The Guard, and the usual, SNAFU
Nov. 18th, 2005 08:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumI am overdue for my five-year periodic physical.
If my last one hadn't been 18 months (and a host of pain in the ass hurdles) late, this one would be 3 years late, instead of just a bit more than 18 months.
Last time I had to go to MEPS. MEPS, for those who don't speak MilAcronym is Military Enlistment Processing Station.
Hell on earth. Hundreds of wannabe recruits, all being jerked around by the usual sorts of meat-market apathy and their own ignorance, coupled with a sort of institutional disdain. It's a rite of passage, this being treated like cattle, because you aren't a civilian, and you sure as hell ain't one of us.
Somehow (maybe it was my PT uniform) I didn't get treated quite so badly by the staff. The doctors, however, mostly treated me like dirt. Some of them were the same hacks who'd given my my enlistment physical, almost seven years before. Timeless and ancient, they still seemed like superannuated animitronics. Oh yeah, the seaman who took my weight, refused (I almost had to shake him by his white cracker-jacks) to believe me that the chart to look on was prior service, not enlistee. If he used enlistee he was going to mark me unfit for service, because I was underweight. Sheesh!
This time, because of the war, there's a shop doing physicals up the road. I was supposed to go in today and get the bloodwork done, so I could go in later tomorrow and see the doctors. Only, in that way which is only the Army's I was late. Some of it was my fault. I have a sprained finger (my left pinky) from allowing it to be under someone's foot while I was being tossed about the dojo last night. This slowed me down, and I was about 25 minutes behind the time I was told to be there.
I had checked the time this morning. Only someone at the unit failed to get the word to me that instead of 1300, the appointment was for 1000. Had I managed to get there at 1300, it probably could have been done.
Oh, well, I can go in tomorrow at 0630 (which means being on the road at 0545) and all will be sped along. Since I am not deploying, it doesn't matter that there are lots of other things going on; I (for the price of a couple limes worth of Corona) will be sped to the front of the line and ought to be home, cooking for Alexa's birthday, not later than noon.
In the realm of the strange (and I blame it on the war) two people thought I was going to be getting an over 40 physical (which means fasting, and a prostate exam). Before I went to Iraq, I got carded about 1/3rd of the time (I was 35), now people think I'm more than 40 (I'm 38). Go figure.
BTW, typing with a splinted pinky is only slightly less frustrating than typing with one which is sprained, it does, however, hurt less.
If my last one hadn't been 18 months (and a host of pain in the ass hurdles) late, this one would be 3 years late, instead of just a bit more than 18 months.
Last time I had to go to MEPS. MEPS, for those who don't speak MilAcronym is Military Enlistment Processing Station.
Hell on earth. Hundreds of wannabe recruits, all being jerked around by the usual sorts of meat-market apathy and their own ignorance, coupled with a sort of institutional disdain. It's a rite of passage, this being treated like cattle, because you aren't a civilian, and you sure as hell ain't one of us.
Somehow (maybe it was my PT uniform) I didn't get treated quite so badly by the staff. The doctors, however, mostly treated me like dirt. Some of them were the same hacks who'd given my my enlistment physical, almost seven years before. Timeless and ancient, they still seemed like superannuated animitronics. Oh yeah, the seaman who took my weight, refused (I almost had to shake him by his white cracker-jacks) to believe me that the chart to look on was prior service, not enlistee. If he used enlistee he was going to mark me unfit for service, because I was underweight. Sheesh!
This time, because of the war, there's a shop doing physicals up the road. I was supposed to go in today and get the bloodwork done, so I could go in later tomorrow and see the doctors. Only, in that way which is only the Army's I was late. Some of it was my fault. I have a sprained finger (my left pinky) from allowing it to be under someone's foot while I was being tossed about the dojo last night. This slowed me down, and I was about 25 minutes behind the time I was told to be there.
I had checked the time this morning. Only someone at the unit failed to get the word to me that instead of 1300, the appointment was for 1000. Had I managed to get there at 1300, it probably could have been done.
Oh, well, I can go in tomorrow at 0630 (which means being on the road at 0545) and all will be sped along. Since I am not deploying, it doesn't matter that there are lots of other things going on; I (for the price of a couple limes worth of Corona) will be sped to the front of the line and ought to be home, cooking for Alexa's birthday, not later than noon.
In the realm of the strange (and I blame it on the war) two people thought I was going to be getting an over 40 physical (which means fasting, and a prostate exam). Before I went to Iraq, I got carded about 1/3rd of the time (I was 35), now people think I'm more than 40 (I'm 38). Go figure.
BTW, typing with a splinted pinky is only slightly less frustrating than typing with one which is sprained, it does, however, hurt less.
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no subject
Date: 2005-11-19 03:43 pm (UTC)