July 1, 1997 - Field Day
970701 - Yesterday was hot. We had PT of a 2.5-mil run and I again ran with the fast group. Again, it was hard but I made it. We then had drill and the SDI decided we weren't working hard enough so he put us in the pit. (That makes 4 pit calls for me). After that we had chow, reviewed some knowledge and went to Pugel sticks II. I got creamed but at this point I was so unmotivated that I couldn't have cared less. Then we had chow and reviewed knowledge. We then had about 10 minutes to shower and make our racks. This morning we had PT of the circuit course twice, + max pull-ups (5) + max sit-ups (74!). Then we had some drill, chow, field day. After the field day we shifted the racks back and the entire company came for some knowledge review. Then chow, etc. I'm doing pretty good. I got a letter from B____ so my spirits are high. Also, 1 full month is now over. 59 days left.
Remember field days back in grade school? You would get put into teams and play lots of fun games and probably get some sort of special dessert or treat at the end of the day? Doesn't that sound like fun? Field days are the best.
No.
In the Marines, "field day" means cleaning. Lots and lots of cleaning. Every Sunday we would have a field day and we would scour the entire squad bay and head from top to bottom. This meant that everything was cleaned: the windows were washed, the floors were swept and swabbed, the racks were dusted (I have no idea why).
And the head. Oh, the head.
First squad was responsible for cleaning the head, and I was in first squad, so I was part of that crew. We scrubbed the toilets, polished the stainless steel urinal troughs (after cleaning out anything and everything that was in there), washed the bulkheads (walls), cleaned the sinks and mirrors, polished anything that could possibly shine (and several things that shouldn't but did eventually), swabbed the deck, and scrubbed the shower room. It was pretty nasty. Remember all of the times that I have referred to how gross I got throughout boot camp? Now imagine hand-scrubbing the rooms that wash all of that grossness off of 70 nasty recruits.
There were some recruits assigned to cleaning the Drill Instructors' room, or DI hut. For some reason, those chosen for this task were the smallest in the platoon, and they were referred to as "house mice." We would be cleaning the rest of the squad bay and the DI would come out of his room and say, "Where are my house mice?" They would stop whatever they were doing and scurry over to him. He would glare at them, threaten that they were not to snoop, and give them two minutes to thoroughly clean the room. I was glad to be far too tall to be a house mouse.
Because I quickly got sick of picking all-the-things out of urinals with my bare hands, I found a way to be assigned to the small gear locker. It was our job to hand out the cleaning supplies to the recruits. It was tricky, though, because there were long lulls when no one needed supplies. If you got caught just standing there, you would be fired from the small gear locker and punished on the quarterdeck. You'd then have to get a swab and mop up your own sweat; the deck had just been cleaned, after all. In order to avoid this fate, I got very good at stacking and re-stacking sponges.
No.
In the Marines, "field day" means cleaning. Lots and lots of cleaning. Every Sunday we would have a field day and we would scour the entire squad bay and head from top to bottom. This meant that everything was cleaned: the windows were washed, the floors were swept and swabbed, the racks were dusted (I have no idea why).
And the head. Oh, the head.
First squad was responsible for cleaning the head, and I was in first squad, so I was part of that crew. We scrubbed the toilets, polished the stainless steel urinal troughs (after cleaning out anything and everything that was in there), washed the bulkheads (walls), cleaned the sinks and mirrors, polished anything that could possibly shine (and several things that shouldn't but did eventually), swabbed the deck, and scrubbed the shower room. It was pretty nasty. Remember all of the times that I have referred to how gross I got throughout boot camp? Now imagine hand-scrubbing the rooms that wash all of that grossness off of 70 nasty recruits.
There were some recruits assigned to cleaning the Drill Instructors' room, or DI hut. For some reason, those chosen for this task were the smallest in the platoon, and they were referred to as "house mice." We would be cleaning the rest of the squad bay and the DI would come out of his room and say, "Where are my house mice?" They would stop whatever they were doing and scurry over to him. He would glare at them, threaten that they were not to snoop, and give them two minutes to thoroughly clean the room. I was glad to be far too tall to be a house mouse.
Because I quickly got sick of picking all-the-things out of urinals with my bare hands, I found a way to be assigned to the small gear locker. It was our job to hand out the cleaning supplies to the recruits. It was tricky, though, because there were long lulls when no one needed supplies. If you got caught just standing there, you would be fired from the small gear locker and punished on the quarterdeck. You'd then have to get a swab and mop up your own sweat; the deck had just been cleaned, after all. In order to avoid this fate, I got very good at stacking and re-stacking sponges.
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