An Orgy of One

As a soldier, it is my job to spend about 3 hours per week filling out redundant paperwork asking for my name, rank, social security number, unit, MOS, and any number of other pieces of information, ranging from my address to my marital status to my security clearance. Sometimes I'll fill out forms requiring medical information, details about my POV (personally owned vehicle), driver's license, insurance or something else like that. Also, any form that I have to fill out usually needs to be filled out for my platoon, company, battalion, and possibly brigade or even post administrators. Then throw in a 30% chance that these forms will be lost, or incorrectly formatted, or otherwise unusable, and you can understand why my coworkers and I spend so much time on paperwork.

So one day while I'm turning in some forms to my platoon sergeant, I notice the PSG berating one of my fellow specialists for turning in a form filled out in blue ink. Fair enough, there's a lesson learned. He went downstairs and printed another copy of these forms with a printer that had run out of black ink - making the entire form's printed text and lines colored blue. Undeterred, he proceeded to fill out the form with a black pen, believing that he had followed instructions. So he brings up this freshly printed blue form (but filled out with black ink) and turns it into the platoon sergeant.

My platoon sergeant was livid, and the rest of us were rolling with laughter. The best part is that this guy didn't even mean to do this as a joke, and was totally sincere in turning in the paperwork.

Posted by Joe Dirtbag at 9:15 PM | Permalink | Comments

There's an NCO in my unit who hates my platoon. Apparently we don't give proper courtesy and respect, and we're physically weak and tactically retarded.

So one day he stops me in the hallway and demands to know where my platoon sergeant is. I say something to the effect of "uh, he just walked the other way" and continued on my way. Which was a mistake.

"Oh, I get it. So we fishin' buddies, and we can just talk to each other like we cool, huh?"
[dumbfounded silence]
"Oh that's ok, it's a rhetorical question. How about you get to parade rest when I'm talking to you."
"Yes, sergeant."

He proceeded to berate me not only for being disrespectful, but also because my platoon doesn't understand proper military courtesy. Which would make sense if I were in any sort of leadership position, but I'm not, and I can't control what other soldiers do, especially if they've been around a lot longer than me.

The best part, of course, was that while he was yelling, I had to struggle mightily to keep a straight face, because he had a pea-sized booger dangling from one of his cavernous nostrils.

Posted by Joe Dirtbag at 7:58 PM | Permalink | Comments

The other day I decided to wear my summer boots, despite it being against policy here. I made a judgment call - it was above freezing for the first time, plus I was going to be working mostly indoors that day anyway.

My platoon sergeant noticed, and now I have to carry all 4 of my issued boots everywhere I go. Fun.

Posted by Joe Dirtbag at 11:00 AM | Permalink | Comments