Why I Make the Big Bucks
Daily Non Sequitor: "I want to be on you." This is what Grady says when he's trying to be funny, which is often. Being funny is Grady's thing, it's his signature, as much a part of his essential personality as his habit of getting out of answering uncomfortable questions by telling the questioner they're looking lovely today and have they lost weight. Grady works in the S2 shop, which is Military Intelligence (haha -- oxymoron) and I think all the plotting and tracking and intelligence gathering might have made his brain go a bit odd. (He's not the only one, of course -- all of his little S2 minions -- and Grady has several minions -- are just as cracked as he is) Grady has the perfect face for humor -- he looks a bit like Pee Wee Herman's love child, if Pee Wee Herman had a love child with Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. I probably shouldn't let Grady read this entry.
Officers say a lot of things. The Army has catchphrases, as you remember from a few blogs ago -- and one of these is the patented smartass answer whenever someone praises an officer for doing something obvious. That's why they pay me the big bucks. What you mean by saying this is that you understand you have just totally shocked your subordinates, who were prepared to be entirely underwhelmed by your performance in a command position, and you are subtly letting them know that you are in fact able to breathe without being reminded. (When an NCO compliments an officer for doing something right, that generally should be taken as an expression of polite surprise, similar to what you say to a potty-training toddler who remembers to go in the toilet as opposed to his pants.) I'm not an idiot, you fucktard. That's basically what you mean.
Random Tangent: Another funny thing people say is "I'm fucking this monkey, you're just holding the tail." This implies that someone is attempting to step on your toes and run your operation. You are politely...or not so politely, as it were...reminding them that you are in fact in charge and they need to go sit in a corner before they hurt themselves. Why you must do this with a crass allusion to cross-species sodomy, I am unclear. Perhaps I missed the memo.
The last few days have been a bit rough -- as I think you all have gathered by the fact that I haven't updated my blog in over a week now. I spent this morning crying in Jamie's office...Jamie is the Battalion Maintenance Officer. He prefers the title HOMO, which is Head of Maintenance Operations, but nobody can call him that with a straight face. Admit it though, knowing what you know about the military -- a guy saying, perfectly seriously, "I'm the Battalion's HOMO"? That's comedy gold. Anyway, I got a little weepy in Jamie's office because over the course of our Change of Command Inventory preparation, it has become apparent that my NCOs have no idea where half of our equipment is. Let me back up.
Can we agree that the Army has a lot of stuff? The Army is also anal with this stuff, in the manner of an autistic 6 year old who will immediately know if you've moved one of his GI Joes six inches to the right of his bookcase. As a commander, the Army entrusts you with some of its stuff but it makes you sign for it, so it knows exactly how many 1.5" widgets it gave you to turn the widget-screws on your M12 Decontamination Apparatus. If you don't give back exactly that number of 1.5" widgets, along with all the widget screws and anything else involved with the day to day operation of the M12 Decontamination Apparati, of which you have three (if you are me, say) then you had better break out the checkbook 'cause momma needs a new pair of shoes.
Anyway, realistically the only time we actually CHECK to make sure we have everything we're supposed to have is when we do a change of command -- if there are any discrepencies between what we ought to have, what we think we have, and what we actually DO have, well -- somebody is going to be paying through the nose. This is supposed to build character. Long story short, my NCOs tell me that we are missing quite a lot of stuff. I spent the morning crying in Jamie's office because I am quite sure I will end up paying for a lot of it -- to the tune of 1000 dollars, if my most dire predictions are correct...and when it comes to money, I'm fucking Nostradamus.
Man, something funny had better happen soon -- I'm leading a convoy tomorrow. Barring death or dismemberment, that ought to provide some pretty good laugh lines. Until then, dear reader...
BOHICA, bitches.
UPDATE: We reconducted our platoon-level inventories, and I'm not missing nearly as much stuff as we originally thought. It looks like the Army will NOT be supplementing its 2006 budget with a healthy chunk taken from my paycheck. Ha, take that, Pentagon!
Officers say a lot of things. The Army has catchphrases, as you remember from a few blogs ago -- and one of these is the patented smartass answer whenever someone praises an officer for doing something obvious. That's why they pay me the big bucks. What you mean by saying this is that you understand you have just totally shocked your subordinates, who were prepared to be entirely underwhelmed by your performance in a command position, and you are subtly letting them know that you are in fact able to breathe without being reminded. (When an NCO compliments an officer for doing something right, that generally should be taken as an expression of polite surprise, similar to what you say to a potty-training toddler who remembers to go in the toilet as opposed to his pants.) I'm not an idiot, you fucktard. That's basically what you mean.
Random Tangent: Another funny thing people say is "I'm fucking this monkey, you're just holding the tail." This implies that someone is attempting to step on your toes and run your operation. You are politely...or not so politely, as it were...reminding them that you are in fact in charge and they need to go sit in a corner before they hurt themselves. Why you must do this with a crass allusion to cross-species sodomy, I am unclear. Perhaps I missed the memo.
The last few days have been a bit rough -- as I think you all have gathered by the fact that I haven't updated my blog in over a week now. I spent this morning crying in Jamie's office...Jamie is the Battalion Maintenance Officer. He prefers the title HOMO, which is Head of Maintenance Operations, but nobody can call him that with a straight face. Admit it though, knowing what you know about the military -- a guy saying, perfectly seriously, "I'm the Battalion's HOMO"? That's comedy gold. Anyway, I got a little weepy in Jamie's office because over the course of our Change of Command Inventory preparation, it has become apparent that my NCOs have no idea where half of our equipment is. Let me back up.
Can we agree that the Army has a lot of stuff? The Army is also anal with this stuff, in the manner of an autistic 6 year old who will immediately know if you've moved one of his GI Joes six inches to the right of his bookcase. As a commander, the Army entrusts you with some of its stuff but it makes you sign for it, so it knows exactly how many 1.5" widgets it gave you to turn the widget-screws on your M12 Decontamination Apparatus. If you don't give back exactly that number of 1.5" widgets, along with all the widget screws and anything else involved with the day to day operation of the M12 Decontamination Apparati, of which you have three (if you are me, say) then you had better break out the checkbook 'cause momma needs a new pair of shoes.
Anyway, realistically the only time we actually CHECK to make sure we have everything we're supposed to have is when we do a change of command -- if there are any discrepencies between what we ought to have, what we think we have, and what we actually DO have, well -- somebody is going to be paying through the nose. This is supposed to build character. Long story short, my NCOs tell me that we are missing quite a lot of stuff. I spent the morning crying in Jamie's office because I am quite sure I will end up paying for a lot of it -- to the tune of 1000 dollars, if my most dire predictions are correct...and when it comes to money, I'm fucking Nostradamus.
Man, something funny had better happen soon -- I'm leading a convoy tomorrow. Barring death or dismemberment, that ought to provide some pretty good laugh lines. Until then, dear reader...
BOHICA, bitches.
UPDATE: We reconducted our platoon-level inventories, and I'm not missing nearly as much stuff as we originally thought. It looks like the Army will NOT be supplementing its 2006 budget with a healthy chunk taken from my paycheck. Ha, take that, Pentagon!
posted by Sunny @ 12:11 AM
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