Myth Busters

In boot camp they told us that if we wore our contacts into the gas chamber the CS gas would permanently fuse our eyeballs to our contacts. We weren’t allowed contacts at all in boot camp so the warning seemed especially ominous and because of that everyone I know in the Navy believes it to be true. The thing is, I don’t buy the story. If that was the case you would think that every time the police used CS gas for riot/crowd control we would hear stories on the 6 o’clock news about dozens of folks with contact-eyeball fusion.

So, to get to the bottom of it, about an hour or two ago I intentionally found my way to the Discovery Channel Myth Busters web site. Per web etiquette I read the posts containing guidelines for submission of myths to the forum. The requirements were pretty simple: it must be provable by the scientific method, it must be reproducible, and it must be a myth that lots of people have heard. I felt that I met the criteria so I posted.

There were also warnings that forum regulars could be vicious with their responses. I was ready.

My forum experience is limited to knitting web sites which, I’ve just learned, don’t get that much traffic. I had no idea how many people would be hanging out on a Saturday night at the Myth Busters web site. I’m happy to report that at press time I’ve received 43 viewings and eights posts (two of which are mine, so I guess six is more like it) but no one has bothered to approach the physics of the idea. The posts are full of people asking me if I could get prescription inserts (I can, they’re uncomfortable, and they’re ugly) or LASIK (I’m on the list but there is a two-year wait). I’m disappointed. Maybe my knight in shining armor will still show up.

100 Cigarettes

It has nothing to do with the military, with the exception of emergency leave, but I found out last night that my dad is probably dieing of inoperable lung cancer that has spread to his brain. He’s always smoked like a chimney, lead a sedentary lifestyle, and eaten like a twelve-year-old (very picky, almost no produce, lots of Hershey’s chocolate). Everyone in my family that I’ve spoken to is overwhelmed by how angry they are with him. It’s an event that is forcing them to come to terms with a lifetime of being let down and disappointed by my dad. All I can think about is how he’s always said that he wants his funeral to be a big party where everyone laughs and has a good time. It looks like he might get his wish.

Once Upon a Lieutenant

I have a Lieutenant who is responsible for my Company. He’s not particularly well spoken and what he does spit out is usually condescending which, I’m fairly sure, is a symptom of his personal insecurities. His flaccid body is an unfortunate contrast to his angular face and his complexion is pale but not at all creamy. I imagine that he looks a bit of a mess in civilian clothes. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t command much respect from the 130 or so Seabees who make up Headquarters Company.

I’m the company Training Petty Officer (TPO) and because of that position I’ve had more conversation with my Lieutenant than most people in the Company. And here’s the thing: I identify with him. I identify with every uncomfortable inch of him. He’s smart enough to realize that almost no one in the Company respects him and instead of sitting back and pretending that nothing is amiss he’s taken action. He issued a memo of expectations (including things as obvious as addressing him as Sir, Lieutenant or LT) that each of us had to initial and has started demanding that we run a tight ship.

It’s been working.

There seems to be very little difference between commanding and demanding the respect of your troops. I always imagine effective leaders as charismatic, intelligent, and organized. This is the first example I’ve met of a man who is able to get by effectively without the first qualification. It’s a lesson I need to be sure to file away (even if I do have a secret inclination towards hubris when it comes to my charisma).

Red River

I’m sitting down to a little Aimee Mann and a gin and tonic, or maybe gins and tonic (it’s entirely too early to tell), and one song and three sips in I already feel the tension draining from my neck and shoulders.

I started the day at 0600 at the armory to check out an M16 that I knew I was not going to use. It was issued with a BFA and white safety flag and I toted it around all day during Basic Combat Skills II (BCSII), along with the required accessories: web gear and Kevlar helmet. I know we train like we fight, and I understand why we do it, but in the moment is seems like nothing but absurdity. Today’s practical application labs included vehicle search, personnel search, and concertina set-up. No actual weapon (or web gear) necessary.

During the personnel search drill I instinctively found a woman to pair up with. At 5’10” she’s about an inch shorter than me but I’d guess a full 30 lbs heavier, which more than compensate for the height advantage. Each of her parents was a Marine who came in through Paris Island. She chews. And by that I mean she chews. I almost never see her without an obviously visible amount of tobacco tucked into her lower lip. Her hair is dark and thick, her bun always unkempt, and she has a bit of a swagger since she started dating the biggest redneck in the battalion. I’m a little afraid of her and that’s a big deal because I’m not afraid of many people. Not even a handful. But she’s one of them. So, back to my privilege of searching her: several people were intently watching us (I think almost all men have a girl-fight fantasy) and after I spread her legs, grabbed her collar and thrust my right knee firmly against her ass cheeks to put her in the proper position for a through pat-down, she turned her head towards me and pleaded in a whisper, “Don’t take the tampon out of my pocket.”

This is an example of one of the reasons I identify myself much more strongly with being a woman than being a Seabee.

My First Time Out

This, the first post, I imagine to be a lot like the first pancake: for the dogs. But, I have to start somewhere. The idea for my blog is that I have an outlet to vent about the challenges of being a woman in the military. With the Navy Seabees, specifically. We wear green camouflage uniforms every day to work (unlike the sea-going Navy that wears dark blue bottoms and light blue work shirts that make them all look like janitors or garbage workers or something equally unglamorous), which is how I chose the name for the blog. I get sick of the green camo and also of the blow-hards who feign a belief in equality by proclaiming, "When I look out in front of me I don't see black or white or brown or male or female. I just see green." Nice try. My everyday experience is proof to the contrary.

I need to put dinner in the oven so I'll sign off for now.