The next day, before my recruiter drove me to MEPS the final time, I went out for my "last meal" at home, as I liked to call it. Gyros and Greek fries. My stomach was roiling. I couldn't eat more than two bites.
Excitement.
This was finally happening.
Nervousness.
First wannabe Marine in the family; what the hell am I getting myself into?
Sleep-deprived.
I stayed up most of the night packing up my entire room so my parents wouldn't have to.
Jeans, t-shirt, Chucks, Northface jacket.
Driver's license, social security card, and two recruiter cards
That's all I left with. As per my recruiter.
He offered me one last chance at food before dropping me off at the hotel we stayed at for MEPS.
Chipotle. I declined. My stomach still hadn't settled down.
That night I met one girl who would eventually become a sister. She's in Okinawa now.
She was my roommate, and as it turns out from my recruiting station. She left that night. I still had to go to MEPS in the morning. Then I'd be sent out the next day.
When I went to dinner both nights, anyone who talked to me thought I was absolutely daft for joining the Marines.
I didn't believe them.
That is until I sprinted out of a damn van in the middle of unusually warm January night and onto those infamous yellow footprints. To the screams of a voice that represented everything I would learn to hate, loathe, fear, respect, and in it's own weird way, come to love.
It was my very first encounter with a female drill instructor.
I remember the exact set of footprints I stood on.
Front, right corner.
There were three of us in our receiving group. Some of you might think that's very fortunate. It was... Not.
That staff sergeant. She knew my name. And she remembered it until the day I marched across the parade deck three months later.
I also remember needing to pee like crazy. Well. That had to wait. For a very. Very. Long. Time.
I was the one who learned what a hatch was first. To get it. To get back. To get it.
To open my fat face and fucking scream.
Oh. So you don't want to scream "Aye ma'am", huh you disgusting thing? GET BACK!
What.
The.
Fuck.
Did.
I.
Get.
Myself.
Into.
FUCK.
A blur. That's what receiving was after a certain point. Cooper's Color Code Black? Ahhhh haha. Nah. Well. Maybe.
So I didn't have tenni-runners (Go-Fasters for you males, and running shoes for normal human beings. Wtf is a 'tenni-runner'?) when they took the last vestiges of my previous life away in a brown paper bag. Everything except my green Converse. I was issued my running shoes after that.
I had managed to hide my shoes in the bottom of my footlocker for three months.
God knows I was horrified what would happen if my stuff was ever dumped. I'm sure it might have ended up something like Private Pyles' jelly donut. Uggggh.
I was... Lucky.
Black Friday was a blur too. The day you meet your drill instructors. That was intimidating as hell.
Then the games began with gear.
And screaming.
I became a part of 4th Recruit Training Battalion.
Oscar Company.
Platoon 4009.
I remember very distinctly hating Drill Instructor Sergeant Creel in the beginning.
Well.
She hated my "heinous ass voice".
It was pretty nasty, admittedly.
Platoon 4008 knew who I was because they'd hear DI Sgt Creel always screaming, "WOOD! YOUR VOICE IS FUCKING HEINOUS!"
"RECEIVED MA'AM!"
She was the one who brought me to the sand pit most often. Or anywhere for a wonderful IT session.
One day, it was the laundry room.
I fucked up in drill. Go figure.
That IT session felt like it would never end. Hell, the recruits DI Sgt Shippen brought in after me left before me.
Sgt Creel quietly informed me that I could go back to drilling with the platoon as soon as I got the floor wet. I was drenched. But none of that sweat hit the floor. She wanted the impossible.
My automatic response was to take my sweat-streaked face and...
Rub it all across the floor. It was the only way I was going to get that floor wet.
She momentarily lost her bearing. She looked confused, shocked and disgusted all in a split second.
"Get UP! GET OUT. FLY! I SAID FLY!"
I did some ridiculous shit.
I think we all did.
Funny thing? In the end, I requested that I be in her squad for The Crucible. The one drill instructor I thought I hated the most ended up being my favorite.
It was her first cycle fresh out of DI school.
I was that recruit who would talk... Well... Yell, that is, in her sleep.
Awesome.
They have some pretty funny stories.
Such as the time I sat bolt upright in my rack and gobbled like a turkey and laid back down.
Or reciting the firewatch report. Perfectly. Though for the life of me I would stumble through it when awake.
Or those random ass screams of, "AYE MA'AM!".
Yeah. That recruit. There were a few of us, actually. But my turkey noise night was pretty notable.
Well.
I hate to bore you to death with my boot stories. I have too many.
But quite honestly, those were some of the best shitty times.
For the life of me, I would never take back going to boot camp early.
I wound up with the best drill instructors to shape me into a Marine.
I found sisters that I will have until the day I stop breathing and walking this earth.
I'm not from Nasty November.
Nor am I a Pretty Papa.
I'm motherfucking Outstanding Oscar.
And one more thing...
PINK ON A MAP?!
MA'AM, PINK ON A MAP IS ALPHA COMPANY, MA'AM!
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