Story #2307

Our barracks had OD Green painted trash cans. When they were tossed about, they left nasty green streaks everywhere they impacted. These impact marks had to be cleaned up before exiting the barracks, and any skid marks left behind were yet another reason to toss the bays. The cadre also had several sets of trash cans on rotation. The washout/detail pukes kept in the supply area would have to hammer the dents out, and repaint the trash cans. Once dried, they were sent back to the barracks for yet another wake up.

Each toss of a trash can was usually followed by something to the effect of: “GET YOUR FUCKING, WORTHLESSES ASSES OUT OF MY BUNKS! YOU STUPID, RETARDED, PILES OF USED TAMPONS/SHIT/USED RUBBERS/DOUCHEBAGS, etc! HOLY SHIT! YOU PIECES OF SHIT ARE THE WORST CYCLE I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED. NONE OF YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE IT TO GRADUATION! YOU’RE ALL GOING TO GET MOTHERFUCKING DISHONORABLE DISCHARGES! YOU SHITBAGS HAVE THREE MINUTES TO GET THESE SKIDMARKS CLEANED UP (the paint marks from the trash cans), AND BE IN FORMATION. UNFORTUNATELY, YOU MADE ME WASTE TWO MINUTES HAVING TO EXPLAIN TO YOU, YET AGAIN, WHY YOU PIECES OF SHIT ARE SO FUCKING WORTHLESS! MOVE! MOVE! MOOOOOOVE!!!! We were reminded daily how we weren’t going to make it, even as we were forming up for the graduation parade.

In retrospect decades later, and having reached this same level of burnout in a particularly toxic command, I realized why our cadre was perpetually angry. We had a Commander and 1SG, that had absolutely NO sense of humor, and that poisonous rigidity took its toll on the Drill Sergeants. Anyone harboring ill feeling to this day, just remember that underneath all the hyperbole, Drill Sergeants are still human. In many cases, that sick, twisted, sense of humor, is probably the only thing keeping them alive.