The Art of Time Management in Basic Training

I had been standing in line for what seemed like hours, but was probably only ten minutes. That's the way time moved in Air Force basic training. By the end of the day, when you hit the bunk and the lights went out, you wondered where the day went. During the day, however, you wondered when the particular moment encompassing whatever particular activity in which you were engaged was going to ever end.

Hurry up and wait. That's what we called it. That's what many millions of recruits before us had always called it. Hurry up and wait. It starts loudly on the first couple of days when the lights flick on, garbage can lids get pounded together, or against some sleepy recruit's bunk post, or some sleepy recruit's noggin. It starts with Smokey-the-Bear hat wearing Training Instructors screaming, "GET UP!!! GET OUT OF BED!!!!!!! GET UP!!! MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!!!!"

It continues as the recruits square away their bunks and engage in personal hygiene maneuvers, button up fatigue pants and shirts, lace up boots, and race out of the barracks and into formation in front of the T.I.s. In those first few days, the recruits do not move fast enough. It's not possible to do everything required before hitting the ranks. The T.I.s yell. The recruits move faster, but not fast enough. The T.I.s yell some more and make us do push-ups or, maybe, some quick-time marching or extra running. Or maybe they cut out smoke breaks. Or maybe they just yell some more.

We learn some shortcuts. We learn to use one or two urinals and one or two sinks. We use one or two communal razors that are stored away after the morning rush, leaving our own personal razors pristine for the inevitable inspection. We learn to slide into our bunks at night, and we learn to sleep in one position all night, so that when the T.I.'s greet us in the morning we need only slide out of the bunk, pull here, tug there and presto, zippo we have an inspection-ready, hospital corner, quarter-bouncing bunk. Our uniforms are placed just so, our boot laces positioned loose enough to allow our boots to be pulled on and laced, our pants and shirts to be buttoned, our belts to be buckled and our gig lines to be straightened in record time. No hair needs to be combed and styled. There is no hair to be combed and styled.

And, still, the T.I.s yell. And rant. And rave.

We learn other shortcuts, but we don't even realize that we are learning them. After a few days, we wake up when we hear the voice over the intercom say, "DORM GUARD! GET 'EM UP!" And we're up and out of our bunks before the T.I.s can get to the garbage can lids. That doesn't stop the yelling, but now it's just background noise. We're finding our way in the new system.

The system is the end all and be all of the United States Air Force. Our days are filled with paperwork and marching and learning to march. We learn insignia and ranks. We learn commands and maneuvers. We learn hygiene and shortcuts. We learn cuss words and extreme vocal vibrations. We learn teamwork. And every time we double time out of the barracks and into formation and down the street toward another learning experience we get to......wait.

That's the story of basic training. Get your ass there on the double, then wait, because "they" are not ready for you, yet. So, I stand in line. After double timing to the infirmary, my flight stood at attention outside of the infirmary. I was in the first squad, so I stood in line inside the infirmary, my left sleeve rolled up, as the line snaked past a single Staff Sergeant medical technician holding a Star Trek inoculation gun. The med tech would place the gun against the recruit's left shoulder muscle, pull the trigger and shoot several vaccines into the recruit's system with a single shot. The recruit would leave, the med tech would replace the inoculation module with a fresh module, the next recruit would step up, and the process would be repeated.

This process, like all processes in basic training, took place only after detailed, and loud, instructions from Sergeants Hart and Walters, our very loud T.I.s. These particular instructions began as soon as our flight was brought to a halt in front of the infirmary, but after we were yelled at for not coming to a precise halt. Ah, those were the days.

"REMAIN AT ATTENTION. DO NOT LOCK YOUR KNEES. IF YOU LOCK YOUR KNEES, YOU WILL PASS OUT. IF YOU PASS OUT, YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO THE INFIRMARY. IF YOU PASSED OUT BECAUSE YOU LOCKED YOUR KNEES, YOU WILL BE SET BACK TO YOUR FIRST DAY OF TRAINING. YOU WILL PROCEED BY SQUADS, WHEN INSTRUCTED, INTO THE INFIRMARY IN SINGLE FILE. YOU WILL EXPOSE YOUR LEFT SHOULDER FOR SHOTS. YOU WILL NOT FLINCH. YOU WILL NOT PULL AWAY. IF YOU FLINCH OR IF YOU PULL AWAY, YOU WILL BLEED. IF YOU BLEED, YOU WILL BE SET BACK TO YOUR FIRST DAY OF TRAINING. WHEN FINISHED, YOU WILL RETURN TO FORMATION AND YOU WILL ASSUME THE POSITION OF ATTENTION. DO NOT LOCK YOUR KNEES. FIRST SQUAD....MOVE OUT!"

Now, it was still pretty early in our training, so being set back two, three, or four days or so to the first day of basic training might not seem like much, but not one of us wanted to go through those first couple of days again. Yelling was bad. The theoretical threat of bodily harm was bad. Push-ups ad nauseum were bad. Set back in training....now that was the real threat. That threat grew more serious, the repercussions more disastrous the longer we were in basic training. Nobody wanted to be set back. The reasons that one could be set back were numerous. Maybe you failed to pass one of the written tests. Maybe you just weren't getting "right face", "left face", "column right...harch" as quickly as everybody else. Maybe you weren't keeping up in the PT (Physical Training) department.

Any number of things could cause a recruit to be set back in training, but usually the recruit had to screw up repeatedly or spectacularly, or both, to be set back. The worst thing to happen to a recruit would be to reach the final week of training, crash and burn in a spectacular fashion, and get set back to the first week of training. Oy. This only happened to those recruits who did something stupid, like taking a swing at the T.I. Let me tell you how stupid that would be: there is nothing any T.I. can do to a recruit in the final week of training that hasn't been done to the recruit in the previous weeks. Nothing. He has done everything to sand out the bumps and scratches. All that is left is the final polish. The T.I. knows his recruits. The recruits know their T.I. The last thing any recruit wants is to be the guy set back to a baby flight to learn the ways of a new set of T.I.s.

The recruit being set back will not be respected by his new flight members. They won't look up to him as somebody who knows more than they do. He screwed up. Royally. That's why he was set back. The recruit being set back will not be less likely to be yelled at because he knows how to march better, salute better, or square his gear away better than his new flight mates. He doesn't. He screwed up. Royally. He will be the new T.I.s special project. Every flight misstep, every wrong turn, every sneeze or cough in formation will bring the wrath of the Four Hundred Enraged Screaming Banshees right down on the shoulders, head, and ears of the lucky recruit who screwed up, royally, in his previous flight.

Needless to say, with that first night of the Four Hundred Crazed Screaming Banshees still fresh in our memories, none of us were about to lock our knees, or flinch, or pull away from the Star Trek inoculation gun. Unfortunately, the Staff Sergeant medical technician was not playing along with the flight plan. He, having obviously performed this inoculation routine tens of thousands of times, day after day after mind numbing day, had developed his own shortcut. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked bored. He looked tired. He looked like he just didn't want to be there.

He fixed a module on the Star Trek gun, pressed it to the shoulder of a recruit, pulled the trigger, and dropped the hand holding the gun down rather than pulling it away to replace the module. A trickle of blood ran down the recruit's arm. The med tech didn't see it, or he didn't care. He replaced the module with a new one, pressed the gun to the next recruit's shoulder, pulled the trigger, then dropped his hand rather than pulling it away. Another trickle of blood.

We stood at attention and horrified. None of the recruits were flinching. They weren't pulling away. We weren't doing anything wrong, but the blood was flowing, and we were going to get set back. As each recruit stepped up, the med tech got more careless. The trickles of blood became streams, and then the streams became rivers. They might as well have been oceans. We heard Sgt. Hart just outside the exit door as he spotted the first recruit with the blood trickling down his arm.

"DAMMIT. I TOLD YOU DUMB#!$&TS NOT TO FLINCH!!!!"

And the second recruit with blood trickling down his arm.

"WHAT IN THEE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU #$%HOLES!!!!! DO NOT FLINCH!!!!"

And the third. "DAMMIT. GET YOUR HEADS OUT YOUR ASSES!!"

And the fourth. Silence. The recruit in front of me stepped up to the gun. The med tech put the gun to his shoulder just as Sgt. Hart stormed into the room. The trigger was pulled. The recruit never flinched. The gun hand dropped, rending the recruit's shoulder flesh. Sgt. Hart looked from the shoulder to the med tech, who was replacing the module, cigarette still dangling from his mouth. I stepped to my place.

Sgt. Hart pulled the med tech aside and spoke quietly, but intensely. I stared straight ahead, but I caught snippets like, "....damn butt....mouth.........your job.........my troops.........dammit...."

The med tech pulled the cigarette butt out of his mouth and put it in an ashtray. He placed the gun to my shoulder. He pulled the trigger. His hand dropped. Not as far, but it still dropped, and it still ripped some flesh. I guess the med tech had to make his point. But, I was the last guy with a bleeding arm to leave that room that morning. Sgt. Hart had made his point, too.

When Sgt. Hart came back outside, he found something else to yell at us about while we waited for the rest of the flight. Then, he yelled at us to get us to our next appointment. Then, he yelled at us while we waited, but none of us were set back that day. Just another day in Air Force basic training. Hurry up and wait.