This week I have been out of the office in training. The training is pretty dry. JP went through this course last week, and when I saw him last Wednesday, I asked him how it was. His only response was: "Bring something to keep you awake." Banned from drinking Red Bull (by my husband who claims it will fuck up my kidneys), and armed with only one teabag's worth of Yogi Green Tea, what do you think I used to stay alert? My imagination, of course. Except in the rarest of instances (I am struggling to recall any just now), my imagination gets me out of tough scrapes, makes wrong turns right, frees me from mental torpor, and generally renders any ordinary situation just a little more silly. Most of the time I don't even think these thoughts on purpose. I am imaginatively hard of hearing and often reading. You've heard of people's minds playing tricks on them? Well mine has an involuntary gag reflex - of the humorous kind. Guess it has a thing for funny boners.
When my classmates at Nuke School or Department Head school would struggle to stay awake even after pounding liters of coffee/soda and getting plenty of sleep (by anyone's standards, not just a SWO's), I would attribute their sleepiness to having a weak mind; that they lacked imagination. When speakers just aren't holding my interest, I make things up either about them or I shamelessly misconstrue their words. Sometimes what I come up with just makes me go “hmmmm” and sometimes it just downright cracks me up – sometimes to the point where I draw attention to myself by excessively grinning, laughing, or even snorting apparently out of context. When I am trying to instill people with the confidence that I am one to be taken seriously, however, I can usually turn it off or tone it down to a simple simper. I never said that I was actually attentive, my imagination is just a mechanism to ward off the sleepiness that stems from boredom, just creating the illusion that I am paying attention.
ANYWAY, now that you have the background, I'll discuss what has transpired in class.
There are a number of tools on our intranet that never cease to crack me up. For instance:
- Wiki - derived from the worldwide web’s internet encyclopedia tool "wikipedia," it is our version of the same thing; when I read it or hear the word I hear it repeated four times, like in the 80's song "Jam On It": wiki wiki wiki wiki -- shut up! Jam through the night, then night turns to day, time is all I want to hear you say, jam on it, jam on it, I say ja ja ja ja jam on it...
- Portlets - sub sections of a web page that bring the user to another page or dropdown menu; my brain sees/hears "port-o-lets," you know, portopotties, honeybuckets, Portajohns; and whatever is in the new window or drop down menu makes me think of literally a selection for things that one may drop down a portolet or a new portal within the portolet, like in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. ...where does it go? Eeeeewww, gross.
- "We're going live!" - meaning we are on the same server/intranet as the rest of the building, as opposed to the training server. The instructor warns us by officially and dramatically shouting that phrase to let us know that we could potentially send one of our test messages/taskings to the Chairman (Admiral Mullen). While the ramifications of doing so do make me immaturely snicker, it's more the instructor's drama that cracks me up; for I picture him as Chris Elliott in Groundhog Day, standing behind a TV camera with his fingers in the air: "We're going live in three, two, one -- you're on the air!" And nothing seems changed: hello? We're still in this stultifying classroom.
- Dirty words - certain key words that the “Top Secret” Guard system looks for that prevent downgrading a file's classification. It’s obvious where one can go with this one… leaves us all wondering what those words are… literally, the military’s dirty little secrets!
- CHOD – stands for Chief of Defense (of another country); makes me think of Chode, a derogatory term that one of my Senior Chiefs on the destroyer used to use to describe someone whom he particularly despised and had no respect for. I am pretty sure I don’t even want to look up the true meaning of the slang. Still, it makes me sophomorically chuckle.
One of the first exercises we did in class was to create a test document that we later moved around to show how to transfer data between the various repositories and applications on our system. To do this, we were supposed to simply create a new Word document, write a test sentence like "STU014 test document" and save it. There was no one preventing me from writing something else, though. I knew I shouldn't write something off color (which I am almost ashamed to say was actually the first thing that came to mind – but consider the company I kept for the past 3.5 years on sea duty). And when I was an Ensign at SWOS many moons ago, I was counseled for typing "this is lame" in a test message exercise... I can still hear the pedantic Lieutenant, LT Monsour (“You couldn’t think of anything else to write… you need to improve your attitude blah blah blah blah!”) Instead, I wrote "My favorite way to eat pretzels is to stuff a lot of them into my mouth at once." This elicited a giggle from my classmate (and longtime friend) on my left. My shorthand description read "STU14's monograph for her preferred pretzel eating tactic." The best part came when in a later exercise we had to search the entire intranet for our file by keywords. When I entered the keyword "tactic," my document was second only to one about the Indian Army's new tank tactics. Hmmmm - a 75% match!
Later, we familiarized ourselves with some data spreadsheets we're supposed to use. One was called DART (Director's Action Response Tracker) and another was called CART (Chairman's Action Response Tracker). There was a third in the grouping that was unabbreviated: 4 star Action Response Tracker. Why don't they call it FART? Beats me.
One of our instructors was getting her ass kicked by malaprops too. So that too provided no small amount of amusement. For example, she told us to antiquate ourselves with a certain program, that she was going to flush out the details of somethingorother.
Have you ever noticed that if you have the "hand" selected in a PDF file and you hold your mouse on it and move it up and down really quickly, you can make it look like you are punching the page? For kicks, try doing it really fast.
There is one woman who works in the Training Center there who is actually a full professor. She used to teach writing at Rutgers. She talked of active voice, gerunds, properly placed participles, and the malice of common military redundancies like "at this time," "past history," and "advanced planning." Her words were music to my ears, and I was thoroughly impressed that our military had someone on the Staff. While she was giving her bio, I began to daydream about my days as a writing tutor in college. Atop of all this, both days, she has brought in the most amazing baked goods, too: muffins, cinnamon pound cake! And she pleasantly smiles and sweetly greets each and every person who comes into the classroom, carefully listening and maternally seeing that our every need is met while we are in her charge. She’s truly the Polygon’s Mom.
So she got up to teach us, and what do you think ran through my imagination. Well, since she actually knew how to instruct, knew how to speak, I was actually paying attention. She told us that here at the National Polygon we were breathing rarefied air. When we have those days when we get discouraged about what we are doing, she entreated us to remember the younger person who joined the military for noble reasons. If we should feel that the papers we're producing are just insignificant bureaucracy, remember there is a kid out there, a soldier, a sailor, an airman who is depending on what you write… because of the work you are doing here, you will be renewed as individuals.
Man, did I feel like crap for literally making a mockery of this class. I am such a SUCKER.
So, she taught her lesson, introduced us to the “family of forms” (which conjured images of Italians seated around a table full of spaghetti and meatballs). She knew how dry the material was and reached out to us in a very real way: “I feel your pain… in more ways than one… that’s why I bake.” Bless you lady, bless you.
23 September 2008
20 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns: Bus a Move (Episode 8)
17 Sep-
So the 0623 bus came early - at 0619. I was 3 houses away and I heard it and thought, "gee, that sounds like a bus; it's probably just a school bus, though. I'm not going to be faked out like usual and start hustling like a dufus." Then I watched it go by. "You've got to be fuckin' shitin' me!" I said aloud. Every bloody day I have waited out there 9 minutes before the bus is due and nothing, nothing. I just wait and wait and every time it has been 1 to 25 minutes late. But this morning, this morning, it takes me an extra couple of minutes to pack my bag since I was transferring things to a heartier backpack, and whammo! The tardy bus comes early. Humph. Another reason why I didn't come out here as early as usual is because I left my jacket at work and there is a bit of a chill in the air. Oh well, I thought, "I won't be out there but a few minutes..." 15 minutes LATER... I am still waiting, now with a moist nose (healthy pup). One of my neighbors showed up and I somehow deemed it my duty to rat on the 0623 bus. He said that he always shoots for the 0635 K bus since it is a horse race with the 0638 H bus. At this point two giant jockeys (dressed in kelly green and royal blue argyle pattern satin outfits) riding atop a metrobus apiece went racing past my mind... the buses were running just as fast as they could on clean natural gas, their brakes puffing and whinneying as they made their respective stops and lurched forward again, all the while the jockeys whipping them with crops and digging in their heels.
I smiled and sniff-chuckled to myself. Maybe I should shoot for the 0635K/0638H combo too. Moments later, the K bus showed up with the H rolling closely behind... As I heard announcers hawking a horsie play-by-play, I shook my head. I was truly cracking myself up. Ah well...
Later on, while we were trotting along, I realized something else about this horsie-bus: when the driver steps on the brakes ever so slightly, the bus makes a noise that from inside sounds like Roscoe Pico Train (excuse the spelling, I am no authority) from The Dukes of Hazard. "Coo-coo-cooh!" Where's Flash?
18 Sep-
No issues with the bus today. The afternoon one was a little late in arriving to take me home, but oh well. It must have been a tough day at the races. The General and the Colonel missed their meeting yesterday on account of a DoD shuttle bus. That was an interesting flail. Whatever the event, when a Flag Officer is involved and something goes awry, the fur starts flying. That too cracks me up; although I am truly sorry she missed her meeting - particularly given all of the time we (#1, Face and I) had spent prepping for it. This afternoon Mojo shared a story with me about how one time he called the transit authority as he was waiting for a bus that hadn't shown up. And although Mojo was enumerating the schedule to the person on the other end of the life, the motherfucker still denied it, saying the posted schedule must be wrong. As the conversation got more heated, and the man continued to deny such credible evidence like "I am reading the schedule posted here at the stop" --it must be out of date -- and "this is a brand new bus stop placard" -- well, it can't be right -- "I am reading it right in front of me. It says right here this bus was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago" -- well, I think you are lying; you weren't there when you said you were -- "Huh? Do you think I have that kind of time?" Shoot. Even if you did, THAT's what you'd do with it. Honestly! The DoD drivers... Who do they "work" for, anyway?
19 Sep-
This morning at 0613 as I was getting dressed, I heard a bus lumber by. "I had better get a move on. At least it sounds like it is on time this morning. That damn 6:23 bus..." I grumbled, recalling my follies earlier in the week.
"You know it's a 6:20 bus, right? Not 6:23," Russ said.
"Seriously?"
There is a life lesson somewhere in here; I am sure of it.
Later this morning, I took the infamously elusive DoD shuttle bus to the Main State Department office with no incident. It wasn't schoolbusish like the one that goes to the Anacostia ghetto. Rather it was the size of what we used to call tart carts when I was a kid. You know: the "short bus." Hmmmm, so what does that say about it; what does that say about me? The driver was Indian/Pakistani and digging his country music. Can you tell I have been spending my time reading and studying about how themes, messages, and images can map and govern not only how people think, but how they are portrayed?
Earlier this week I became conscious of this game that I play with myself. It's called "Would I wear that?". While many women, and men for that matter, might think that it is dull and creativity-squashing to wear a uniform everyday, I am actually glad. People, particularly women, are so often instantly judged by the image their clothes conveyed. The uniform levels the playing field, I think. Perhaps that is the idea; but seriously, it makes me feel like I will be assessed by my words and actions and not necessarily by a conclusion drawn from my garb. Heck, I am not saying I want to go out and wear a berka by any means... but I am attempting to do a professional job, to be judged equally, so it helps to look the same.
Holy crap, why did I go there? Oh yeah, I was talking about the game of "Would I wear that?". So, when I see a non-uniformed woman walking around, I ponder her outfit and think "Would I wear that?". It really does amuse me as I try to picture myself in a moo-moo or frumpy pants suit or a brightly patterned somethingorother. But in light of that last conversation, my game has kind of lost its luster. Ah well, the bus is almost at my stop. It is time to get a move on. Coo-coo-cooh!
So the 0623 bus came early - at 0619. I was 3 houses away and I heard it and thought, "gee, that sounds like a bus; it's probably just a school bus, though. I'm not going to be faked out like usual and start hustling like a dufus." Then I watched it go by. "You've got to be fuckin' shitin' me!" I said aloud. Every bloody day I have waited out there 9 minutes before the bus is due and nothing, nothing. I just wait and wait and every time it has been 1 to 25 minutes late. But this morning, this morning, it takes me an extra couple of minutes to pack my bag since I was transferring things to a heartier backpack, and whammo! The tardy bus comes early. Humph. Another reason why I didn't come out here as early as usual is because I left my jacket at work and there is a bit of a chill in the air. Oh well, I thought, "I won't be out there but a few minutes..." 15 minutes LATER... I am still waiting, now with a moist nose (healthy pup). One of my neighbors showed up and I somehow deemed it my duty to rat on the 0623 bus. He said that he always shoots for the 0635 K bus since it is a horse race with the 0638 H bus. At this point two giant jockeys (dressed in kelly green and royal blue argyle pattern satin outfits) riding atop a metrobus apiece went racing past my mind... the buses were running just as fast as they could on clean natural gas, their brakes puffing and whinneying as they made their respective stops and lurched forward again, all the while the jockeys whipping them with crops and digging in their heels.
I smiled and sniff-chuckled to myself. Maybe I should shoot for the 0635K/0638H combo too. Moments later, the K bus showed up with the H rolling closely behind... As I heard announcers hawking a horsie play-by-play, I shook my head. I was truly cracking myself up. Ah well...
Later on, while we were trotting along, I realized something else about this horsie-bus: when the driver steps on the brakes ever so slightly, the bus makes a noise that from inside sounds like Roscoe Pico Train (excuse the spelling, I am no authority) from The Dukes of Hazard. "Coo-coo-cooh!" Where's Flash?
18 Sep-
No issues with the bus today. The afternoon one was a little late in arriving to take me home, but oh well. It must have been a tough day at the races. The General and the Colonel missed their meeting yesterday on account of a DoD shuttle bus. That was an interesting flail. Whatever the event, when a Flag Officer is involved and something goes awry, the fur starts flying. That too cracks me up; although I am truly sorry she missed her meeting - particularly given all of the time we (#1, Face and I) had spent prepping for it. This afternoon Mojo shared a story with me about how one time he called the transit authority as he was waiting for a bus that hadn't shown up. And although Mojo was enumerating the schedule to the person on the other end of the life, the motherfucker still denied it, saying the posted schedule must be wrong. As the conversation got more heated, and the man continued to deny such credible evidence like "I am reading the schedule posted here at the stop" --it must be out of date -- and "this is a brand new bus stop placard" -- well, it can't be right -- "I am reading it right in front of me. It says right here this bus was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago" -- well, I think you are lying; you weren't there when you said you were -- "Huh? Do you think I have that kind of time?" Shoot. Even if you did, THAT's what you'd do with it. Honestly! The DoD drivers... Who do they "work" for, anyway?
19 Sep-
This morning at 0613 as I was getting dressed, I heard a bus lumber by. "I had better get a move on. At least it sounds like it is on time this morning. That damn 6:23 bus..." I grumbled, recalling my follies earlier in the week.
"You know it's a 6:20 bus, right? Not 6:23," Russ said.
"Seriously?"
There is a life lesson somewhere in here; I am sure of it.
Later this morning, I took the infamously elusive DoD shuttle bus to the Main State Department office with no incident. It wasn't schoolbusish like the one that goes to the Anacostia ghetto. Rather it was the size of what we used to call tart carts when I was a kid. You know: the "short bus." Hmmmm, so what does that say about it; what does that say about me? The driver was Indian/Pakistani and digging his country music. Can you tell I have been spending my time reading and studying about how themes, messages, and images can map and govern not only how people think, but how they are portrayed?
Earlier this week I became conscious of this game that I play with myself. It's called "Would I wear that?". While many women, and men for that matter, might think that it is dull and creativity-squashing to wear a uniform everyday, I am actually glad. People, particularly women, are so often instantly judged by the image their clothes conveyed. The uniform levels the playing field, I think. Perhaps that is the idea; but seriously, it makes me feel like I will be assessed by my words and actions and not necessarily by a conclusion drawn from my garb. Heck, I am not saying I want to go out and wear a berka by any means... but I am attempting to do a professional job, to be judged equally, so it helps to look the same.
Holy crap, why did I go there? Oh yeah, I was talking about the game of "Would I wear that?". So, when I see a non-uniformed woman walking around, I ponder her outfit and think "Would I wear that?". It really does amuse me as I try to picture myself in a moo-moo or frumpy pants suit or a brightly patterned somethingorother. But in light of that last conversation, my game has kind of lost its luster. Ah well, the bus is almost at my stop. It is time to get a move on. Coo-coo-cooh!
15 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns: Off Time (Episode 7)
So today I ventured out of the compound for a run. I had heard from #1 that to get to the monument area downtown I could go out the back of the PAC and over a footbridge and blah blah blah blah blah blah I stopped listening... daydreams overtook dayreality.
The other day as Russ and I were driving by, I pointed out the supposed "route," mumbling what is supposed to happen after one crosses the footbridge immediately outside the exit. Russ, obviously the better listener, called me out on the fact that I was seriously short on details.
"So what? I'm sure I can figure it out."
"And get lost."
"So, how lost can I get?" Besides, being so-called lost is merely a gateway to an adventure!
So there I was, freely trotting along, over the footbridge... oooh, a park... cross the street, follow the paths, look at the water... I wonder how far this goes?
Hmmm, a little shade, nice trees, hmmm, now I am in a parking lot... another path over there, a smelly dumpster, a weird looking construction worker (good thing I am going the other way)... crappers, another dead end, the same construction worker, cut some corners to avoid some other ones... another path, a sign telling me that the way I aim to go is closed and that I should use the Ladybird Johnson Footbridge. Gee, thanks. Where is that, ahhh, who cares? Turn around, another path, head towards a memorial, nope a big circle, make a path, head into a shady grove, looks like some people whom I saw 10 minutes ago are now walking in this direction... hmmm, nice path along the road, running along, look up -- hey where I want to be is up there! I am supremely jealous of joggers on an overpass above me. Well, there is only one way that I can see to get up there. I clamber up the side of a highway hump and cross four lanes of traffic. What could have been easier? Umm, going the right way the first time. Aw, whatever!
After my diddling about, I found my way to pay a visit to my favorite President: Lincoln. When I found myself in between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, I paused and took stock of where I was blessed to be: in the sun, running, an American part of something bigger than these goofy thoughts about getting lost and fabricating adventures, trying to make a difference in the sunny day, my running, and America.
Where was I going?
Oh yeah, back to work. Eventually I made my way back there, immersed in the soundtrack of my life pumping via my iPod, did a bunch of extra leg exercises, got cleaned up and headed back up to the office. Somewhere in there, however, I also contemplated the symbolism that was slapping me in the jowels. The metaphor of being out on a run: some piddley attempt to escape the confines of the office, pretending like I know where I am going or just not really caring that I actually don't because it will bring me to something out of the ordinary. Waiting for something to happen, someone to show me the way, only so I can miss his directions in the buzz of my own daydreams.
Some days, in my waiting I hit it too hard. I beat the shit out of my body, yearning for some intensity, go running really hard on a really hot and humid morning, give myself headache… then later try to clear the headache with gallons and gallons of water and, when that fails, switch to beer, believing that the beer did the trick, have another and another, then believe that I need to eat that third piece of pizza (arh! That third piece of pizza – what a litany of life lessons I could write to the metaphor of having that third piece of pizza!)… falling asleep in between games of a double header only to wake up and be barely conscious for the second game and to drink maybe another beer and then nap and slam three bottles of Vitamin Water in an effort to gain my wits and feel the back of my throat again before bed… then believe that I am ready for bed and but realize that I am not tired but rather being victimized by the pizza bloat… and so I am awake, awkward and lonely in my quiet neighborhood as I stay up until the wee hours of the morning, reading a book supposedly about America written by a German who has never been here and once imagined that he awoke one morning to find himself transformed into a very large bug…
But then you rally again like in the Tubthumping song that reminds me of my friend Erik (Mr. puke and rally himself -- I get knocked down...), and come around the corner into the 4th mile just as “Jump Around” opens -- "get up, get in, let me begin" -- and you pass three chicks who look to be in better shape than you are… and you end of finishing better than you thought you would but still only get second… to a woman whose upper thighs seemed a little jellier than yours and whom you saw walking up that last hill. WALKING! Well, walking can be deceptive… remember that half marathon when you were chugging up that hill and in order for Erik to stick back with you he had to walk? Then you ended up dragging him along... And so there you are: you had a decent Sunday although the Mets lost and that sent you spiraling into anger, so much so that you took it out on yourself in the form of a really hard shoulder/bi/tri workout and then could only manage one beer that night. “Excuse me please, one more drink… can you make it strong 'cause I don't need to think?” Ahh, the soundtrack of my life. It's just music, Silly.
On my way back to the office from the PAC, I bypassed the escalators and used the stairs that I discovered someone else using during my trip down. They are very narrow stairs, though. So narrow that only one person can realistically use them at one time. What will I say to someone should I encounter someone coming the opposite direction?
Fight the power!
Yeah, that’s what I will say!
Someone approaches me as I am heading up and round the corner. I don’t say anything to him. So much for that.
Later in the afternoon I decided to fill one of my units of time with a trip down to the MWR office to purchase some baseball tickets for Wednesday’s Nats-Mets game.
MWR was closed! Another attempt at freedom and something different with which to occupy my time was thwarted! Since I was out of my cell, though, I took the opportunity to use the head on my way back to the office.
Urgh! My favorite stall was soiled… and the one after that and the one after that! When technology goes awry -- or just gives up (the toilets have "electric eyes"). When technology goes awry: one more reason to avoid escalators. Fortunately, that was the head situated in between the D & E rings. Here stalls aren't numbered, so it made my selection of an alternate stall a little less disruptive as it was easier to suspend my disbelief that I wasn't following routine. Had I been in the other head on this corridor and not been able to use stall # 3 or # 2 and sink # 4 or # 14… I very well could have had a Rain Man episode. Okay, not really, but emotional adjustments would have had to have been made. I would have been visibly upset for about 2 tenths of a second.
The other day as Russ and I were driving by, I pointed out the supposed "route," mumbling what is supposed to happen after one crosses the footbridge immediately outside the exit. Russ, obviously the better listener, called me out on the fact that I was seriously short on details.
"So what? I'm sure I can figure it out."
"And get lost."
"So, how lost can I get?" Besides, being so-called lost is merely a gateway to an adventure!
So there I was, freely trotting along, over the footbridge... oooh, a park... cross the street, follow the paths, look at the water... I wonder how far this goes?
Hmmm, a little shade, nice trees, hmmm, now I am in a parking lot... another path over there, a smelly dumpster, a weird looking construction worker (good thing I am going the other way)... crappers, another dead end, the same construction worker, cut some corners to avoid some other ones... another path, a sign telling me that the way I aim to go is closed and that I should use the Ladybird Johnson Footbridge. Gee, thanks. Where is that, ahhh, who cares? Turn around, another path, head towards a memorial, nope a big circle, make a path, head into a shady grove, looks like some people whom I saw 10 minutes ago are now walking in this direction... hmmm, nice path along the road, running along, look up -- hey where I want to be is up there! I am supremely jealous of joggers on an overpass above me. Well, there is only one way that I can see to get up there. I clamber up the side of a highway hump and cross four lanes of traffic. What could have been easier? Umm, going the right way the first time. Aw, whatever!
After my diddling about, I found my way to pay a visit to my favorite President: Lincoln. When I found myself in between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, I paused and took stock of where I was blessed to be: in the sun, running, an American part of something bigger than these goofy thoughts about getting lost and fabricating adventures, trying to make a difference in the sunny day, my running, and America.
Where was I going?
Oh yeah, back to work. Eventually I made my way back there, immersed in the soundtrack of my life pumping via my iPod, did a bunch of extra leg exercises, got cleaned up and headed back up to the office. Somewhere in there, however, I also contemplated the symbolism that was slapping me in the jowels. The metaphor of being out on a run: some piddley attempt to escape the confines of the office, pretending like I know where I am going or just not really caring that I actually don't because it will bring me to something out of the ordinary. Waiting for something to happen, someone to show me the way, only so I can miss his directions in the buzz of my own daydreams.
Some days, in my waiting I hit it too hard. I beat the shit out of my body, yearning for some intensity, go running really hard on a really hot and humid morning, give myself headache… then later try to clear the headache with gallons and gallons of water and, when that fails, switch to beer, believing that the beer did the trick, have another and another, then believe that I need to eat that third piece of pizza (arh! That third piece of pizza – what a litany of life lessons I could write to the metaphor of having that third piece of pizza!)… falling asleep in between games of a double header only to wake up and be barely conscious for the second game and to drink maybe another beer and then nap and slam three bottles of Vitamin Water in an effort to gain my wits and feel the back of my throat again before bed… then believe that I am ready for bed and but realize that I am not tired but rather being victimized by the pizza bloat… and so I am awake, awkward and lonely in my quiet neighborhood as I stay up until the wee hours of the morning, reading a book supposedly about America written by a German who has never been here and once imagined that he awoke one morning to find himself transformed into a very large bug…
But then you rally again like in the Tubthumping song that reminds me of my friend Erik (Mr. puke and rally himself -- I get knocked down...), and come around the corner into the 4th mile just as “Jump Around” opens -- "get up, get in, let me begin" -- and you pass three chicks who look to be in better shape than you are… and you end of finishing better than you thought you would but still only get second… to a woman whose upper thighs seemed a little jellier than yours and whom you saw walking up that last hill. WALKING! Well, walking can be deceptive… remember that half marathon when you were chugging up that hill and in order for Erik to stick back with you he had to walk? Then you ended up dragging him along... And so there you are: you had a decent Sunday although the Mets lost and that sent you spiraling into anger, so much so that you took it out on yourself in the form of a really hard shoulder/bi/tri workout and then could only manage one beer that night. “Excuse me please, one more drink… can you make it strong 'cause I don't need to think?” Ahh, the soundtrack of my life. It's just music, Silly.
On my way back to the office from the PAC, I bypassed the escalators and used the stairs that I discovered someone else using during my trip down. They are very narrow stairs, though. So narrow that only one person can realistically use them at one time. What will I say to someone should I encounter someone coming the opposite direction?
Fight the power!
Yeah, that’s what I will say!
Someone approaches me as I am heading up and round the corner. I don’t say anything to him. So much for that.
Later in the afternoon I decided to fill one of my units of time with a trip down to the MWR office to purchase some baseball tickets for Wednesday’s Nats-Mets game.
MWR was closed! Another attempt at freedom and something different with which to occupy my time was thwarted! Since I was out of my cell, though, I took the opportunity to use the head on my way back to the office.
Urgh! My favorite stall was soiled… and the one after that and the one after that! When technology goes awry -- or just gives up (the toilets have "electric eyes"). When technology goes awry: one more reason to avoid escalators. Fortunately, that was the head situated in between the D & E rings. Here stalls aren't numbered, so it made my selection of an alternate stall a little less disruptive as it was easier to suspend my disbelief that I wasn't following routine. Had I been in the other head on this corridor and not been able to use stall # 3 or # 2 and sink # 4 or # 14… I very well could have had a Rain Man episode. Okay, not really, but emotional adjustments would have had to have been made. I would have been visibly upset for about 2 tenths of a second.
13 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns: Business As Usual (Episode 6)
So, I had a pretty interesting week, as far as weeks go or, I should say have gone thus far here at the National Polygon. As you can tell by the length of time since my last post, much time has elapsed... which is not to say that a lot has happened. But wait, I thought I just said that I had an interesting week? Duh... not the same thing!
Okay, so I am stalling. You already know my Monday (Episode 5), and Tuesday I did some stepping out. In anticipation of a lunchtime conference, Tuesday morning I went to the PAC as soon as I arrived at work. On the treadmill, I slaughtered some imaginary competitors to the tunes of my iPod, whipping my sweaty hair about because again I forgot to bring my hat. Then I tossed some weights around and had just enough time to clean up and make it up to the office by 0900. I called JP to let me in the door, but no luck. So, I rang the doorbell and a usually pissed off Master Sergeant let me in. Okay, "pissed off" is a little harsh, maybe she is just possesses a perpetually peeved posture. Yeah, that's it.
At 1030 JP and I headed down to the metro station to meet one of the Colonels we work with (the one who is rarely there). We paced up and down the station looking for him only to realize that the train we needed to catch operates from the platform below us. I'll tell you what, though, we were digging using our SmarTrip cards (I refer to mine as my Smart Rip because the way they tried to combine the words just doesn't make a proper compound word)... they're so easy to use: just make the card kiss the top of the turnstile, and whammo! you're through. It makes me feel so in the know.
When we got down to the lower platform, there isn't a soul down there. We figure the Colonel must have just gotten on the train, so we hop on the next one. I swear, oftentimes we give these O-6s way too much credit -- oh, you'll see. We get on the train and as we are standing there, I start laughing to myself -- not out loud really, just that little sniffing, snickering shiteatingrin thing I tend to do when a thought occurs to me that just cracks me up. The thought hasn't fully morphed into slap my thigh territory yet, however. JP looks from side to side and then kind of insecurely asks me, "What?"
"Well, I am getting a little sick of hearing the same lady's voice on all of these trains: 'Stand back, doors closing. Stand back, doors closing!.' I would really like to hear maybe a different voice for each line... maybe a person from a different part of the country, you know, using a different accent, a regional patois. The red line lady could be a Souther Belle: 'Stand back, y'all, don't get snapped in the doors!' Maybe a surfer for the blue line: 'Dude, Look out, man, doors are closin'.' The green line: 'Waach the caah dawrs...' in a Bahston accent -- you get the idea."
"Yeah, that would be funny. What I would also like is for there to be a little noise of disappointment when someone misses the train," JP offers.
"Whaa-whaa," (like on a game show), I add, "--or 'Sucks to be You!' So we go on like this, senselessly babbling about how much more fun it would be to ride the metro. I mean, would it really cost a whole lot more? Why not make it like Disneyland?
Anyway, we get to our stop, look around for the lost Colonel and then find the building we are supposed to go to and wait in the lobby for the Colonel. And wait and wait and wait and wait-- Oh, there he is, coming up out of the metro station, the dude in the flight suit (DON'T get me STARTED on that bit of misetiquitte that is practiced here in our Nation's Capitol!). We flag him down, sign in, listen to his lame and mumbled excuses for his tardiness and take the elevator up to where we are supposed to attend this conference.
The conference was incidentally very interesting. It was about the numerous works of Arab literature and films that portray themes that are contrary to the violent extremism that dominates and hampers Arabian culture in the region. The presentation and ensuing discussion leaves me feeling so hopeful, warm and philanthropic inside... yet also so helpless when I consider the sheer enormity of the task... what it will take to put these works in a position/venue where they could have a noticeable impact. They're out there, though. I just feel like these works are so many seedlings on a barren mountainside where we dream of having a forest someday...
So, that was a nice break. JP and I went back to the office after that and discussed the merits of bringing a lunch. I hadn't brought a lunch that day, so I acted like I was content to mack down on my protein bar while he ate his juicy Turkey sandwich. While I was doing that, I wrote up a little synopsis of the talk we just heard for the other Colonel -- the one we work for. He was rushing about about something and babbled something about having to go to a meeting and that he would be back for the 1330 meeting we all had (news to me), but also had to pick some up some people (who were running the meeting) and he might not make it back in time for that, they were coming from the metro, so maybe one of us could go meet them if he wasn't back by ten of, did we think that was something we could do?
"Sure, yes, Sir!" I said to be helpful.
"What do they look like?" JP asked.
"Oh, I don't know. There are two of them --in a group of two, two people coming up from the metro. He used to be in the CIA," the Colonel very distractedly tried to explain.
"Oh, that will be easy," I offered, "I'll just ask everybody coming up from the metro to strip and the one that doesn't have a tattoo will be the guy!"
[Chrip chirp] That didn't go over well. Oh well.
"We'll figure it out, Sir." JP said, and the Colonel walked away. "Seriously," he looked at me, "how does he think we can find these people? 'Oh there are two of them,'" he mocked. Good point.
"How about we hold up a sign, like a limo driver in an airport?" I offered again, hoping this joke would go over better than the first.
""Hey! That's a great idea! We'll just make a sign that says [insert name here]. I like it!" Score! Slightly proud of ourselves, we pondered it for another couple of seconds and then sat down at our respective computers and forgot all about it until the Colonel came whirlwinding back through our cubicle farm at 5 minutes 'till 1330. Shoot, where had the time gone!
We went into the conference room and waited for the rest of the folks for the meeting to arrive.
Blah blah blah insert meeting contents here -- the contents actually were fascinating to me, so unlike anything I have dealt with before, but I cannot disclose them in such an open forum as this I am afraid. Suffice it to say that your government is doing some pretty cool and innovative things to counter threats and keep you all safe!
The next morning when I got in, JP and I planned our day around an 1100-1300 Videoteleconference we had to attend for the Colonel. That too was very interesting, funny even at times to see how many people we at the Polygon throw at meetings and how little the other Combatant Commanders seem to give a damn. --just my impression, just my impression.
Later on when I got back to the office I had a little heart to heart with Big Tony. He was all there was really there to talk to and also I figured he would give me an outsider's unbiased view. "So, Tony, tell me if I am off the mark here, okay?"
"Okay," he says as he turns around in his chair to face me, folding his hands like he is going to do the 'here is the church' trick.
"Since nobody has really been able to really explain it to me, I have been trying to figure out just what my job is here." He's still listening. "So, we go to these meetings and conferences and take notes, come back write some shit up for the Colonel; then we surf the Classified and Unclas web and look for people, movements and websites of interest, do a little research and at the end of the week we summarize what we've done and where we've been in a one page document which we feed to the General so she can talk to the higher ups about it and maybe do something about our musings."
"Yeah, that's pretty much it."
"But to WHAT END? I mean I am just used to having a mission to work towards... inspections... targets... something. Everything here is just so vast and nebulous!"
"Yeah, pretty much," Tony nods.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks, Tony."
"No problem."
I go back to my desk, somewhat satisfied about something...
Okay, so I am stalling. You already know my Monday (Episode 5), and Tuesday I did some stepping out. In anticipation of a lunchtime conference, Tuesday morning I went to the PAC as soon as I arrived at work. On the treadmill, I slaughtered some imaginary competitors to the tunes of my iPod, whipping my sweaty hair about because again I forgot to bring my hat. Then I tossed some weights around and had just enough time to clean up and make it up to the office by 0900. I called JP to let me in the door, but no luck. So, I rang the doorbell and a usually pissed off Master Sergeant let me in. Okay, "pissed off" is a little harsh, maybe she is just possesses a perpetually peeved posture. Yeah, that's it.
At 1030 JP and I headed down to the metro station to meet one of the Colonels we work with (the one who is rarely there). We paced up and down the station looking for him only to realize that the train we needed to catch operates from the platform below us. I'll tell you what, though, we were digging using our SmarTrip cards (I refer to mine as my Smart Rip because the way they tried to combine the words just doesn't make a proper compound word)... they're so easy to use: just make the card kiss the top of the turnstile, and whammo! you're through. It makes me feel so in the know.
When we got down to the lower platform, there isn't a soul down there. We figure the Colonel must have just gotten on the train, so we hop on the next one. I swear, oftentimes we give these O-6s way too much credit -- oh, you'll see. We get on the train and as we are standing there, I start laughing to myself -- not out loud really, just that little sniffing, snickering shiteatingrin thing I tend to do when a thought occurs to me that just cracks me up. The thought hasn't fully morphed into slap my thigh territory yet, however. JP looks from side to side and then kind of insecurely asks me, "What?"
"Well, I am getting a little sick of hearing the same lady's voice on all of these trains: 'Stand back, doors closing. Stand back, doors closing!.' I would really like to hear maybe a different voice for each line... maybe a person from a different part of the country, you know, using a different accent, a regional patois. The red line lady could be a Souther Belle: 'Stand back, y'all, don't get snapped in the doors!' Maybe a surfer for the blue line: 'Dude, Look out, man, doors are closin'.' The green line: 'Waach the caah dawrs...' in a Bahston accent -- you get the idea."
"Yeah, that would be funny. What I would also like is for there to be a little noise of disappointment when someone misses the train," JP offers.
"Whaa-whaa," (like on a game show), I add, "--or 'Sucks to be You!' So we go on like this, senselessly babbling about how much more fun it would be to ride the metro. I mean, would it really cost a whole lot more? Why not make it like Disneyland?
Anyway, we get to our stop, look around for the lost Colonel and then find the building we are supposed to go to and wait in the lobby for the Colonel. And wait and wait and wait and wait-- Oh, there he is, coming up out of the metro station, the dude in the flight suit (DON'T get me STARTED on that bit of misetiquitte that is practiced here in our Nation's Capitol!). We flag him down, sign in, listen to his lame and mumbled excuses for his tardiness and take the elevator up to where we are supposed to attend this conference.
The conference was incidentally very interesting. It was about the numerous works of Arab literature and films that portray themes that are contrary to the violent extremism that dominates and hampers Arabian culture in the region. The presentation and ensuing discussion leaves me feeling so hopeful, warm and philanthropic inside... yet also so helpless when I consider the sheer enormity of the task... what it will take to put these works in a position/venue where they could have a noticeable impact. They're out there, though. I just feel like these works are so many seedlings on a barren mountainside where we dream of having a forest someday...
So, that was a nice break. JP and I went back to the office after that and discussed the merits of bringing a lunch. I hadn't brought a lunch that day, so I acted like I was content to mack down on my protein bar while he ate his juicy Turkey sandwich. While I was doing that, I wrote up a little synopsis of the talk we just heard for the other Colonel -- the one we work for. He was rushing about about something and babbled something about having to go to a meeting and that he would be back for the 1330 meeting we all had (news to me), but also had to pick some up some people (who were running the meeting) and he might not make it back in time for that, they were coming from the metro, so maybe one of us could go meet them if he wasn't back by ten of, did we think that was something we could do?
"Sure, yes, Sir!" I said to be helpful.
"What do they look like?" JP asked.
"Oh, I don't know. There are two of them --in a group of two, two people coming up from the metro. He used to be in the CIA," the Colonel very distractedly tried to explain.
"Oh, that will be easy," I offered, "I'll just ask everybody coming up from the metro to strip and the one that doesn't have a tattoo will be the guy!"
[Chrip chirp] That didn't go over well. Oh well.
"We'll figure it out, Sir." JP said, and the Colonel walked away. "Seriously," he looked at me, "how does he think we can find these people? 'Oh there are two of them,'" he mocked. Good point.
"How about we hold up a sign, like a limo driver in an airport?" I offered again, hoping this joke would go over better than the first.
""Hey! That's a great idea! We'll just make a sign that says [insert name here]. I like it!" Score! Slightly proud of ourselves, we pondered it for another couple of seconds and then sat down at our respective computers and forgot all about it until the Colonel came whirlwinding back through our cubicle farm at 5 minutes 'till 1330. Shoot, where had the time gone!
We went into the conference room and waited for the rest of the folks for the meeting to arrive.
Blah blah blah insert meeting contents here -- the contents actually were fascinating to me, so unlike anything I have dealt with before, but I cannot disclose them in such an open forum as this I am afraid. Suffice it to say that your government is doing some pretty cool and innovative things to counter threats and keep you all safe!
The next morning when I got in, JP and I planned our day around an 1100-1300 Videoteleconference we had to attend for the Colonel. That too was very interesting, funny even at times to see how many people we at the Polygon throw at meetings and how little the other Combatant Commanders seem to give a damn. --just my impression, just my impression.
Later on when I got back to the office I had a little heart to heart with Big Tony. He was all there was really there to talk to and also I figured he would give me an outsider's unbiased view. "So, Tony, tell me if I am off the mark here, okay?"
"Okay," he says as he turns around in his chair to face me, folding his hands like he is going to do the 'here is the church' trick.
"Since nobody has really been able to really explain it to me, I have been trying to figure out just what my job is here." He's still listening. "So, we go to these meetings and conferences and take notes, come back write some shit up for the Colonel; then we surf the Classified and Unclas web and look for people, movements and websites of interest, do a little research and at the end of the week we summarize what we've done and where we've been in a one page document which we feed to the General so she can talk to the higher ups about it and maybe do something about our musings."
"Yeah, that's pretty much it."
"But to WHAT END? I mean I am just used to having a mission to work towards... inspections... targets... something. Everything here is just so vast and nebulous!"
"Yeah, pretty much," Tony nods.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks, Tony."
"No problem."
I go back to my desk, somewhat satisfied about something...
08 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns: The Line of Duty (Episode 5)
08 SEP
Friday afternoon Face and the Colonel decided that the best way to employ me this week would be for me to go to a working group in the NMCC. Face and #1 are in Tampa this week at SOUTHCOM, so I was going to go and sit in with this other new guy JP (an Army dude). This was all decided upon after we had parted ways with JP, however, so the latter wasn't exactly in the know. You may not think that this fact was important because we 2 are independent people, and although we are both FNGs, we are not lemmings. But, hello? Remember, my badge doesn't have all of the necessary codes and stripes on it yet, so I just can't go bopping about wherever I please. Funny that on Friday JP was joking that they should affix a leash to me like you see on so many todlders these days. "Why doesn't somebody put a frickin' leash on him!?" (Dr. Evil's voice)
Anyway, so JP wasn't expecting that he would have company Monday. I enquired of Face where to meet up with JP on Monday, should I meet him in the office, at what time?
"If I were JP, I would not come in until 1230, and meet up with you guys outside teh access to the NMCC." Okay great. So I asked him how to get there, and he said, "you know that escalator ouside our office? Take it down to the basement and wander around and ask someone for directions." Hmmm. Okay. Great directions. Thanks, Dude.
So, based on these hugely reliable pieces of information spoken by a man who'd had a couple of beers on a Friday afternoon, I made my plans for this morning (look, I wasn't really thinking, as Mike Birbiglia would say: "I am in the future too!") I planned on taking the 0925 bus from my house (I know, rough life), arriving at the Polygon at 1016, going to the PAC, swimming for an hour, showering and changing for the next 30 minutes, snacking for the duration after that until about 12 minutes till 1230... You get the idea.
At 0917, I left my house to go to my bus stop. Russ was washing windows outside, so I said goodbye to him, having already executed the more ceremonial kiss goodbye 20 minutes earlier. When I said goodbye to him, the Mexicans across the street loading the neighboor's extra junk said "hello" to me. So that was a little awkward, but I said "Hello" back anyway. After that pleasant little exchange, I proceeded to wait at my bus stop from 0918 to 0946. Crazy! How can a bus be this late? Every time a piece of public transportation is late, I recall a quote from an anonymous Italian during Mussolinni's reign when asked what he thought of the Italian Facist dictator: "Well, the trains are always on time." --only he said it in Italian. Hmmm.
I went back to the house and got Russ to bring me to work. I was in the pool by 1030 flat. Sparing you the boring details, suffice it to say that I naturally kept my aforementioned schedule to the T, got some pretty darn good directions to the NMCC and was pacing outside post #8 entrance to the National Military Command Center (Oh, that is what that stands for!) by 3 minutes 'till 1230. And there I waited... until 1255. Absolutely ludicrous! Just as all hope of seeing JP drained from my little heart, I overheard someone telling someone else that there are many posts leading to the NMCC. Crappers, I'll bet that all this time I have been waiting outside the wrong one.
Dejected and ashamed of my repeated failure to be at my appointed places of duty, I went up to the office that I can't get into or work in unattended, and I called big Tony to let me in. He did. I signed in. He countersigned. Then I went to the Colonel's office to apologize for being such a dumb-ass. He gracefully accepted my apology: "Well, you know, stuff happens." Spoken like an Army Ranger. I went back to the front of the office and wrote a note to JP, explaining the situation and telling him to call me later so we could sort out tomorrow. Then I went back to Tony's corner of the office so he could keep me company and I could check my email. One of the first emails that I opened up was marked "High Priority" (don't you love it when the people who send you emails think they get to determine your priorities?). It was from a Navy chief who worked in the J1. Ah, the J1, the glorious J1, the mothership of all administration offices! PSC Perez had sent this email at 0745 telling me that I had a "MANDATORY MILITARY APPOINTMENT," that I was to report between the hours of 0900-1100 and that my appointment should take approximately 1 hour. I was further instructed that I had to bring my Military ID and that the particulars would be made clear to me when I showed up. Holy crap! I missed another appointment! And this one sounded like a BIG one! It was like a Mission Impossible appointment! "...the particulars will be made clear to me when I show up..." And I MISSED IT. Man, I am in for it now! Instead of voicing my patent dread, I said to Tony, "can you believe the nerve of the J1? They send me an EMAIL AT 0745 telling me that I have a MANDATORY MILITARY APPOINTMENT at 0900. And they just expect me to woop, drop everything and cater to their little meeting. Hmmph. The nerve."
"Well, you had better stop missing these meetings and stuff or you are going to get nowhere with your clearance, Missy." Okay, I don't think he actually said "Missy," but that is what I deserved to have said to me.
"Yeah, right." So at this point it was 1310, and I figured, hell I already missed this thing by 4 hours, what is another 30 minutes. Take that with your high priority mandatory military appointment Chief Perez!
Bored with my email by 1348, I bid Tony adieu, signed out and headed down to the J1 main admin office. I considered hitting the head on the way, but considered that it would give me something to do after I apologized to these people before the 1500 All-Hands J5 call with the new Director.
I found the office and waited at the helpdesk at the front and am waited on by YN1, PSC Perez's minion. Forthwith, I launched into expressing my abject apology for missing my appointment, telling him that I was at a conference this morning (which wasn't really the truth, but it was pretty believable, eh?) and just returned to my desk at 1330. He had a strange expression on his face, midway between horror and a sneeze.
"Well, I think they close at 1400. I don't know if you could get up there in time."
"To the meeting?"
"Yes, I am not sure you can make it."
"Wasn't it between 0900 and 1000?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"I don't get it... I mean I can still get up there by 1400 if you need me to."
"Well, it's not really an appointment............. it's urinalysis."
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" Well, why didn't he say so? Mandatory Military Appointment... that is one way of putting it. How do I keep from laughing? "Look, I feel bad. I can still make it up there. Just tell me where to go."
"No, don't worry about it, ma'am. We can just reschedule you." Huh!? That's not really how the program works. He must have sensed that I was questioning his integrity, and I felt bad for implying that I was when he was really just trying to hook me up.
"Just tell me where it is, I can make it in time," I assured him. I am a trooper, I can pee on command, don't you worry YN1, I won't let you down! # 2 will come through with just the # 1 they are looking for! (cue the national anthem, please)
He gave me directions and I headed out and went up 4 escalators and over to the 9th corridor A ring. Pretty quiet up here... above it all... counting the numbers on the doors... ah, here it is! Air Force! I should have known they have masterminded this whole operation: Operation Do Your Duty. Two Air Force Sargeants were giving me their very best June Cleaver smiles as I marched into the office.
I signed in and forfeited my ID card. There was a small glass bowl of "Fun Size" candy next to the sign in clipboard. Krackels, Snickers, Hershey's and Shockers...? What was with this candy. The selection was kind of gross. Shaking my head to rid myself from a bad dejavu, I took a seat.
"If you had been randomly selected 5 days in a row to collect a $1,000.00 check you would not complain that the process is not random." Or so said the sign directly across from me. This place was all geared to helping you prepare for your big test: the air temperature was slightly chillier than the rest of the building, the chairs were a little stiff and upright, and the piece du resistance was the little zen fountain that tinkled -- I mean trickled -- at just the right harmonic.
"Commander Stone, are you ready?" Hell, yeah, I was born ready!
"Yes."
"Verify this information, please..." Sure, be happy to.
"Okay, yes, looks good. Everything is correct." I took my bottle and the intermediate receptacle to the bathroom that the gentlemen presented to me with such grace and a sweep of the arm. One of the SGTs followed me -- the woman. Once in the bathroom she explained to me the virtues of the random tall plastic box in the corner of the room versus the sink edge as far as a perfectly level surface goes.
"You'd hate for something to spill."
"Yes, I would," I reply, thinking how much it would suck if my prized urine hit the deck and I had to rehydrate all over again so I could muster up enough to answer the call of duty.
"There was an accident in here earlier--" she started to say. No way! Gross! "...someone spilled bleach, that is why it smells like this in here." What??!! Bleach?? That is not an accident. As far as bathrooms go, that is the absolute opposite of an accident. That is a solution (no pun intended, seriously)! Weeeee-ired Woman!
So, I rinsed my hands, did my thing with the bottles and remarked that the Navy doesn't have such technology in their intermediate receptacles -- the "technology" being the tamper seal. Then comes the small talk... the infamous urinalysis small talk that the performer and the observer have to awkwardly engage in while the performer gets up the gumption to, well, perform.
I sit, take my bottle, position it and wait...
"Stagefright??!!" She says to me. Did she just say that to me? She just violated what I have always viewed as the first rule of female urinalysis observing: don't call out the performer! Notice I said female urinalysis observing. The dudes, they do it differently - or so I have heard. I remember the guys I worked with at the NROTC unti when we had to observe the midshipmen. "Ready for some Meat Gazing, Jerry??" Sharkey would say. Then they would walk by the quivering midshipmen, asking Sandford if he was going to find it in him to produce by 1500. A buddy of mine on my last ship, when it was his chance to perform, he took the performing literally and would ask his observer if he (the observer) wanted to hold his wanker while he peed. Talk about taking the offensive!
Anyway, so, she called me out on it and I sheepishly asked her if she could turn the faucet on for a trickle... maybe if she wasn't looking straight down between my legs... maybe if... if only that little zen fountain were in here!
Don't worry. I am a trooper. Once I heard that faucet and daydreamt of Niagra Falls, it wasn't long until the golden shower was going and I had it all sealed up, zipped up, buttoned up, and on my way back to the deck to verify, initial, and head out the door. I should have known that the Air Force was Marshaling this effort. Maybe tomorrow won't be fraught with such trauma.
Friday afternoon Face and the Colonel decided that the best way to employ me this week would be for me to go to a working group in the NMCC. Face and #1 are in Tampa this week at SOUTHCOM, so I was going to go and sit in with this other new guy JP (an Army dude). This was all decided upon after we had parted ways with JP, however, so the latter wasn't exactly in the know. You may not think that this fact was important because we 2 are independent people, and although we are both FNGs, we are not lemmings. But, hello? Remember, my badge doesn't have all of the necessary codes and stripes on it yet, so I just can't go bopping about wherever I please. Funny that on Friday JP was joking that they should affix a leash to me like you see on so many todlders these days. "Why doesn't somebody put a frickin' leash on him!?" (Dr. Evil's voice)
Anyway, so JP wasn't expecting that he would have company Monday. I enquired of Face where to meet up with JP on Monday, should I meet him in the office, at what time?
"If I were JP, I would not come in until 1230, and meet up with you guys outside teh access to the NMCC." Okay great. So I asked him how to get there, and he said, "you know that escalator ouside our office? Take it down to the basement and wander around and ask someone for directions." Hmmm. Okay. Great directions. Thanks, Dude.
So, based on these hugely reliable pieces of information spoken by a man who'd had a couple of beers on a Friday afternoon, I made my plans for this morning (look, I wasn't really thinking, as Mike Birbiglia would say: "I am in the future too!") I planned on taking the 0925 bus from my house (I know, rough life), arriving at the Polygon at 1016, going to the PAC, swimming for an hour, showering and changing for the next 30 minutes, snacking for the duration after that until about 12 minutes till 1230... You get the idea.
At 0917, I left my house to go to my bus stop. Russ was washing windows outside, so I said goodbye to him, having already executed the more ceremonial kiss goodbye 20 minutes earlier. When I said goodbye to him, the Mexicans across the street loading the neighboor's extra junk said "hello" to me. So that was a little awkward, but I said "Hello" back anyway. After that pleasant little exchange, I proceeded to wait at my bus stop from 0918 to 0946. Crazy! How can a bus be this late? Every time a piece of public transportation is late, I recall a quote from an anonymous Italian during Mussolinni's reign when asked what he thought of the Italian Facist dictator: "Well, the trains are always on time." --only he said it in Italian. Hmmm.
I went back to the house and got Russ to bring me to work. I was in the pool by 1030 flat. Sparing you the boring details, suffice it to say that I naturally kept my aforementioned schedule to the T, got some pretty darn good directions to the NMCC and was pacing outside post #8 entrance to the National Military Command Center (Oh, that is what that stands for!) by 3 minutes 'till 1230. And there I waited... until 1255. Absolutely ludicrous! Just as all hope of seeing JP drained from my little heart, I overheard someone telling someone else that there are many posts leading to the NMCC. Crappers, I'll bet that all this time I have been waiting outside the wrong one.
Dejected and ashamed of my repeated failure to be at my appointed places of duty, I went up to the office that I can't get into or work in unattended, and I called big Tony to let me in. He did. I signed in. He countersigned. Then I went to the Colonel's office to apologize for being such a dumb-ass. He gracefully accepted my apology: "Well, you know, stuff happens." Spoken like an Army Ranger. I went back to the front of the office and wrote a note to JP, explaining the situation and telling him to call me later so we could sort out tomorrow. Then I went back to Tony's corner of the office so he could keep me company and I could check my email. One of the first emails that I opened up was marked "High Priority" (don't you love it when the people who send you emails think they get to determine your priorities?). It was from a Navy chief who worked in the J1. Ah, the J1, the glorious J1, the mothership of all administration offices! PSC Perez had sent this email at 0745 telling me that I had a "MANDATORY MILITARY APPOINTMENT," that I was to report between the hours of 0900-1100 and that my appointment should take approximately 1 hour. I was further instructed that I had to bring my Military ID and that the particulars would be made clear to me when I showed up. Holy crap! I missed another appointment! And this one sounded like a BIG one! It was like a Mission Impossible appointment! "...the particulars will be made clear to me when I show up..." And I MISSED IT. Man, I am in for it now! Instead of voicing my patent dread, I said to Tony, "can you believe the nerve of the J1? They send me an EMAIL AT 0745 telling me that I have a MANDATORY MILITARY APPOINTMENT at 0900. And they just expect me to woop, drop everything and cater to their little meeting. Hmmph. The nerve."
"Well, you had better stop missing these meetings and stuff or you are going to get nowhere with your clearance, Missy." Okay, I don't think he actually said "Missy," but that is what I deserved to have said to me.
"Yeah, right." So at this point it was 1310, and I figured, hell I already missed this thing by 4 hours, what is another 30 minutes. Take that with your high priority mandatory military appointment Chief Perez!
Bored with my email by 1348, I bid Tony adieu, signed out and headed down to the J1 main admin office. I considered hitting the head on the way, but considered that it would give me something to do after I apologized to these people before the 1500 All-Hands J5 call with the new Director.
I found the office and waited at the helpdesk at the front and am waited on by YN1, PSC Perez's minion. Forthwith, I launched into expressing my abject apology for missing my appointment, telling him that I was at a conference this morning (which wasn't really the truth, but it was pretty believable, eh?) and just returned to my desk at 1330. He had a strange expression on his face, midway between horror and a sneeze.
"Well, I think they close at 1400. I don't know if you could get up there in time."
"To the meeting?"
"Yes, I am not sure you can make it."
"Wasn't it between 0900 and 1000?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"I don't get it... I mean I can still get up there by 1400 if you need me to."
"Well, it's not really an appointment............. it's urinalysis."
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" Well, why didn't he say so? Mandatory Military Appointment... that is one way of putting it. How do I keep from laughing? "Look, I feel bad. I can still make it up there. Just tell me where to go."
"No, don't worry about it, ma'am. We can just reschedule you." Huh!? That's not really how the program works. He must have sensed that I was questioning his integrity, and I felt bad for implying that I was when he was really just trying to hook me up.
"Just tell me where it is, I can make it in time," I assured him. I am a trooper, I can pee on command, don't you worry YN1, I won't let you down! # 2 will come through with just the # 1 they are looking for! (cue the national anthem, please)
He gave me directions and I headed out and went up 4 escalators and over to the 9th corridor A ring. Pretty quiet up here... above it all... counting the numbers on the doors... ah, here it is! Air Force! I should have known they have masterminded this whole operation: Operation Do Your Duty. Two Air Force Sargeants were giving me their very best June Cleaver smiles as I marched into the office.
I signed in and forfeited my ID card. There was a small glass bowl of "Fun Size" candy next to the sign in clipboard. Krackels, Snickers, Hershey's and Shockers...? What was with this candy. The selection was kind of gross. Shaking my head to rid myself from a bad dejavu, I took a seat.
"If you had been randomly selected 5 days in a row to collect a $1,000.00 check you would not complain that the process is not random." Or so said the sign directly across from me. This place was all geared to helping you prepare for your big test: the air temperature was slightly chillier than the rest of the building, the chairs were a little stiff and upright, and the piece du resistance was the little zen fountain that tinkled -- I mean trickled -- at just the right harmonic.
"Commander Stone, are you ready?" Hell, yeah, I was born ready!
"Yes."
"Verify this information, please..." Sure, be happy to.
"Okay, yes, looks good. Everything is correct." I took my bottle and the intermediate receptacle to the bathroom that the gentlemen presented to me with such grace and a sweep of the arm. One of the SGTs followed me -- the woman. Once in the bathroom she explained to me the virtues of the random tall plastic box in the corner of the room versus the sink edge as far as a perfectly level surface goes.
"You'd hate for something to spill."
"Yes, I would," I reply, thinking how much it would suck if my prized urine hit the deck and I had to rehydrate all over again so I could muster up enough to answer the call of duty.
"There was an accident in here earlier--" she started to say. No way! Gross! "...someone spilled bleach, that is why it smells like this in here." What??!! Bleach?? That is not an accident. As far as bathrooms go, that is the absolute opposite of an accident. That is a solution (no pun intended, seriously)! Weeeee-ired Woman!
So, I rinsed my hands, did my thing with the bottles and remarked that the Navy doesn't have such technology in their intermediate receptacles -- the "technology" being the tamper seal. Then comes the small talk... the infamous urinalysis small talk that the performer and the observer have to awkwardly engage in while the performer gets up the gumption to, well, perform.
I sit, take my bottle, position it and wait...
"Stagefright??!!" She says to me. Did she just say that to me? She just violated what I have always viewed as the first rule of female urinalysis observing: don't call out the performer! Notice I said female urinalysis observing. The dudes, they do it differently - or so I have heard. I remember the guys I worked with at the NROTC unti when we had to observe the midshipmen. "Ready for some Meat Gazing, Jerry??" Sharkey would say. Then they would walk by the quivering midshipmen, asking Sandford if he was going to find it in him to produce by 1500. A buddy of mine on my last ship, when it was his chance to perform, he took the performing literally and would ask his observer if he (the observer) wanted to hold his wanker while he peed. Talk about taking the offensive!
Anyway, so, she called me out on it and I sheepishly asked her if she could turn the faucet on for a trickle... maybe if she wasn't looking straight down between my legs... maybe if... if only that little zen fountain were in here!
Don't worry. I am a trooper. Once I heard that faucet and daydreamt of Niagra Falls, it wasn't long until the golden shower was going and I had it all sealed up, zipped up, buttoned up, and on my way back to the deck to verify, initial, and head out the door. I should have known that the Air Force was Marshaling this effort. Maybe tomorrow won't be fraught with such trauma.
05 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns: On the First Friday after the First Tuesday of Each Month (Episode 4)
...there is a fun run @0630 and a hall party with beer @ 1500. What can be wrong with working here?
Please, don't think we don't do seriouis business here on the J5 staff -- I am not ALLOWED to tell you about the serious business that we do here. It seems that these people know how to mix it up a little. So...
Dah-dah-dah! I got my badge. Freedom! I can rove about at will. Who's Will?
That used to be a funny joke when I worked with a Will. We'd say, "Fire at Will!" And someone would say, why? What did he do this time?" Which was funny because, had you but known Will Chambers, you would know that he hadn't ever done ANYthing; which is to say that he was among the most boring people you have ever met. I don't mean that in a bad way- he just was a pretty non-woo-hoo blameless creature.
So, what was I SAYing??? Can you tell I have had 2 beers and am riding a bus on a Friday afternoon, getting carpal tunnel of the thumbs while pecking at my Crackberry and holding a stiff right forearm to keep the sleeping dude on my right from falling in my lap?
Whew. Breathe. Stop requested. Damn, that means we have to stop.
So yeah, the anti-climax of the day was that I got my badge to access the building and get into spaces like a Big Girl. It just occurred to me that maybe only my parents know the full and true meaning of the term "Big Girl." So let me tell you, it goes back over 30 years ago when I was newly potty trained and I was so proud of that fact that I would apply the analogy of my underpants to what I saw asa any other noteworthy achievement for a toddler. I would boast, "well, I wear Big Girl ponties." Yes, I actually had the gumption to pretsnsify the word panties into ponties. Funny. So, yeah. Now I wear Big Girl Ponties at the Pentagon. And I had two beers in the D ring on a Friday afternoon and there is a pudgy Indian man falling asleep on my shoulder.
What's next?
Did I mention that I didn't make the Fun Run this morning? I made it to the beer drinking in the D ring, though -- is that what the "D" stands for?
[written 05 SEP @ around 5PM, my last official at of the day]
Please, don't think we don't do seriouis business here on the J5 staff -- I am not ALLOWED to tell you about the serious business that we do here. It seems that these people know how to mix it up a little. So...
Dah-dah-dah! I got my badge. Freedom! I can rove about at will. Who's Will?
That used to be a funny joke when I worked with a Will. We'd say, "Fire at Will!" And someone would say, why? What did he do this time?" Which was funny because, had you but known Will Chambers, you would know that he hadn't ever done ANYthing; which is to say that he was among the most boring people you have ever met. I don't mean that in a bad way- he just was a pretty non-woo-hoo blameless creature.
So, what was I SAYing??? Can you tell I have had 2 beers and am riding a bus on a Friday afternoon, getting carpal tunnel of the thumbs while pecking at my Crackberry and holding a stiff right forearm to keep the sleeping dude on my right from falling in my lap?
Whew. Breathe. Stop requested. Damn, that means we have to stop.
So yeah, the anti-climax of the day was that I got my badge to access the building and get into spaces like a Big Girl. It just occurred to me that maybe only my parents know the full and true meaning of the term "Big Girl." So let me tell you, it goes back over 30 years ago when I was newly potty trained and I was so proud of that fact that I would apply the analogy of my underpants to what I saw asa any other noteworthy achievement for a toddler. I would boast, "well, I wear Big Girl ponties." Yes, I actually had the gumption to pretsnsify the word panties into ponties. Funny. So, yeah. Now I wear Big Girl Ponties at the Pentagon. And I had two beers in the D ring on a Friday afternoon and there is a pudgy Indian man falling asleep on my shoulder.
What's next?
Did I mention that I didn't make the Fun Run this morning? I made it to the beer drinking in the D ring, though -- is that what the "D" stands for?
[written 05 SEP @ around 5PM, my last official at of the day]
04 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns: #2's day down the toilet (Episode 3)
04 SEP -- 0832.
Here I am at the good old Food Court. By now I want to call it my Aux Office, but I don't have a Main Office; so such nomenclature would be silly. I am rarely above being silly, but that is not the particular brand of silly that I am about. For now I will read about a Journey Into the Mind of an Islamic Terrorist.
You would not believe what some people here eat at 8:30 in the morning. A Mac Donald's cheeseburger? A big pile of Chinese orange chicken?? Look, that might sound good as you read this, but just you try entertaining the idea, let alone getting a whiff of it at 8:30AM.
I can't sit here any more---
[Later in the day; a summary of the rest of the day's events]
So I tried to find the gym. And failed.
So I came back up with the intension of giving # 1 a call. On the way to the office, I saw the Colonel for whom we work (well, # 1 works for him, # 2 here just reports to him). I asked him if he had seen Jeff (#1). He said that Jeff was on leave. Uh, okay... that was good notice -- wait, it gets better.
So the Col then turns to another LCDR who works for him (we'll call him FACE since that is his callsign) and says, "I am sure Jeff turned over to you Linda's situation and you are going to take her around and work with her to take care of it, right?"
"Oh, yeah, right," FACE says affably, but obviously this was the first he was hearing about it.
Anyway, no harm no foul - YET. So we all go into the office and I sit in on a little discussion we all are having with someone from a different part of the staff to talk about who does what and what we can do for each other... (details unimportant).
After the meeting, I decide that I will call the lady (Ms. Lara) in the security office to check on my situation. I ask her if this is an okay time to discuss my situation with her. She tells me that no, it is not okay because I had an appointment with her at 0900 and it is now 0930, so I will have to talk to my MILSEC to reschedule.
Great, huh? I told you it got better.
Man, I was sooooo pissed I was nearly shaking - kind of a foolishly hyperemotional way to feel in retrospect, but what can I tell you?
So, I marched myself down to the MILSEC, and attempted to sort out the miscommunication. When they heard that I missed my appointment, they looked at me with dread.
Later on, Face and I went back to the Security office and he had a run in with the lovely Ms. Lara herself. Shall we say they had a Face to face conversation? Hmmm? She made him so incensed, that eventually he just walked out on her. From there we went back to the MILSEC to see what they had to say. We were just trying to get a feel for the timeline when I would be fully cleared to do the job I had been detailed to do here.
At the MILSEC's office they said, "you went and TALKED to HER?" and they abjectly apologized for her behavior. It was as if we had reached into the oven to remove a pan and gotten burned. There was nothing these women could do about it, but we should have used oven mitts. Th ladies in the MILSEC office are the oven mitts for dealing with Lara the Troll bitch from hell.
She only does briefings in the mornings, so I couldn't get an appointment for this afternoon.
Tomorrow at 0900. 0900. Got it?!
We shall see how long it takes to be able to flush that day from my memory.
Here I am at the good old Food Court. By now I want to call it my Aux Office, but I don't have a Main Office; so such nomenclature would be silly. I am rarely above being silly, but that is not the particular brand of silly that I am about. For now I will read about a Journey Into the Mind of an Islamic Terrorist.
You would not believe what some people here eat at 8:30 in the morning. A Mac Donald's cheeseburger? A big pile of Chinese orange chicken?? Look, that might sound good as you read this, but just you try entertaining the idea, let alone getting a whiff of it at 8:30AM.
I can't sit here any more---
[Later in the day; a summary of the rest of the day's events]
So I tried to find the gym. And failed.
So I came back up with the intension of giving # 1 a call. On the way to the office, I saw the Colonel for whom we work (well, # 1 works for him, # 2 here just reports to him). I asked him if he had seen Jeff (#1). He said that Jeff was on leave. Uh, okay... that was good notice -- wait, it gets better.
So the Col then turns to another LCDR who works for him (we'll call him FACE since that is his callsign) and says, "I am sure Jeff turned over to you Linda's situation and you are going to take her around and work with her to take care of it, right?"
"Oh, yeah, right," FACE says affably, but obviously this was the first he was hearing about it.
Anyway, no harm no foul - YET. So we all go into the office and I sit in on a little discussion we all are having with someone from a different part of the staff to talk about who does what and what we can do for each other... (details unimportant).
After the meeting, I decide that I will call the lady (Ms. Lara) in the security office to check on my situation. I ask her if this is an okay time to discuss my situation with her. She tells me that no, it is not okay because I had an appointment with her at 0900 and it is now 0930, so I will have to talk to my MILSEC to reschedule.
Great, huh? I told you it got better.
Man, I was sooooo pissed I was nearly shaking - kind of a foolishly hyperemotional way to feel in retrospect, but what can I tell you?
So, I marched myself down to the MILSEC, and attempted to sort out the miscommunication. When they heard that I missed my appointment, they looked at me with dread.
Later on, Face and I went back to the Security office and he had a run in with the lovely Ms. Lara herself. Shall we say they had a Face to face conversation? Hmmm? She made him so incensed, that eventually he just walked out on her. From there we went back to the MILSEC to see what they had to say. We were just trying to get a feel for the timeline when I would be fully cleared to do the job I had been detailed to do here.
At the MILSEC's office they said, "you went and TALKED to HER?" and they abjectly apologized for her behavior. It was as if we had reached into the oven to remove a pan and gotten burned. There was nothing these women could do about it, but we should have used oven mitts. Th ladies in the MILSEC office are the oven mitts for dealing with Lara the Troll bitch from hell.
She only does briefings in the mornings, so I couldn't get an appointment for this afternoon.
Tomorrow at 0900. 0900. Got it?!
We shall see how long it takes to be able to flush that day from my memory.
02 September 2008
As the Polygon Turns (Episode 2)
02 September -- 0730ish
Here I am, consigned or relegated, however you look at it, to the Pentagon 2nd Floor, Food Court (between corridors 6 and 7). I am reading, waiting for Jeff (for the sake of not confusing him with my good old friend Jeff Heames, we'll call him #1, and I who am to eventually relieve him will be #2). So I am waiting for #1 to come back in a half hour so we can go find out the status of my clearance situation. Well, I was reading; but now, as you can see, conscious of my fragile grasp on life, I am writing, pecking away at the little buttons of my Blackberry, trying to fabricate some semblance of enjoyment if not make sense of my predicament.
What was I reading? I was reading my John LeCarre book, my leisure book, repudiating my Crisis of Islam book in a feeble act of protest.
---1000ish
As the time got closer to 0800, I switched to my Crisis of Islam book so that when #1 arrived it would not seem like #2 was totally pissing the day away (ha! I kill myself). Back to serious matters: at 0835ish we went to the MILSEC (stands for Military Secretary, I believe) office, and no one there could help us... the lady there who initially had been working on my case abnegated all responsibility for helping us find possible solutions, so we went down to the J1 main administration office. Now you should know before I begin that I am ever skeptical of admin offices. Here is what happened at the Naval Annex Personnel Support Detachment (PSD) when I first checked in:
The access to Naval Station Anacostia was through Bowling Air Force Base. That the Air Force was somehow a conduit to having my check-in paperwork processed should have been a sign. By the way, yes they DO have a Bowling Alley on Bowling Air Force Base. Duh! When I entered the PSD building, after having spent my first couple of days at the Pentagon surrounded by chumpalumps from other services or Navy pilots in flight suits, it was nice to see so many (okay about 10) Navy people in one spot, however ghetto this PSD may appear. The building looks like it was built in the post-WW2 period and should have been renovated if not abandoned in the late 80s. Grim walls with offwhite paint and gold and blue striping running from chest height down. A typical Navy Admin office: obviously overstaffed with multiple people at desks or milling about bullshitting. Only one person, though can actually help you.
What happened next, however, was an amazing, thing! Just as I was scurrilously thumbing the above words into my Blackberry's keyboard, a Sailor called my name and told me that she just needed me to sign one form and I was done. Hmph.
Who knew?
Did it renew my faith in Navy Admin offices?
Nah!
So there we were, #1 and I, at around 0845, hopelessly looking around the J1 admin office for the one or two people that could help us.
Didn't happen.
I went back up to my new office (aka the Food Court) to finish my Crisis of Islam if for no other reason than to prove that #2 isn't really a piece of shit (ha!) that reads leisure books all day while at "work."
Here I am, consigned or relegated, however you look at it, to the Pentagon 2nd Floor, Food Court (between corridors 6 and 7). I am reading, waiting for Jeff (for the sake of not confusing him with my good old friend Jeff Heames, we'll call him #1, and I who am to eventually relieve him will be #2). So I am waiting for #1 to come back in a half hour so we can go find out the status of my clearance situation. Well, I was reading; but now, as you can see, conscious of my fragile grasp on life, I am writing, pecking away at the little buttons of my Blackberry, trying to fabricate some semblance of enjoyment if not make sense of my predicament.
What was I reading? I was reading my John LeCarre book, my leisure book, repudiating my Crisis of Islam book in a feeble act of protest.
---1000ish
As the time got closer to 0800, I switched to my Crisis of Islam book so that when #1 arrived it would not seem like #2 was totally pissing the day away (ha! I kill myself). Back to serious matters: at 0835ish we went to the MILSEC (stands for Military Secretary, I believe) office, and no one there could help us... the lady there who initially had been working on my case abnegated all responsibility for helping us find possible solutions, so we went down to the J1 main administration office. Now you should know before I begin that I am ever skeptical of admin offices. Here is what happened at the Naval Annex Personnel Support Detachment (PSD) when I first checked in:
The access to Naval Station Anacostia was through Bowling Air Force Base. That the Air Force was somehow a conduit to having my check-in paperwork processed should have been a sign. By the way, yes they DO have a Bowling Alley on Bowling Air Force Base. Duh! When I entered the PSD building, after having spent my first couple of days at the Pentagon surrounded by chumpalumps from other services or Navy pilots in flight suits, it was nice to see so many (okay about 10) Navy people in one spot, however ghetto this PSD may appear. The building looks like it was built in the post-WW2 period and should have been renovated if not abandoned in the late 80s. Grim walls with offwhite paint and gold and blue striping running from chest height down. A typical Navy Admin office: obviously overstaffed with multiple people at desks or milling about bullshitting. Only one person, though can actually help you.
What happened next, however, was an amazing, thing! Just as I was scurrilously thumbing the above words into my Blackberry's keyboard, a Sailor called my name and told me that she just needed me to sign one form and I was done. Hmph.
Who knew?
Did it renew my faith in Navy Admin offices?
Nah!
So there we were, #1 and I, at around 0845, hopelessly looking around the J1 admin office for the one or two people that could help us.
Didn't happen.
I went back up to my new office (aka the Food Court) to finish my Crisis of Islam if for no other reason than to prove that #2 isn't really a piece of shit (ha!) that reads leisure books all day while at "work."
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