August finally rolled around, bringing with it an end to two months of vacation. I must now venture out into the real world and make my living as an officer in the US Air Force.
Well, maybe not just yet.
First, I had to attend four months of technical training -- Basic Communications Officer Training. What fabulous locale did I stay at for this training? Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi.
Fuck.
Why the swearing? After all, it's in a nice sub-tropical climate and it's on the coast! If those are your thoughts, then you've obviously never been to Keesler AFB.
Don't get me wrong, it was a nice enough area, but Keesler is an old, old base. It is showing its age in a bad way -- or, more succinctly, it looks like a shit-hole.
Shittiness aside, I received a hell of a welcome. The day I arrived at the base I went to check in at the VOQ. Instead of checking in, however, I was informed that a hurricane warning had been issued and I had a choice: I could hole-up in one of the hurricane shelters on base, or I could get the fuck out of the area completely and drive a ways inland.
Hurricane?! I got the fuck out.
Back at the base the next day (the hurricane didn't hit), I got checked in to my room -- my home for the next four months. It was a tiny room that shared a bathroom with another room (I hate that) and it had a kitchenette. They called it a kitchenette. I called it a crappy microwave sitting on a mini-fridge.
But, hey, they left chocolates on the pillows. Chocolates that move. Chocolates that scurry away when I get near.
Fuck. Cockroaches. Looked like I would have roommates.
Classes were held in a decrepit building a short walk from the VOQ. "Walk" is a bit misleading. It was so damn humid there we practically swam to and from class. Having lived most of my life in Colorado, I was not prepared for the humidity. I looked like a drowned rat most days and, thanks to cheap-ass Air Force polyester uniforms, I smelled like a wet dog.
The classes were excruciatingly boring. Four months of monotony. Pointless, worthless, and a complete waste of time. I defy anyone who attended BCOT to truthfully say it was taxpayer money well-spent.
About a month into training, there was another hurricane warning. This time I chose to shelter on base. Mistake. Since I was an officer, I got put in charge of "watching" the foreign nationals to make sure they didn't go wandering around where they shouldn't be.
Yeah, there were a number of foreign "exchange students" at Keesler. In my class, we had an officer named Hossam from the Egyptian Air Force. Nice enough guy, but I swear he smelled like mayonnaise that had been sitting in the sun for a week. But, who was I to talk; I smelled like a wet dog.
About half-way through training, we got to help out with a joint-military exercise in Gulfport. I say "help out," when what I mean is "be the fucking peons for a bunch of colonels and majors." At least we got to see some interesting foreign military equipment.
And, of course, as Air Force officers, we had to make sure we checked all the appropriate boxes for our performance reviews. Which meant doing some community service activities. So, we volunteered time with Habitats for Humanity and a local soup kitchen. The soup kitchen was by far the most fun -- it was very interesting and entertaining to talk to the people that came in for a meal. To a person, they had incredible stories, and the skill to tell them well. Ironically, the soup kitchen had to shut down for while when we were there due to health violations. Something about cockroaches in the pantry.
Fucking cockroaches.
For entertainment, we played sports. Well, we attempted to, but no one could agree on what to play, so we all ended up seeing to our physical fitness separately. A few of us did go out golfing once. Jason was in charge of bringing the beer -- a duty he would never be delegated again. He bought some local swill called "Turbo Dog." Yeah, I think I know how they came up with that name.
Mostly for entertainment we went out for dinner at one of the casinos. Sometimes we would see a movie. Rarely, we would go out to a bar. I say rarely because only a few of us ever wanted to go out.
One particular bar was great. It was right across the street from the main gate and sat on the beach. Every couple of weeks, the bar would host a "bladder-buster" night: beer was 5 cents a pitcher until someone went to the bathroom. My bladder could only handle a couple of those nights.
I went to New Orleans once with a classmate for his 21st birthday. He got rip-roaring drunk and I got food poisoning. Nothing beats a good stomach-pumping.
The highlights of my time there were the few times my girlfriend flew down to visit. I even proposed to her while I was there.
All in all, not a bad experience. Except for the actual "training," which was crap. Even though it was crap, I put all my effort into it and had the second highest grade. However, when "graduation" rolled around in December, the awards for Distinguished Graduate went to the class leader (who did have the highest grade) and the Egyptian.
Yeah, imagine my surprise when they were announcing the second award and I was actually getting ready to stand up, but they said "Hossam." I almost made a very large ass of myself. I later overheard that it is a common practice for each class to give one of the DG awards to a foreign national -- goodwill foreign relations and all that crap.
Not that the DG status meant anything in the big picture, but I was a bit pissed off at getting screwed out of it.
Aw, fuck it. I'm off to my first real assignment in the Air Force now: Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.
Well, maybe not just yet.
First, I had to attend four months of technical training -- Basic Communications Officer Training. What fabulous locale did I stay at for this training? Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi.
Fuck.
Why the swearing? After all, it's in a nice sub-tropical climate and it's on the coast! If those are your thoughts, then you've obviously never been to Keesler AFB.
Don't get me wrong, it was a nice enough area, but Keesler is an old, old base. It is showing its age in a bad way -- or, more succinctly, it looks like a shit-hole.
Shittiness aside, I received a hell of a welcome. The day I arrived at the base I went to check in at the VOQ. Instead of checking in, however, I was informed that a hurricane warning had been issued and I had a choice: I could hole-up in one of the hurricane shelters on base, or I could get the fuck out of the area completely and drive a ways inland.
Hurricane?! I got the fuck out.
Back at the base the next day (the hurricane didn't hit), I got checked in to my room -- my home for the next four months. It was a tiny room that shared a bathroom with another room (I hate that) and it had a kitchenette. They called it a kitchenette. I called it a crappy microwave sitting on a mini-fridge.
But, hey, they left chocolates on the pillows. Chocolates that move. Chocolates that scurry away when I get near.
Fuck. Cockroaches. Looked like I would have roommates.
Classes were held in a decrepit building a short walk from the VOQ. "Walk" is a bit misleading. It was so damn humid there we practically swam to and from class. Having lived most of my life in Colorado, I was not prepared for the humidity. I looked like a drowned rat most days and, thanks to cheap-ass Air Force polyester uniforms, I smelled like a wet dog.
The classes were excruciatingly boring. Four months of monotony. Pointless, worthless, and a complete waste of time. I defy anyone who attended BCOT to truthfully say it was taxpayer money well-spent.
About a month into training, there was another hurricane warning. This time I chose to shelter on base. Mistake. Since I was an officer, I got put in charge of "watching" the foreign nationals to make sure they didn't go wandering around where they shouldn't be.
Yeah, there were a number of foreign "exchange students" at Keesler. In my class, we had an officer named Hossam from the Egyptian Air Force. Nice enough guy, but I swear he smelled like mayonnaise that had been sitting in the sun for a week. But, who was I to talk; I smelled like a wet dog.
About half-way through training, we got to help out with a joint-military exercise in Gulfport. I say "help out," when what I mean is "be the fucking peons for a bunch of colonels and majors." At least we got to see some interesting foreign military equipment.
And, of course, as Air Force officers, we had to make sure we checked all the appropriate boxes for our performance reviews. Which meant doing some community service activities. So, we volunteered time with Habitats for Humanity and a local soup kitchen. The soup kitchen was by far the most fun -- it was very interesting and entertaining to talk to the people that came in for a meal. To a person, they had incredible stories, and the skill to tell them well. Ironically, the soup kitchen had to shut down for while when we were there due to health violations. Something about cockroaches in the pantry.
Fucking cockroaches.
For entertainment, we played sports. Well, we attempted to, but no one could agree on what to play, so we all ended up seeing to our physical fitness separately. A few of us did go out golfing once. Jason was in charge of bringing the beer -- a duty he would never be delegated again. He bought some local swill called "Turbo Dog." Yeah, I think I know how they came up with that name.
Mostly for entertainment we went out for dinner at one of the casinos. Sometimes we would see a movie. Rarely, we would go out to a bar. I say rarely because only a few of us ever wanted to go out.
One particular bar was great. It was right across the street from the main gate and sat on the beach. Every couple of weeks, the bar would host a "bladder-buster" night: beer was 5 cents a pitcher until someone went to the bathroom. My bladder could only handle a couple of those nights.
I went to New Orleans once with a classmate for his 21st birthday. He got rip-roaring drunk and I got food poisoning. Nothing beats a good stomach-pumping.
The highlights of my time there were the few times my girlfriend flew down to visit. I even proposed to her while I was there.
All in all, not a bad experience. Except for the actual "training," which was crap. Even though it was crap, I put all my effort into it and had the second highest grade. However, when "graduation" rolled around in December, the awards for Distinguished Graduate went to the class leader (who did have the highest grade) and the Egyptian.
Yeah, imagine my surprise when they were announcing the second award and I was actually getting ready to stand up, but they said "Hossam." I almost made a very large ass of myself. I later overheard that it is a common practice for each class to give one of the DG awards to a foreign national -- goodwill foreign relations and all that crap.
Not that the DG status meant anything in the big picture, but I was a bit pissed off at getting screwed out of it.
Aw, fuck it. I'm off to my first real assignment in the Air Force now: Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.
Comments:
peahayes (May 10, 2008. 12:42am)
Wet dog smell, or mayonnaise out in the sun... hmmm... as a dog owner, I hate to say it, but I might choose the mayonnaise... except that I just can't imagine what that would smell like. Is it totally putrid?
intrepideddie (May 10, 2008. 04:39am)
Oh, I wouldn't say it was "putrid"... definitely stinky, though. Yeah, this coming from the wet dog.