Civilians

Getting us acclimated to the long workdays has begun with lots of discussion and lecture peppered with chow.  Sit, eat, sit became our battle rhythm.  The Army life is like grown up summer camp, or prison.  Lots of rules, signs everywhere, orderly lines and the like.  Chow is served on hard plastic trays with pockets to keep all the food separate like we had in elementary school. Follow the rules, and you get by. 

 There are National Guard troops with boyish faces sharing this camp with us.  We are clearly in the minority and they look at us quizzically since we don’t dress as they do, march, run, or yell “Hooah” when we do something good.  Creativity is a distant second to order around here and frankly, there is only much you can do about their dress style.  Don’t get me wrong, I have supported the military with vigor ever since I joined the Department over 30 years ago.  The ways of the big machine do wonders for creating a team from young aimless youth, but it’s not for me.  For them, living the life of a transient is fun and they are proud about their less-than-normal working arrangements.  They all have war stories that outsiders could not really relate to, but I try to find the nuggets somewhere in their angst pile.

Unlike the military, civilians don’t wear their rank on their chest, we have to sell ourselves every day.  And because we are not part of their tribe, they don’t seem to really know what to do with us when we are in their world.  To them its hierarchy based on rank and time in grade.  In our world, its whoever has the lead or experience, regardless of rank.  I believe in today’s world, our way is better.