Dull and Numb

There are certain parts of my job that I really enjoy and that makes me thankful because I know it's not something that everyone experiences.

There are other parts of my job that make my reflexes dull and my mind numb, like data entry. I can only transfer numbers from one Excel spreadsheet to another for so long before I start to go crazy. My brand of craziness requires that I drink a lot of water (tally for today: 124 ounces) so that I can punctuate my day with several bathroom breaks; they make work go by a little faster.

Today has been all Excel spreadsheets all day. I finally lost it, picked up a fat grease pencil, and in a calm but altered state drew hearts on the metal door frame spending an unreasonable amount of time trying to make the lobes perfectly even. So far no one has noticed my outsider art, which is lucky, because by tomorrow I think I'll be able to deny creating it in such a way as to make my accuser feel akward in his advance.

Success

The mission was very low profile and on a need-to-know basis. Almost no one needed to know. The secret nature of the operation means success will never be appreciated by an audience but will be instead sweetly and secretly celebrated.

I ran a covert shopping operation and have Christmas cards and letter writing stationery coming my way.

pRECISION

There are some people who, trained by the creative problem solving requirements for their job, do not understand the importance of precision. Builders can suffer from the affliction and so can mechanics because every day, due to poor funding, they are without the proper tools and materials or parts to do the required job. They have learned through years in the military that any way you can get the job done is a good way and are praised for their "Can Do" attitude (and blessed by the fact that after six months deployment is over and we never again see what we built or fixed so if it falls apart we don't feel the pang of failure). That lesson isn't a part of the surveyor's arsenal. We use numbers to do our job and they are perfect, precise and don't lie (except, of course, in the hands of creative statisticians) and that's why I like them.

So when a Navy mechanic is tasked with completing a HOB (Health of the Battalion) brief, and he thinks he is done, he decides to hand it off to the much lower ranking surveyor because he wants an eye for precision to look it over. The problem comes when that eye for precision finds many, many, many problems. Now, suddenly, the surveyor has to complete the HOB brief by tomorrow morning.

This surveyor isn't so happy.

The 70+ Club

Because I was thinking about it I just took an on-line typing test. After you factor in my errors (I typed with 98% accuracy) I type at a speed of 72 words per minute.

I say anyone who types over 70 words per minute gets to shop for Christmas cards during working hours.

It's worth noting that in a normal office environment I wouldn't have this problem. I would eat lunch quickly and consider stationery in the left-over time. But this doesn't work because our lunch "hour" is the amount of time it takes us to eat. So even if I eat quickly there is no extra time for me to run web errands. And staying late doesn't work either because we carpool the few miles back to the barracks in government vehicles. If I stay I get left without a ride home and I miss supper because the galley closes shortly after we get off work.

Typing more than 70 words per minute should definitely get you something.

Proficiency

I'm not sure how fast I can type, but I know it's pretty fast and pretty accurate, too. I can also type while I'm holding a conversation with someone in my office, but it usually makes that someone uncomfortable, so I don't do it unless I'm in the mood to flaunt my administrative prowess. The point is, I work a lot faster and am a better multi-tasker than other people in the office.

I am also a non-smoker. About every two hours most of the office exits the building, smokes and talks trash for ten to fifteen minutes, and then comes back to work. I don't partake in the ritual.

So, when I'm in the mood to shop on-line for yarn or Christmas cards (it's never too early) or bath products I see no reason that I shouldn't be allowed.

That's all I'm saying.

Dear Tyson

Dear Tyson,

If you happen to read this I would like to tell you that you undercharge for your NKO General Military Training service. I, because I paid you, am the only person in the command who has completed the fiscal year 06 training topics. The end of the fiscal year is two weeks away, we are working six days a week, and no time is going to be allotted for on-line classes. I should have paid you at least double.

Anxiously awaiting my NKO-free Sunday,
EA2

Lessons Learned (LL)

If a man harasses you and you report it, even quietly and at the lowest level, he will think you’re a rat and not to be trusted with information. You will find this out because he will be happy to tell anyone who will listen (he'll leave out the part about blatantly harassing you).

A man who is attracted to you will think the world of you and compliment your work performance when people are listening. That same man, when he finds out you aren’t attracted to him (and they always figure it out sooner or later), will tell the same people that you’re bad at your job and suffer from any number of other undesirable traits.

A man who is attracted to you, makes an overt pass at you, and believes that your are attracted to him even though you dismiss his advance, will always stick up for you publicly and privately.  It’s because he thinks that if a woman can want a man as badly as she must want him and still say no, well...then...  her moral fiber must be woven of exceptionally strong thread. Several months later he will hint around that he slept with you.

These men will never understand that other men tell you every word of what they say.

The Heart of the Matter

I'm a sucker for a Graham Greene novel; they're full of religion, foreign wars, and personal conflict. The Heart of the Matter is all of those things peppered with rugged cocktails, dead cockroaches, and shady Algerians running a black market. The main protagonist is Scobie, a British man working in Africa during WWII. He's married and his wife, Louise, is justly unhappy: their only child, a daughter, is dead, Scobie was passed up for promotion, Louise doesn't fit in or like Sierra Leone, and is disconnected from people who share her obsessions of poetry and Catholicism. So she sails to South Africa, a place she thinks she will be happy, to wait three years for her husband to retire and join her.

After Louise leaves Scobie meets a young, beautiful widow and they have an affair. In time the young woman is just as unhappy and bitter as Louise before she left. It seems curious. And Scobie theorizes that this is what happens to women who spend time with him. Somehow, unintentionally, he trains women to feel old, angry, and combative. It's a depressing thought, but probably accurate. I think about it a lot and try to notice how my actions mold the people around me and also how my friends affect my personality.

My situation this deployment is similar to the last; I'm working primarily with one junior guy and we spend most of our time surveying together during the day. And just like last year my partner in crime isn't speedy with the math but I see him improving and it makes me feel good. I'm noticing other things too: he's usually in a good mood and cracks funny jokes, he's a hard worker, intensely loyal, and confides in me easily. It was the same last year and it makes me feel very lucky. But sometimes when I think about it in the context of that Graham Greene novel, I let myself think that maybe I bring out those characteristics in people. And that makes me feel like I'm both doing something right and that my time in the Navy has been worth the headaches. I don't think this education is found anywhere else.

Technical Difficulties

It's a slow week at the project because the civilian crane crew is otherwise occupied. Personally, I think it's a high-level conspiracy to retard progress. The public works department told Mad Dog that we need to slow production and the captain of the base told him that there's no hurry: if the bridge takes another year it's no big deal (we have a goal of completion by February). Logic would say that's a good thing; we should be able to kick back and work a few less hours every week. But the battalion has a different vision, a competitive vision that pits our productivity against the productivity of all other Naval Mobile Construction Battalions, and the crew is stuck in the middle. I'm stuck in the office because it's legal to write me off as indirect labor and because I don't have a dump truck or bulldozer license so there's not much for me to do out there except guide the operators. And I'm really not in the mood to direct hot, dusty traffic.

So I'm in the office, with little to do because I'm a few days ahead with my administrative work, and wanted to take advantage of some quality writing time. I logged on, opened Microsoft Word, pecked for a few minutes, and hit save: nothing. I worked at it for a bit and I can't save anything. So I called the computer people and left a message. In the meantime I'm going to have to e-mail myself anything I want to commit to paper (or, more realistically, my hard drive).

The Training Death Trap

I opened my e-mail to a chatty letter from the new S7/S2 (training and intelligence officer). I've only met him once. He's a little cookey and he seems to think he can butter me up to work in the training office during next homeport. I know it sounds benign, but the training office is the most spit-on and trampled-over office in battalion. I would sooner work in the tool room. This is what he sent (parenthetical comments are mine):

How is everything in GTMO?  I hope you and the troops are taking advantage of your liberty to enjoy the diving and fishing. (We work six days a week, 12 hours a day, in the sun and diving classes are during the week. No, we don't get out much.)  Without a doubt my best 3 years in the Navy were there.  1995-1998, I was an EA2 in the Engineering shop for FMED.  A lot of changes to the base have occurred since then. (They built a $15 million prison.)

Thank you for your timely input.  You must have some hard charging individuals, all six have taken the Officer/OIC/AOIC portion of the ORM.  Was this personal initiative, or leadership driven? (Does it even seem possible that troops would take online classes on risk-assessment if someone didn't force them?)

Was Mary able to help with your PISTOL issues?  Let me know if I need to do anything. (Most officers, without unseemly motives, are not in the habit of running e-mail errands for troops. There isn't enough time in the day.)

Noticed on your PRD that you are rotating early in 08?  Are you planning to extend or rotate as scheduled.  The reason I ask, we are looking to staff the next Homeport Training Department.  Would you be interested? (I e-mailed him a polite "No".)

Have a great CB Day,
V/R, Warrant

(As a general rule, I'm annoyed with individuals who wish me a "great Seabee day".)

Dear Christina

Dear Christina,

I'd like to remind you that all wars have casualties. Sometimes we loose our friends, but we need to keep in mind the greater good.

Having said that, the other day while I was at the project the skies opened and drenched my backpack that I carelessly laid in the bed of the pick-up. In that backpack was your copy of Lamb by Christopher Moore. It's still readable, but very obviously worse for wear. I dried it in my room and repaired it as best I could with packing tape and a lot of love.

If it eases the blow, you should know it's one of the funniest things I've ever read.

I offer my sincere condolences and love during this difficult time.