Today we got our uniforms. As with most processes around here, however, it was with grit and gruff that we were assisted by the civilian and non-civilian employees. We began in a small room with long benches- 12 to each, which was a stretch. Then we were given 2 minutes (probably less, in reality) to strip to our underwear and place our civilian clothes in the large, green duffle bags. Throughout this process we were led by an old, southern civilian with a bit pot belly and a sassy sense of humor. I have come to appreciate the small moments of humor we are allotted here, not that a life of strict discipline is bad. I believe the exclusion of the frivolities and extraneous "fluff" in life (as is here in the 43rd Reception Battalion) has been very eye opening for me.
An instance of this could well be made using the mess hall. We are not allowed to speak to one another in the mess hall. While in line, we must stand at parade rest when we are not moving. Our eyes are supposed to be straight forward, though seldom are they for most. The no talking rule is enforced semi-rigorously by the Proc NCOs; they do not hesitate to send talkers to the back of the line, which is likely 300+ feet back down the cooridor of Grant Hall. Heck, call it half a mile for how long the line can feel. My point is, it has been surprisingly efficient seeming to me, rather than the totalitarian "mind-game" I might previously have labeled it. Perhaps the brain-wash is in the rinse cycle for me. I doubt it.
Another interesting facet of my experience thus far has been the speed with which my fellow soldiers have begun to refer to the "civie" dressed recruits as "civies", not underrogatorily. (Derrogatorily, I mean). The irony here is we were just like them less than 48 hours ago.
These afore mentioned recruits march past us (down the long hallways of Grant Hall) in shocked silence, eyes bugged out and limbs tense. I realize they are probably under the impression that we (sitting on the benches in intimidating close-pack rectangles) are seasoned, war-torn soldiers. I was under this impression just yesterday regarding soldiers only about a day ahead of us. The difference is the uniform- we look the part of real soldiers now.
We went to the PX today- I bought postcards to send to the family and friends. We also went to have our official Class-A greens picture, made in front of the U.S. flag. The interesting thing about this photo is we have not yet been issued class-A uniforms; the uniform velcroes on around the neck, with a long slit up the back. It also stops at the borders of the picture. The tie and medals are all an illusion- it's a one piece "smock" (apron?) which fits over our undershirts. Now we will all know the truth!
Overall, I am still having a great time here in the U.S. Army, though the dozens of clothing items (from overcoats to shirts to towels to gloves to boots) have complicated the peaceful, spacious world of my wall locker considerably. The guys here in the barracks are mostly alright- we've even had some fun throughout this thing. I even found another musician, a 23 year old Active Duty piano-player from Florida. What's more, the guy in the bunk next to me is coming in as an E-4 Specialist (says he has a college degree). What with him, Salazar (from 312th Army Band), the Floridian piano player and others, I might just wear my rank. We'll see once I actually get to basic.
It's almost 2100 now- lights out. To end on a more base note, I got a penicillin shot in my right cheek, and it's really sore. I think I'll be able to sleep though.