Samek's (that my rack mate) and my crowning moment yesterday night was finding extra lunches. Sometimes we don't go to chow hall; we get these box lunches that have – always – one small sandwich, a pear, an under-ripe orange, two celery sticks and two small carrots, one hard boiled egg, and one granola bar. So my bunkie and I are the GI recruits, meaning we take out the trash all the time. We were told to take like 11 boxes of them to the trash. So we stole all the granola bars and are trading them for favors.
Yesterday we did some more martial arts training and we got to beat up and stab dummies with our rifle butts and bayonets, while screaming either inanely or "Marine Corps!" We had to march a few miles to get to the training area.
People don't talk about boot camp for the same reason you don't talk about war: there either isn't anything to talk about or there is too much. It can't be explained – you'd have to be there. I can't tell you what it's really like here because it sounds awful and abusive but it's really not. You sort of shut down, and scream "aye ma'am" and "no ma'am" as loud as you can and that's all.
I do like it here but it is really hard; please continue to send letters. I won't be writing for a little while now I think because I need to study and practice my rifle drills.
No comments:
Post a Comment