Playing the Phone Card

Phone calls home are an unexpected hassle, and I don't just mean the time difference. In the world of one click options back in the states, what a soldier goes through to touch base with a loved one would be considered completely unacceptable.

1. After waiting for your turn, first there's the military's number that you dial to use a phone card. This number may or may not work, half the time it doesn't.

2. Next You dial the phone card's 800 number, this may or may not connect.

3. Next the phone card code, which is temperamental and will discontinue if you're too slow punching it in, and if you hit a wrong button you must start over.

4. Then after prompts, the phone number back home which often will ring as if dialing several times, and you think you're waiting for someone to answer when the recording comes on, "your call cannot be completed at this time."

This process usually takes place with someone standing near by waiting for their turn, giving the caller little privacy, and all with a looming possibility that the power will go out.

This is why I often sound aggravated mom. It's not you. But then the calls home always have a delay effect like on newscasts with overseas reporters. Often a bad scratchy connection too making conversations difficult.

Then often turns into a checklist interview:

"How are you?"
"How are you really doing though?"
"Did you get __ that I sent?
"Have you talked to __ lately?"
"Didn't you get my last e-mail?"
"What can we send you next package?"
"What do you need though?"

and so on and so forth.

I often feel frustrated when I'm done, realizing that I really didn't have a real conversation at all. Often I'm asked for the juicy bits of info which I can't talk about over the phone and wouldn't want to worry loved ones with anyway.

So, I guess I'm writing this to sort out my own frustration, to apologize, and share the experience, perhaps, with other's who know what I mean as they've been in the same position, either over here, or over there. And also...Happy Thanksgiving.

Shadow of the Valley

There was a point while in “reception,” at Fort Sill, where we were brought over to a supply building, turned over to the staff there, and were fitted for and received our first uniforms. We finished and waited outside where we were told to wait, sitting in the oven bake August sun, when we realized that we had been forgotten. Nobody dared move from the spot or go find a D.S. So we waited like fools for two hours. Thoughts caught up to me: no caffeine, no phone, no internet, no beer, no pizza, no music, no sex, no ocean, no walk alone, anywhere, no naps… The belt fed litany continued rattling off in my head till I imagined absurd options, like the pros and cons of just running, with nothing but my brand new PTs on, over the hill and out of the swallowing valley that obscured all reasonable horizons of decent humanity and see where it might lead to…more of the unknown, no direction home, like a rolling stone.

In all directions, the unknown. The one thing that convinced me that I would have to stick it out, no matter what, would be the disappointment of my family if I failed. I even imagined the faces of my ex- and friends back at the beach who I told about my becoming a combat medic and the trouble I went to trying to convince them that it was a good idea to join even though deep down I knew I hadn’t convinced even myself, and in fact, wouldn’t for quite some time to come.

Reverse Ferret?

When I got to Fort Carson I continued to have an issue with something I nearly have come to terms with. My view point of the world has apparently become that of liberal democrat. Those around me seem convinced. At the peak of this state I joined the military. When I went into the recruiter’s office, shortly after my last blog entry of 2006, I was a lifeguard in Flagler Beach Florida making $8.10 an hour. A lieutenant who drove up and down the beach on a 4 wheeler picking up trash and talking to pretty girls in between kayaking out into the surf, swimming and jogging in the sun…and surfing on my breaks while keeping one eye on the people in the water.

I had moved into my own little rental in Saint Augustine, 300 a month, after living in a tent on the beach for three days, after getting kicked out of the house with my girlfriend after a terrible and unresolved drunken argument. I had been seeking EMT certification in various schools in the area but found it impossible to get a loan since it was not a college credit course. I was hitting a wall. Frustrated with the whole situation it became clear that only a drastic solution would create a change. I was actually a little drunk when I went into the recruiter’s office. In fact, after work, I was drinking liquor every day, mixed and strait, depending on the possible encounters of that afternoon.

In the last days of August, 2006, I boarded a plane that took me to the Oklahoma City Airport, then got on a bus with a bunch of other unusual suspects and landed in the 1AM dark of old boring pale buildings beyond rolling hills and amber waves of grey to Fort Sill outside Lawton. What do the brown rounds do to psyche themselves up for the line of white buses coming over the hill? What do they scream at each other like ballers on the field before kickoff? Do they drink a pot of coffee each? Perhaps they just channel the rage of failed marriages, unresolved childhood memory stains, and the like?

At this point not only does the average Joe feel he's made a terrible mistake with his/her decision to enlist, but it also feels like the Drills are also convinced you've fucked up and terrorize the fresh off the bus civilians for not knowing where to stand, where to go and when, how to walk between points A and B, what look to have on a face, and how and what to say when confronted for absurd infractions such as breathing. Add to this withdrawls from the alcohol, missing every single aspect of my old life as I forgot about the difficulties and imagined all the unsung possiblities back home. I had forced myself to turn on a dime. I was on a self destructive and miserable course in a meaningless self-centered life before enlisting and somehow saw a solution in somethingmost considered suicidal at that time, Summer 2006, when the war was snowballing into a critical mass and appeared to be gaining velocity.

Yesterday I was reading an article about Rupert Murdock at Slate.com about the phrase in journalism "reverse ferret." The "genocidal [media] tyrant," owner of the Tabloid The Sun and Sky in the UK, Fox in the USA, and the Wall Street Journal as he is also known has been known to change his political and moral stance without even slowing before the turn and can complete the 180 as needed to benefit his business sense and power. Today, while thinking about my difficulties dealing with The Bush right while on the left, and the Obama lefties back home who feel it's not right that I've gone right, I thought how I've made my own reverse ferret, or personalized Copernican shift, if you like. Or have I?

Fort Carson Colorado

After AIT (Advanced Individual Training) soldiers recieve their assignments. National Guard and Reservists usually know where they will be, but for those of us in the regular army, the big moment comes when you find out where you're off to next. I was hoping for something overseas. It was not to be with my first duty station, but I would be crossing the ocean soon enough.When I saw Colorado I naturally thought one thing - Snowboarding! I grew up in Florida surfing and skateboarding and hadn't seen snow since the age of eleven. I knew I would get around to it, and I did.

Team Warrior

This was my platoon, 1st Platoon, Team Warrior.

Medics in Training, Ft. Sam Houston, 2007, pt. 2

Fort Sam Houston is in San Antonio Texas. I was there from November '06 to April '07. Before being placed in Foxtrot Company, I was originally in the now famously infamous Team Warrior 2. The first "Team Warrior," a year prior to the second, was a collection of extra and maginalized soldiers who were near-failures in the MOS training. Due to all training companies being full a seperate paracompany was formed. This group of misfit soldiers took the Team Warrior name and then became criminals and "reclasses." They graduated 25% of their class.

Well the new Team Warrior was formed simply because there were too many soldiers at Ft. Sam for training at the same time. The combat medic MOS shared two titles at the same time 91W and 68W. This overlapping changeover is what caused the mess that resulted in my group remaining in AIT for 2 extra months. We were put in hold-over status twice.

Medics In Training Ft. Sam Houston 2007

These are the first set of my pictures to publish here, taken of various soldiers. I was in Team Warrior, Foxtrot Company, in 2007. At Fort Sam soldiers in the combat medic MOS are first trained and certified as EMTs by civilian instructors, and then are trained in combat and field medical tactics.

Back to the Blog

I recently read an article on the CNN website about how the army now encourages soldiers to write blogs whereas previously there was prohibition. That got me to thinking about my old blog, this one, I had long forgotten the user name and password, but after jumping through a few e-mail hoops I got myself back into my profile and updated it.

Previously I wrote entries about living with an old friend and her kids. There is nothing to add to that old theme but a few un-rumored facts. She we went back to her ex-husband before I even finished basic, and before I finished AIT she was remarried to a whole new guy. No bitterness now, but there was a little, for a time.

I joined the army partially because I imagined that a dedicated launch into a new career would solidify some of the uneasiness, economically and socially. The the initial craft was abandoned, but I continue to destinations new and unknown in this new ship. I keep a decent wind in my sails. My work is rewarding and I look forward to my duties, when I used to, in my overextended bohemian childhood, avoid duty of any kind, and wondered in my empty spaces why I felt unfulfilled and down.

I was stationed at Fort Carson Colorado where I spent a year. I've been in Iraq since June '07. I spent some time here working as an RTO (radio transmission operator) while my unit got settled in at our FOB (forward operating base). Since that time I've gone on patrols and worked in our aid station. More recently I've done a rotation at the Ibn Sina Hospital with members of the 86th CSH out of Fort Campbell.

I plan on writing about my experiences within the parameters of what is acceptable to the military and our mission. http://www.cnn.com/2008/TECH/11/13/soldier.blogger/index.html#cnnSTCText