A busful of tired people rocketed toward the gates of lonely Parris Island.  Some of them may have noticed the bright red and yellow sign at the base entrance if they were lucky enough to look up as the bus passed.  Mostly, these people fought their eyes to keep them open.  Most of them were lulled into a peaceful dreamland due to the insane heat and the sound of the bus.

The bus came to a stop, but no one noticed because they were exhausted.  The lights snapped on, and everyone looked up.  A Marine appeared at the front of the bus and snapped (there was that laser beam voice again)

“On behalf of the President of the United States, The Commandant of the Marine Corps, and the Commanding General Brigadier General J.D. Humble, welcome to Parris Island. 

NOW GET OFF MY BUS!”

ftprints

Chaos and panic replaced the heat and humidity.  A swarm of bodies leapt from their seats and sought refuge outside the bus, only to find that there were scary Marines out there too, men and women dressed in uniform and yelling and screaming (it’s widely understood that Marine drill instructors have to yell at a tree, a fence, or other inanimate object for several hours during their training) and people running and being herded like sheep on crack onto the famous yellow footprints. 

If you have never been yelled at by a Marine drill instructor, then you’ve never really had your personal space violated.  Somehow they manage to get close enough to your skin to qualify for bodily fluid exchange, though they never actually touch you. 

I do remember getting my canteen issued to me.  We were ordered to fill it with water, and then we were ordered to drink the water.  All of it.  We were to hold the canteen over our heads upside down when we finished.  And we had about sixty seconds to do it. 

I was so thirsty.  But when I tipped the canteen to take a drink, I tasted mold.  I felt sand in my mouth.  The canteen hadn’t been clean and I was drinking water filled with sand and mold.  I gagged.  A drill instructor was on me in a heartbeat asking me what the problem was.  I tried to say the canteen was moldy but I was ordered to drink.  It’s a good thing I was thirsty.  I drank the water and held the empty canteen over my head.  My gut sloshed around, full of water.

The next two days are mostly a blur.  I remember getting issued a pair of boots that were two sizes too big.  I remember labeling my new camouflage wardrobe with a black marker.  I remember the occasional “Juice Drink.”  There was folding, and unfolding.  Labeling and crossing out.  Heaving everything into a sea bag where it most certainly became unfolded, then heaving the sea bag over my shoulder and marching (clumsily) all over the base.  There were vaccinations for diseases I thought were eradicated in the 19th century.

These were the receiving days.  If you are wondering where the push-ups and the torment is, it hasn’t happened yet.  These were the days of paperwork and supply issue.  These were the days of shock. 

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The one thing that I do remember is that there was no sleeping to be had.  When we were finally allowed a night of sleep, I was unfortunate enough to get picked for firewatch.  If you don’t remember firewatch, it’s the part in Full Metal Jacket where the Joker walks up and down the barracks with a flashlight while everyone else sleeps.  Firewatch lasts for an hour during receiving days, but feels a lot longer than that.  Luckily I didn’t find Private Pyle in the bathroom waiting to blow his brains out.  I did, however, see my very first cockroach. 

The night before I left for recruit training, I went to a movie with my boyfriend.  We saw the MTV movie Joe’s Apartment.  It’s actually one of the worst movies ever created.  The plot is all about singing cockroaches. 

To me, that movie was heaven-sent.  Without it, I am positive that I would have screamed like a baby when that shoe-sized bug came skittering out from under one of the bunks.  I counted ten cockroaches during my firewatch. Fascinating little buggers.  You can hear them skitter, they are so big. 

I imagined that they were singing to me, and it was all better.