Memoirs written in prose of Sergeant Robertson, Damon M. USMC while in Iraq | ...with frequent appearances of King Hammurabi.
If you are new to this journal, make sure to start reading in chronological order by scrolling down to the bottom of the oldest post in October 2004. Damon's letters from August 20th, 2004 - October 23rd, 2004 were all added to this blog on Oct. 23rd, 2004. All subsequent letters are posted in real time.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Dear Family and Friends: I don't have much time today. Allow me to entertain you. Yesterday, as with all afternoons in Iraq, it's hot. Surprised? Probably not. Now, what is surprising is that I've already worked 12 hours by 1pm. I want to go home, get cleaned up, sleep. You know. The whole "I don't want to die of fatigue" approach to living. So, of course, for the THIRD day in a row, someone with high rank calls a formation. We're the only company with leaders still stupid enough to make us all stand in formation in Iraq. But it's not about the weather. Well, maybe, if you consider mortar fire a form of natural precipitation. Mortars *do* fall here more often than rain, so maybe we could make that argument... So there we are. Our First Sergeant, who so far can only be described as a "nano-manager" (like unto "micro-manager" but on a much more intimate, small, and infuriating scale). He's screaming and yelling at us, particularly the NCO's (Corporals like myself and our sergeants) ... yelling about *something* I don't know the particulars of. I don't know who knows what we're getting chewed on for. I was busting my rear operating and unloading aircraft on the blazing tarmac. Who had time to mess up? Then he gets to one of the old Marine Corps favorites: "You wanna play games?!?! OH. We'll play games all day!!!" [while the planes unload themselves? by the way, "games" are all the hazing and humiliating things the staff make us do when they can't reconcile the pain in their own hearts in a rational or healthy way... hence they take their frustrations out on us] "Who thinks I won't do it?" [that's the problem; you seem stupid enough to actually try. How did you get that much rank again?] "Anyone?" [no one raises their hands. No one ever does.] "I can make your life here a living hell if I want to." [NeverSpeaks raises his hand. I actually gasp audibly. The first sergeant turns a deeper shade of red] "You want it? You got it!" NeverSpeaks opens his mouth, speaking softly: "First Sergeant? [whose mouth still issues insults like the unstopped gushing of a fool] "First sergeant?" "WHAT?" NeverSpeaks waits a moment. Clears his throat. "If what you can do to me is worse than what was done to me when I was in my crib, go for it. If not, I've seen worse, and you ain't got S***." ... But NeverSpeaks doesn't talk, and yesterday the 1st Sergeant completed another rant at our expense, to his own vain aggrandizement, and yeah, he got away with it. No one told him what we all really think. ... or at least what I think. The flowers may fade, and the mouths of fools will be stilled, but the Word of the Lord stands forever. I need to go clean my forklift(s). love you all, :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:31 PM 