The incident in question happened at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island. Before I can really start this story, I'll do two things: explain how I wound up at bootcamp do a poor job of describing it Marine boot camp for those who have never had the pleasure.
It was 2002. I was a smart kid, but I lacked the patience to deal with more schooling, and my decisions and the situations I kept finding myself in were starting to get a bit... questionable. I was considering the military.
Then one fateful day, I was taking my girlfriend at the time, now ex wife (don't ask), to get her stupid nails done. I can't remember why or what, but she needed something out of my trunk. I had a POS ugly blue '89 Honda Accord (yeah the one with the flip up lights but only one works). It took an act of god to get the trunk on this car shut once it had been open. I don't know why, but I didn't (or couldn't?) go through the back seat.
She retrieves whatever it was from the trunk and heads off to do nail things, and I begin to work on getting the trunk shut... gently and with finesse at first... becoming more forceful... getting increasingly violent... yelling and slamming that stupid fucking car's trunk like it'd been taking my lunch money my entire life.
Coincidentally, the nail salon was located near a recruiting place, and guess who happens to be walking by! USMC recruiter Staff Seargent Cox (I'm pretty sure that was his name). Gosh, I must've been an easy target. I was a ripe, confused, late-teenager full of angst and in a dilemma. Cox walks up and tries to help. I'm like, "Man, there's no use. The planets have to align to get this thing shut." Cox has an idea. "How about this for now?" He busts out two sweet Marine bumper stickers. One for each side. Problem solved for now.
Then, Cox, that sly dog, pops the question: So Eric. What are you doing after high school?
CHECKMATE!
Honestly, had any other branch's recruiter come out and put their stickers on that damn Honda, I'd have gone with them. Don't get me wrong. I carry a tiny smidge of pride to have belonged to the meanest, fiercest, dirtiest, most bad-ass group of mother fuckers that have ever walked the earth: the United States Marines.
A year or so later, and I'm on my way to Parris Island, SC. I'm not up on how things are working these days, but at the time, Parris Island was where Marines east of the Mississippi River, and all women went for basic training.
There's a lot about Marine Basic that people who haven't been there could never ever attempt to wrap their heads around. Trying to describe Marine Bootcamp to a person who's never been through it is a lot like trying to explain what the planet earth looks like to a person who's been blind their whole life. I'll try to give a super brief synopsis.
For me, bootcamp was one of those things that's only funny once you're done with it. It was the most uncomfortable three months of my entire life. I'm no conspiracy theorist or anything like that, but Marine Basic is nothing other than a thorough brainwashing... an indoctrination... into an organization where ideas like "Never quit!", "Always faithful.", "Brother's keeper", "Pain is weakness leaving the body.", "Honor, courage, commitment"... "insert any hard-ass ethos here"... are engrained into your very existence through physical, mental, and emotional torment. Camaraderie grows through mutual suffering.
I've never been a drill instructor, so my view of basic training is only from the receiving end. In bootcamp, I quickly learned that I had absolutely no control over anything. You have no idea what the schedule looks like. Your drill instructors are here to mold you into a Marine and make your life suck as much as possible for the next three months. You are no longer "I". You are "this recruit". You don't get to speak without first asking for permission to speak. Here's an example of some hypothetical dialogue between a recruit and their drill instructor:
Recruit: Sir, Good afternoon sir. Recruit Price requests permission to speak with Drill Instructor Staff Seargent Owens.
Drill Instructor: (Excited about the potential opportunity to fuck up recruit Price's day... Now three inches from Price's face) How 'bout you get some FREAKING BASS IN YOUR FREAKING NASTY VOICE! LLLOOOUUUUDDDEEEERRRRR!!!!
Recruit: (Again. Louder... yelling... because I forgot to tell you that you have to literally yell everything you say at bootcamp.) Sir, Good afternoon sir. Recruit Price request permiss...
Drill Instructor: WWWHHHAAAATTTT!!!?
Recruit: Sir, recruit Price's canteen lid is broken.
Drill Instructor: Do. I. Look. Like. I. Give. A. FFFUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!! Get on your face and PUSH!
That dude does give a fuck by the way. Your canteen will get fixed. They (the Drill Instructors) most definitely have their shit together. This is a video of what looks to be a pretty typical day in the early phases a recruit's training at Parris Island:
When you're done, you're proud to have gone through it and earned the title. You've earned the right to wear the sexiest damned uniform in the armed services too as a bonus. SFMF.
Part 2 coming soon.
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