The Coke That Cost Me A Stripe

[thedrifter]

This is one of many bootcamp stories....This is my story......



The Coke That Cost Me A Stripe
After the rifle range instead of pulling mess duty our Series was involved in making Training films for the M-14 rifle. Since we were almost done with training, we were assign clean up details in different buildings. After we were done cleaning up the offices, we ran across a Coke machine, price was only 5 cents. Problem was it had a hand crank on it. Needless to say we were caught.
DI chewed us both new a$$holes. Were told to pack our seabags, as we were going to be shipped over to Motovation Platoon. We never were, but until a few days before graduation, we thought we were. After Graduation, the Senior DI told me that I had PFC made until I drank that coke. Was it worth it, yes, every drop of it........................LMAO

Sempers,

Roger

[thedrifter]

Know Your History..........

Anyway, as we all know, the Corps is justly proud of its history and teaches it in boot camp. One of the items we'd been required to learn was who the "Grand Old Man of the Marine Corps" was - Archibald Henderson, who served longer than any other commandant.

While stationed in the MP Company at Parris Island, we had an inspection by the company commander, a first lieutenant. The officer stopped in front of a new private and asked "Who was the Grand Old Man of the Marine Corps?"


The private, being new and very nervous about the inspection, got so rattled that he somehow came up with the name of the character from the 1970's TV show "All in the Family." He blurted out, "Archie Bunker, sir!"

The incredulous lieutenant glared at him and then demanded, "Do you think I'm crazy?"

The flustered private quickly made matters worse by shouting back, "Yes, sir!"

His punishment was to "write-off," like a kid in school, several hundred times, that the Grand Old Man of the Marine Corps was Archibald Henderson.

Semper Fi!

[thedrifter]

Head Detail

Bob served as a Marine Corps Drill Instructor, and as such, he too possessed the temperament typical of their breed -- always on the quest to find new, educational, and amusing ways to entertain their charges -- the unwary Marine Corps boot camp recruit.

Head detail (Latrine duty for you Doggies and Prop Heads) is something few escape during recruit training. It's pretty safe to say that after a head has been field-day'd by Marine recruits, you would be hard pressed to find a more sterile place this side of a hospital operating room.

Unless a bored, Marine Corps Drill Instructor is doing the inspecting!


As Bob tells it, failing to clean the head to the Drill Instructor's satisfaction the first time, and under the threat of facing their D.I.'s wrath should they fail inspection on the second try (there is no such thing as a third chance in boot camp) everything was checked and double checked before announcing that the head was now, finally, ready for inspection.

The Drill Instructor ordered the recruits to stand-by, directly outside of the head (and out of view) while he conducted what they knew would be an inspection on a microscopic level. The Drill Instructor had no doubts that the head was probably cleaner now then the date it was built. That situation was about to change.

Pulling a small container of peanut butter (chunky style) from his pocket, the Drill Instructor carefully placed a substantial amount of it under the rim (out of direct sight) of one of the commodes. In his deepest, scariest, and loudest voice, he let out a bellow, "HEAD DETAIL! GET YOUR ASSES IN HERE NOW!"

All three recruits came charging into the head, stopping a few feet from their obviously perturbed Drill Instructor and assuming the position of attention. In unison, with eyes rigidly locked above and beyond their D.I.'s face, all three yelled, "SIR, AYE AYE, SIR!"

"You scumbags call this a clean head?" The Drill Instructor demanded. Knowing that they scrubbed and disinfected every nook and cranny possible, twice, the only response they could offer was "Sir, Yes Sir!"

The Drill Instructor walked over to the prepared commode, reached on the rim with his fingers, and with as much dramatic flare as he could muster he thrust his hand forward at the recruits and said, "Then would you mind telling me what the hell this is!"

The recruits were far enough away not to clearly identify the chunky, brownish substance clinging to the Drill Instructor's fingers. Additionally, their present environment was lending a certain amount of authenticity to what was being held out before their eyes.

Not waiting for an answer, and watching the color disappear from their faces, The D.I. looked down at the brown glob and started the show.

"Well, then, if this head is so cleaned, this must not be what it looks like, right? Because it sure looks like CRAP to me, private!"

He could see that one recruit's body began to shake visibly, while the color in the faces of the two others was turning from pale white to a light green.

He then move his hand to his nose and inhaled the fragrance. With his best effort of a complete look of disgust on his face, he said, "This definitely smells like crap too, private!"

A look of terror began to show in the recruits' eyes as the Drill Instructor slowly lower his hand towards his mouth. Biting off a chunk of the brown mass, the D.I. offered, "And it damn sure tastes like crap, private!"

Two of the three recruits were unconscious on the floor and probably never heard the D.I.'s last assessment. The third continued to empty the contents of his stomach in the nearest commode as their fun-loving and entertaining Drill Instructor walked past him humming the Marine Corps Hymn.

Semper Fi!

[thedrifter]

"RECRUIT REQUESTS PERMISSION

Of all the services, Marines especially are looked upon to maintain discipline in their ranks. My introductory movie to the Marine Corps was , "The Boys from Company C." In that movie, the ferocious drill instructor barks at the new, unshaven recruits on the bus, "You will not eat, sleep, pick your nose or scratch your asses unless I tell you to do so." I always thought this was a bit of an exaggeration to illustrate the point that Marines are expected to do only what they were told. Boy was I wrong. Marines, at least in boot camp in Parris Island , have to ask permission to do EVERYTHING!

I entered boot camp . I thought I was well worn into Marine Corps culture getting all sorts of boot camp stories . However, not two minutes after stepping off the plane did I realize I had no idea what I had just gotten myself into.

When I was asked a question, I was expected to answer quickly and correctly. I could not stutter, stammer, say, "Uh" or anything. I was no longer an "I," but a "this recruit," and God forbid I should forget that. It took me longer than I expected to adjust to everything, but by the end of receiving, I did manage to stop referring to myself in the first person narrative.

By the end of first phase, we were all pretty much locked in step and motivated for the initial drill competition. We all ate quickly in the chow hall, lined up correctly in formation, and most of us knew our right foot from our left. Our light hat (kind of a misnomer for our platoon), who was responsible for leading us in initial drill, was a Drill Instructor Sgt. . The Sgt. was tall, slender, and mean as a wild boar (then again, none of the DIs I met on the island were "nice"). He carried a threatening presence, mostly because his 6'7" frame demanded it.

On one hot summer day after an afternoon of continuous close-order drill, we went through our normal routine to form for chow, stage our weapons and cartridge belts outside with two gear guards, who would then be relieved by the two designated recruits. After an entire day of pounding our feet onto the deck, standing tall, cocking and driving our heels together for facing movements and holding our rifle four inches from our chests at port arms, we were reasonably hungry, and I took this time to eat heartily. I remember eating probably the most I had ever eaten there. I didn't make myself sick -- at least, not right away -- but I did stuff my face pretty good, and as always, quickly.

I got back out in the sun with the gear as fast as I could and donned by cartridge belt. Since I had just inhaled all that food, the cartridge belt was slightly tighter than usual, but we were back in formation at the position of attention before I even gave thought to adjusting it.

On we marched for another several hours. It was a warm afternoon, but it wasn't unusual for a Parris Island summer evening. My cartridge belt was making me quite uncomfortable, but knowing that in the middle of drilling wasn't the time to ask to be excused, I sucked it up and held my tongue for the duration. As always, when we finished our routine, we secured our rifles and got ready to make our head call (which was also our time to fill our canteens). When I was standing on line, I realized an uneasy churning sensation in my stomach, and I knew that it would be a mere 5 seconds in the head before Sgt. started counting down for us all to be on line again, finished from our head call and in the position of attention. If someone wasn't there when the DI reached zero, we would all be in trouble.

Once we were set, Sgt. called, "Move," which was the signal for everyone to invade the head, do his business, and leave, so normally 60 recruits walk as quickly as they can, and -- sure enough -- 59 sets of feet start pitter-pattering across the deck.

"SIR," I yelled as loudly as I could, "RECRUIT REQUESTS PERMISSION TO SPEAK TO ..."

Knowing the routine already, Sgt. bellowed, "What, RECRUIT ?"

Pitter-patter... Pitter-patter... The other recruits were still passing me by.

"SIR," I yelled again at the top of my lungs, "RECRUIT REQUESTS PERMISSION TO MAKE AN EXTENDED HEAD CALL TO THROW UP, SIR!"

Silence. Whether in fear of getting "hit" or in utter disbelief, I may never know, but at that moment, everyone stopped moving, and all eyes were locked on me. It even made Sgt. pause.

"..."

"Go throw up, ." RECRUIT

"AYE-AYE, SIR!"

At that moment, the crowd of recruits parted like the Red Sea yelling, "Gangway! RECRUIT 's gotta puke!" and I easily breezed through the mass. I got to the toilets, which were separated by barriers but did not have doors. As I turned the first corner and was ready to go, another recruit was already there sitting down undoubtedly doing what he got there to do. I quickly backed out and put rushed to the edge of the second stall to see another recruit lowering his pants and sitting down. I noticed him looking at me with bewilderment as I quickly backed out and went to the next stall only to see a piece of paper with the words "Out Of Order" taped across a toilet filled with, shall we say, tainted water. Getting increasingly frusterated and uneasy, I got to the fourth stall, in which there was no toilet at all. Finally the fifth stall was clear, and the moment I got on my knees and unbuckled my cartridge belt, I released, with vigor, that which was ailing me. In the middle of it, I unbuttoned my canteen pouches and threw them behind me for another recruit to fill up. I was going to need them.

I finished up in time to help the other recruit fill up my canteens and we both got on line before the drill instructor, Sgt. , got to zero. All in a day's work of a Marine recruit.

Semper Fi!


Roger