It's Not OK to be Mean
I just got home and I’m out of breath. It’s my nerves, not my heart.
The Spouse Support Group is selling no PT chits. For five dollars anyone in battalion can buy out of PT and spend the time lounging at home, the beach, or in the arms of someone dreamy. Mad Dog let the entire Det buy out of today’s PT and every one of us spent our money. That was yesterday. This morning he came in while he was on leave, dressed in civilian clothes, to tell us that we didn’t have to go to PT but that we had to sit in the office until noon.
On Fridays PT is at 10:00 and we finish work for the day by 11:00. Sitting in the office until noon not only defeats the purpose of paying your way out of PT, it actually makes your day longer. He didn’t give us anything to do but told us that he would come back to spaces at noon to make sure we were all there.
He has a smile like the Grinch.
I have never spent time with a group of people suffering from such low morale. I couldn’t take it. This morning Mad Dog crossed the line from overly strict to absurdity.
The Command Master Chief walked into engineering after PT, still in his shorts, and asked, “What’s the matter EA2, are you to good to PT with the battalion?” I explained to him, in detail, why I was in my uniform and still in the office. He looked at me for a moment while he processed my story and responded, “Do you have Chief’s phone number? Never mind. I have it in my office. I’ll call him from there.” Ten minutes later he made his way to the Det Cuba spaces to tell us that we were secured for the day. Everyone was shocked. My platoon commander asked me if I threw him under the bus. I told my story quickly and succinctly with a steady and intense tone and then announced I was going home. I walked out the door to men saying, “Hoo-Rah EA2.”
And here I am.
The Spouse Support Group is selling no PT chits. For five dollars anyone in battalion can buy out of PT and spend the time lounging at home, the beach, or in the arms of someone dreamy. Mad Dog let the entire Det buy out of today’s PT and every one of us spent our money. That was yesterday. This morning he came in while he was on leave, dressed in civilian clothes, to tell us that we didn’t have to go to PT but that we had to sit in the office until noon.
On Fridays PT is at 10:00 and we finish work for the day by 11:00. Sitting in the office until noon not only defeats the purpose of paying your way out of PT, it actually makes your day longer. He didn’t give us anything to do but told us that he would come back to spaces at noon to make sure we were all there.
He has a smile like the Grinch.
I have never spent time with a group of people suffering from such low morale. I couldn’t take it. This morning Mad Dog crossed the line from overly strict to absurdity.
The Command Master Chief walked into engineering after PT, still in his shorts, and asked, “What’s the matter EA2, are you to good to PT with the battalion?” I explained to him, in detail, why I was in my uniform and still in the office. He looked at me for a moment while he processed my story and responded, “Do you have Chief’s phone number? Never mind. I have it in my office. I’ll call him from there.” Ten minutes later he made his way to the Det Cuba spaces to tell us that we were secured for the day. Everyone was shocked. My platoon commander asked me if I threw him under the bus. I told my story quickly and succinctly with a steady and intense tone and then announced I was going home. I walked out the door to men saying, “Hoo-Rah EA2.”
And here I am.
posted by Jessica at 12:11
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