Basic Training Story #4769
In 2nd phase of boot camp at Camp Pendleton, we were in our PT gear cleaning up the barracks. The DIs were extremely strict in our platoon, but at Camp Pendleton they weren’t as mean and nasty. All of us recruits were getting a bit crusty, I’m sure the DIs knew it. I’ve always been a smart ass quick witted jokester, but that day I was in a foul ass mood.
In between different work details, the drill instructors were bringing groups of us they caught standing around or goofing off to be thrashed in the pit, a sand pit. We were close to the beach, but It was an unusually hot day for May. I had been “selected” for the pit three times, even though I was working without talking, nor was I goofing around. After my third time in the sand, I run back up the stairs to our barracks, one of the DIs told me to swab the hallway between two barracks that housed two different platoons.
After such I was to rinse off the mops and put them away. There was an area right next to the door that lead outside to the other barracks, that’s where we stored the mops, right inside the door.
I’m dirty from being thrashed in the pit, I’m sweaty, I stunk and I was in a shit mood. I wanted to shower, but it wasn’t time yet. I was having a difficult time getting a mop handle into the hole in a concrete block, so I bend down on my knees to shove this mop handle into the hole when the door opens and almost hits me. I see a pair of recruit boot camp tennis shoes and red PT shorts, obviously another recruit from a different platoon.
You lost asshole, I say.
Excuse me, he says in return.
I start in with a barrage of insults and threats, including don’t walk on my freshly mopped floor asshole. Keep in mind this all takes place in less than 10-15 seconds while I’m on my knees trying to get this mop handle to fit into a fucking hole into a fucking concrete block.
He says excuse me again, but this time adds the word recruit at the end. Something like this, “and don’t walk on my freshly mopped floor asshole”, “excuse me…..recruit”
It was like I just swallowed a golf ball as I slowly look up from my knees to see the Senior Drill Instructor from the other platoon. They were housed in the barracks down the hall (past my freshly mopped floor) out the door and across from us. The Senior DI was tall, lean and nasty mean. He was wearing a pair of boot camp recruit tennis shoes, red PT shorts and a yellow PT shirt usually reserved for the recruits. I’m not sure why he was wearing recruit PT gear, maybe a sign of unity, pride, or whatever.
All I know is that I just threatened and cursed out a Senior Drill Instructor in the United States Marine Corps during what was my sixth week and presumably last week of boot camp. I couldn’t even get a word out before he lays into me, knocking me from my knees to my ass and pulling me onto my feet in one swift smooth quick ass motion. I felt like a weeble. Who is your Senior DI is all I remember from that point on.
He literally drags me down the hall, messing up my freshly mopped floor, into the open squad bay, where not one, not two, not three but yes all four of my Drill Instructors were talking next to their duty hut. My Senior says, “what did H do now” Oh shit, they know me by my name, I’m truly fucked.
I spent the rest of that evening, being thrashed in the sand pit, in the squad bay, two fire watch duties and being yelled at by every DI that walked by me, and no shower. A few months later I was at Infantry Training when I ran into one of my old DIs, we shared a pizza from the pizza truck and shot the shit. He told me they all were laughing their asses off over that incident, including the Senior DI that I cursed and threatened.
I’m glad they thought it was funny, I was terrified.