I ♥ Cleaning

Weapons cleaning has got to be one of the overall least-favorite things to do in the battalion. It seems like everyone hates it. It never fails: as soon as the scores are passed out at the range someone is already complaining about having to clean the rifle the next day. I think the issue is that when we turn in “clean” rifles to the Gunners Mates they inspect the weapons with an impressive eye for carbon and gladly send us away if they find what often seems like an imperceptible amount of what they’re looking for. And no one likes to be told the job they do isn’t good enough. And even though the GMs spend all day maintaining, fixing, inspecting, and coordinating the issue and collection of weapons, there is a perception in the battalion that they don’t do anything. So a lot of the guys feel like they’re being told they’re not good enough buy a bunch of jack-offs who sit around all day with their thumbs up their asses.

But I kind of look foreword to it. I zone out, listen to people talk about whatever crazy things they do and that I don’t, and meticulously remove carbon buildup from every surface I can find. Then again, I like just about anything that’s meticulous.

The Range II

My pre-qual at the M16 range was miserable. I scored 99 points out of a possible 200 (140 is what it takes to qualify). It was my lowest score ever by a margin of 43 points. When I first settled into position I asked my range coach to keep an eye on me and let me know if anything looked wonky. He was with me in Alaska last summer so I had some (what turned out to be misplaced) faith in him. He kept telling me that I looked good. “You look good… I can’t see anything wrong… You look good… You should be fine...” I wasn’t fine. A score of 99 is anything but fine: it’s embarrassing. My coach today watched me fire off my first three rounds, tapped me on the shoulder, and instructed me to keep my finger on the trigger in between shots. I followed his advice and scored a 152.

A Little Rum is a Good Thing

With Jack Johnson on my iPod and a Mojito in my glass I am happy to report that three hours ago I opened my first “You need to understand your rank” e-mail. I have a grin on my face that would make the Cheshire Cat proud.

I like to think that I treat people with equal respect and that while I understand that rank entitles a person to greater responsibility I see no need to treat anyone better than anyone else.

For brevity’s sake this is, well, the brief version:

PS1 failed to show up to the range Monday morning. I’m the Headquarters Company Training Petty Officer (TPO) and he is in my company. I caught up with him today and asked him why he didn’t show. He was with a friend, the friend is a bit of a bully, and PS1 was obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“I thought I was at the range next week.”

“It’s your responsibility to check the rosters and know what week you’re in class.”

“I have to administer the advancement exam this week.”

As he was speaking to me he was walking away with his head down; he was avoiding me like I was the paparazzi. I had to follow. I was annoyed. I’ll admit to affecting a stern tone. It was probably a very stern tone. I replied:

“When you have a scheduling conflict you need to contact the training department ahead of time. Skipping class is not the appropriate way to handle this situation.”

About 30 minutes later I opened the e-mail. It seems I was “very unprofessional” . I thought about his accusation for about 30 seconds and came to the conclusion that it is acceptable for the pot to call the kettle black if that kettle is unmistakably black. I’ll approach him tomorrow after I get back from the range:

“I apologize that I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t in any way my intention. And I’ll be more careful in the future about speaking to people about personal situations in public spaces. I was frustrated because you were walking away from me. I won’t let it happen again.”

And that will be the end of it.

The Range

This morning I need to be at the armory by 0600 with my weapons card and a lunch. I don’t have a history of overwhelming success with the M16, which I’m sure is because I can’t keep my eyes open when I squeeze the trigger: the rifle is too close to my face. I’m always afraid the charging handle is going to shoot back and break my nose and there’s going to be a big bloody mess. My fear doesn’t subside no matter how many times I check to make sure it’s locked into place. I squeeze the trigger and everything in my body tenses. The encouraging news is that I always manage to qualify even without looking at my target. Today, I’m really going to try hard to have faith in the charging handle god and to stay relaxed.