What?

(Original)

 So there I was*...

We were marching off to class, just like we did every damned day. I was the flight commander on that particular day. I was not in the best of moods. Many questions in my head...

• Why the Hell do I want to be an officer?
• Where the Hell are these assholes going to send me if I stay?
• Damn, I just said "if."

Yes, all those thoughts were running through Your Humble Scribe's head. 'Twas then that I noticed an inbound instructor. I could tell that his intent was to harass my flight of some 20-odd (and some were more odd than others) OTs. I could tell as this bandit was approaching that my flight guide** was already looking a bit antsy.

"Guide, you will maintain pace, eyes to your front!" I barked out.

"But sir, what if this captain gets in my way?" My guide bleated most plaintively.

"Then you will run his ass over. Am I clear!!?" I bellowed in my most stentorian tone.

"Sir, yes sir!"

At this point the bandit squeaked, "OT, halt your flight!"

"Negative sir, you are not in my chain of command. Stand down or get trampled. Your choice sir!"

Flabbergasted, the bandit captain chopped his throttle and fell into our wake. When we arrived at the building where classes were held, I gave my flight the command to "Fall out!" Meaning that they were to stay in the area (of the building) and be ready to fall into formation upon command. I had asked one of the instructors about that, "Dismissed" (which meant they were free to leave the area) or "fall out" (not free to leave the area). As I never got a satisfactory, I went with "fall out."

Anyhoo. Captain bandit comes bustling up and appears to be in a state of emotional distress.

"What do you think you're doing OT? Ignoring me? Really?"

I glanced at the guy, having had something of an epiphany in that moment, came to attention and barked -

"Sir, I am marching my gorram flight to class. As ordered. You do not have the authority to countermand my captain's orders. There, sir, yessir, I ignored you. If you have a problem with that, sir, I suggest you take it up with my flight commander. Will that be all? Sir."

"We're not done here OT!" he squeaked.

"I do believe you are wrong captain. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to attend."

And I walked away. I don't think the poor bastard knew what to do.

That afternoon we headed for the drill pad to have our formal evaluation of our marching skills and demonstrate a somewhat rudimentary ability to move a formation from Point A to Point B. (It was now actually the 10th and not the 10th in Ahab's world.)

We each had a little card with the commands we were required to give. I think there were about ten in all. Not many, nothing spectacular, no "double-to-the-rear-to-the-right-flank-march," which maneuver we had been fond of at NCO Leadership school at Yokota AB, Japan.

Nope, pretty simple stuff on the card, a couple of column movements, might have been a fall in and a dress right dress, ready front in there as well, (sorry drillspeak, remind me to regale you of the many beauties of drill someday).

I breezed through it, I had my suspicions that the Air Force didn't quite trust the OTS instructors to evaluate our prowess at drill as there was a technical sergeant Training Instructor (TI, that 's what the USAF called them, not DI - sigh...) at hand from main Lackland, an enlisted Basic Training instructor, Smokey Bear hat on head, clipboard in view, notes being taken.

After I halted the flight, and gave them a crisp "LEFT HACE," I saluted Ahab and awaited my evaluation from the real instructor.

After making a  couple of notes, the sergeant looked up and said, "Pass, nice job OT."

To which I replied, "Thank you Sergeant, but any competent airmen should be able to move a flight from Point A to Point B without a lot of fuss."

The TI choked back a laugh, once again I feared that Ahab's head was going to explode. To her credit, she kept her mouth shut for once. I felt bad for her, especially after one of her favorites, Mr. Roboto, made a complete hash of his drill eval. I'm not saying we wound up off the drill pad in the weeds, not saying we didn't either.

Mr. AnalogyDude later said he was in danger of wetting his pants he was struggling so hard to not laugh. I didn't try that hard, just kept it kind of low key. And yes, Ahab noticed.

Looking at me, she barked, "OT, my office, tomorrow at 1100 hours."

Just to stir things up, I answered, "Aye, aye, captain."

I believe Mr. AnalogyDude actually guffawed at that point. Which took Ahab's focus off of Yours Truly. For the moment at any rate.

That night I confessed to my roomie that I was done, I would be cashing in my chips on the 'morrow and bidding Medina Annex a not so fond adieu.

"If you leave, I'll never survive!" Mr. C. proclaimed with a note of panic in his voice.

"Dude, Im not going to stay a moment longer. You have to fend for yourself now. You're ready. I mean, you can actually make your bed now!" Yeah, I actually said that, and truth be told, roomie was starting to "get it."

But the next day when I reported to Ahab on the poop deck, er, her office, before I could say a word, the lady said, "Explain to me why your roommate came in this morning and SIEed?"

SIE, as a commenter mentioned yesterday, stood for Self-Initiated Elimination. Yes, OTS had to have a silly ass acronym for quitting. And Mr. C. had reached down and pulled the ejection handle.

"Well..." I swear she was tapping a pencil on her desk.

"Whoosh!" was all I said.

"I beg your pardon?" muttered Ahab.

"My seat just went."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, my roommate has ejected, we talked about this scenario last night, told him there was no saving the aircraft, so 'whoosh,' he ejected. So am I. Can't be helped, one seat goes, they both go."

"What are you saying OT?"

"What I'm saying, with respect to your rank and all, is that I'm sick of your infantile bullshit. I quit. Send me back to being a sergeant. This crap ain't for me."

"Wait, you're quitting as well?"

"Yes ma'am, I most certainly am. My decision is irrevocable."

"What?"

"Irrevocable. My mind is made up, the decision is final. Surely you, with a degree in English, should know what that word means. I mean I'm just a stupid computer guy, what do I know? Other than what the word 'irrevocable' means."

"Do you know how this looks? First Mr. BBStacker threatens to kill himself, now you and your roommate are both quitting on the same day? Do you know how this makes me look?"

"Well, yes, yes I do. And what's more, I don't care. Get me out of this place. Today!"

Well, it wasn't that very day. I had to hang out a few more days. Days in which I had a bit of fun with one of the upperclassmen and with this sloppy admin sergeant who delighted in tormenting officer trainees.

The Upperclassman's Tale

I was in my room, packing my stuff, Mr. C. had already been moved to the temporary quarters where all the departed were sent. In walks an OT, who asks...

"OT, why aren't you ready for PT***? We're running with the colonel this afternoon!"

"OT, you may address me as 'Staff Sergeant,' you will immediately unass my AO**** and trouble me no more."

Eyeballs about to burst from his head, this OT bellows, "Do you know who I am? I am the OTS Student Wing Commander, I have been to both Army and Marine OCS. You need to get geared up and fall out with everyone else!"

Laughing, I asked him if he had been to both Army and Marine OCS, why wasn't he an officer yet. Couldn't hack it maybe with the actual military? Dude was apoplectic, before he could say another word, one of my ex-flight captains stopped by and told Mr. BigShot, "He SIEed today, leave him alone."

So yes, I added on, "Yeah, sweetheart go run with the colonel, maybe you'll learn something."

Yeah, that's me...
(Source)

Mr. BigShot left, I said my goodbyes and headed for the temp quarters, to be with the rest of The Departed.

The Tale of the Sloppy Sergeant

One of the tasks to perform before heading off to the main base at Lackland to get a new assignment was to process out of OTS. Sign a couple of papers, including one where I promised, cross my heart and hope to die, to never, ever apply for any officer training, ever again. Unless of course the Red Chinese were driving inland from the coast and Uncle Sam needed officers, then if I said "pretty please" and "mother may I" they might, might mind you, let me try again.

But this paperwork had to be accomplished in something the OTs referred to as "The Snake Pit."

"What the heck is that?" I queried in my innocence.

"It's where the instructors have their offices. Your military bearing has to be perfect at all times, Back straight, looking straight ahead, the whole nine yards."

"So it's where a bunch of captains sit. Big deal."

I wasn't concerned, what were they going to do? Throw me out of OTS?

So anyway, I report to this sloppy female sergeant sitting behind a desk, who glanced at me and said, "Go sit in the waiting area OT."

"I'm not an OT anymore sarge..."

"You're an OT until we say you're not. Go. Sit."

Long story short, a few days afterwards, when I had returned to the ranks of the living and was once again clad in the uniform of a staff sergeant, I ran into Sgt SloppyMess at one of the Air Force dining facilities on the main base. She was eating lunch with a couple of her airmen friends.

"Well hello 'sarge'! Remember me?"

She looked up from her plate and immediately turned pale as a sheet.

"Yeah, that's right 'sarge,' the chickens have come home to roost."

"Sarge, I was just doing my..."

"Stand at attention when you're speaking to me, sergeant."

Which she did.

"How's it feel to be treated like shit? Not very nice is it? Doing your job my ass. You suck at your job. Now sit down and eat your lunch, you look silly. By the way, did you actually sleep in that uniform? Because it looks like it."

With that parting shot, I pulled pitch***** and rejoined the real Air Force. But, as you might well imagine, I wasn't quite done with Lackland and the OTS imps of Satan. Not quite.

But gee, that will have to wait for tomorrow, won't it?


Ground control to Major Beans...

Footnotes and such -

* SJC

** Flight guide, the person at the front right of the formation, usually but not always carrying a guidon (small flag). He or she tends to be one of the shorter members of the flight. The guide acts like a pace car at the start of a race, keeping everyone marching at the same step. When a flight is aligned properly, the tallest members of the flight are at the front of the marching column. Without a guide, the tall pukes would be striding along, majestically, rather like giraffes, while the shorter members of the formation are trying to keep up, without actually running.

*** PT, Physical Training

**** AO, Area of Operations, "unass my AO" - get out of my sight, now

***** Pull pitch - to depart from a situation rapidly and decisively. Originates from a military aviation term referring to the pitch control on a helicopter, which is pulled to make the aircraft lift off.