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, January 15, 2005
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: Okay. I slipped the detail in a few messages back and I don't know if it stuck out enough. I volunteered to stay another 7 months over here. Don't ask. I still have the option, for the next couple days, to rescind that raising-of-the-hand. My 1st Sgt won't let me move out of my "engineer" job, even though I'm also a school trained weapons coach and could move right over to training Iraqi Police full time. That is, if he weren't a prick about everything. His insistence on me staying in my first job here is entirely personal on his part. There are no regulations that back him up, but there's a lot more black lines on his collar, so not much I can do. It's hard to understand, yet again, why a man who works at Best Buy as a cashier back in the real world would have any problem with motivated young men half his age seeking some sort of meaningful adventure that would also be a contribution to the country we're in. Oh wait. Maybe I do understand. He can't go do anything fun so he'll be damned before any of us do, either. Here's how it's supposed to work. My commanding officer talks with the commanding officer of whatever unit wants to take me on. They chat, tell a few lame jokes they each learned in Officer Candidate School, but eventually decided Yay/Nay on whether I transfer. Notice how that equation doesn't include the senior staff, i.e. 1st Sgt, at all? Interesting how our 1sgt squashes everything we've ever tried to put together. I prayed for him a while back, thinking that if he were happier, more blessed or at the least more aware of the good things in his life, that in turn he'd be kinder to us. I find myself in the position of having led the jack-a## to water but lacking the ability to make him drink. That and I don't actually hate him enough to drown him there, either, to push the analogy way past its limits. I'm kinda sorry for him. He's one of the faces on that imaginary poster I keep in my head of "Never Let This Happen to YOU." All things being considered, I have little to no control over where I get sent. Reward for my continued volunteerism in the face of insane circus games on the part of our staff may very well land me in a similar situation with a similar staff. Remember, jerks are like hot chicks. They hang out together, never realizing what they really are. So if I get sent to one of his "buddies," shudder, cringe, and pray. I'm good at staying under the radar, but that depresses me. I'm not meant to hide. I've got good skills and a heart of service, the sorts of things these men should treasure, but don't. Working hard here and going the extra mile hasn't ever paid off, at least not in ways i'm prepared to understand. what's it's worth, :D
# posted by chevas @ 4:39 PM 