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It’s generally advised that you don’t return to the scene of a traumatic event in your life. I shudder at the thought of all of those dark corners and drunken nights when the green weenie snuck into my room, breath laden with whiskey, climbing into bed with me and barely giving me a chance to say no. Okay, this analogy might be going a bit far, but there’s a strange sense of fear that comes from seeing your old recruiting station.
I took this Instagram photo of my old RS when I was back in Portland for the holidays:
As I gazed upon the cold, outdated strip mall in the Oregon overcast afternoon I felt a twitch of my butthole–much like how Frodo feels the blade of the Nazgūl in his shoulder every time he catches a glimpse of the dark riders. Okay, again this is a bit much. I actually really have nothing against my recruiter–he was a pretty honest guy and never tried to sugarcoat the Marine Corps for me. The only thing he told me that ended up not being entirely true was “you can LAT-move after 2 years in your current MOS.”
Haha, yeah, that one didn’t hold up in the infantry. What he meant to say was, “Technically, according to the regulations, you could theoretically LAT-move after two years–but there’s no way in hell they’ll let you.”
Unfortunately, as far as relationships go, your relationship to the Marine Corps is probably going to be an abusive one. You will be Jenny, and the Marine Corps will be the alcoholic father you want desperately to fly away from some day.
The day you get your DD-214 is the day you move in with your grandmother.
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