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First off, howdy. I'm a regular browser of these forums but I figure I can pop my head out of my shell at least this once for a fireside story.
It's a bit of a wall of text, I did my best to space it out. Anyways, I begin my story like many others.
I walked into the recruiting center convinced of what I wanted. I had a conviction, a passion. I wanted to be Infantry. Nothing else would suffice. Indeed, even the thought of a separate trade evoked horrifying images of having to do something other than shoot a rifle. I was, of course, incredibly naive.
My interests have always been in electronics, but when it translated to what I wanted to do in the Military I could only think of the plethora of action movies with the idea of me being the heroine (edit: hero. Sort of. Just pretend you didn't read the word prior to this bracket) running around saving the world.. I was going to be Private Awesome, running around as a mean green (Red and White?) rifleman defeating terrorism, scoring (so to speak) and being back home in time for Christmas. Maybe Easter... I like eggs. So I applied as Infantry and Infantry alone.
Shortly thereafter I was sent along to the MEGA, full of pride and mettle. Although mettle is more or less a fill in for the empty spot in my head that was supposed to be housing common sense. Honestly I shouldn't have left so early. My mother is ill, my father is always at work and I have only one sibling I could ever rely on and, well, she was in school. The stress of training and the feeling of letting my family down became overbearing, and so within two short weeks of training I succumbed and began the long journey back home. Honestly it was my own lack of a backbone that stopped me more than anything.
This is usually the part where an individual smartens up and sets some priorities. But not me. I came home. I did my time back in the calm and generic town I call home. Partied with the friends, hung out and sat around. So when everything calmed down the Military reared it's awesome head at me and I reapplied.
Now what do you think this young aspiring genius did? Well obviously I applied for the same trade I did last time. I want to make it perfectly clear that I respect the Combat Arms. They have the hardest jobs physically, and in many cases mentally, in the Canadian Forces. So if I offend anyone, I apologize. I mean no disrespect.
But it's not my dig. (Yeah, I said 'not my dig'. I know, I'm totally gangster. And no, you can't unread that.)
I'm a bit of a computer nerd. I enjoy electronics, at any rate. So naturally I went to the one trade where I have a chance to deal with maybe a GPS or maybe drive a LAV, should that possibility arise. They took my application and the wheels began to turn. Soon I would in like flint.
Aaaand I waited. I have no issue with the recruiting centers speed of processing; I took it as an opportunity to get into better shape. I made damn sure I could exceed the EXPRESS test, and I prepared myself mentally. I set the alarm for 5, and I went to bed at 11. Well, most of the time anyway. Nothing beats sleeping in.
I couldn't fault the recruiting centers reluctance for getting me back in. I screwed up once, why should I get another shot? But I aced the interview and made it clear that I was not going to be a repeat. I even chatted it up with another fellow who had been to St. Jean 7 or so times. I admired his tenacity but I've always thought that legitimizing ones own failures by reflecting on anyone else doesn't leave you any better off, it just means you both screwed up. My preparation worked wonders. I got through everything with relative ease, I got stuff done. I mingled. Admittedly my tenure as course senior in week one was lackluster. I have vivid memories of the duty staff screaming into my face, but the blame for that laid squarely on my feet. (Everyone had insecure kit. I failed to ensure that while I worried about my own. Lesson learned.)
Other than that I had a clean run. A PO failure or two, but nothing I couldn't handle. I can say that the only low point was getting swiped because someone decided to use the washrooms a minute before inspection, and left a dirty paper towel in the toilet. (I was part of the glorious and elite bathroom cleaning team). But that was my bad for not keeping an eye on the bathroom. That low point went away quickly when my comrades offered support and helped me out. We came together as a team and got stuff done, and that was all that mattered. Not that everything was so pleasant but times can't always be good.
The Platoon was awesome. We had quite a bit of unrest in the beginning but we eventually came together. Quite a few truly epic punishment Pt's, but we knew that we deserved it so we stuck it through. We worked with our lazier individuals, helped the ones that wanted to be helped and usually waved goodbye the ones that couldn't be. Everyone helps everyone, and a few people simply couldn't grasp that if you wanted to be helped, you had to show some initiative. We can't help you simply because you're too lazy to do anything yourself. If you don't understand, we can teach you. If you don't want to understand, then we can't help you.
It was at the end of week 12 that I found myself injured. I somehow sprained my ankle on a patrol. One of those things where it started really mild, like an itch, until within a few hours any pressure on it elicited a yelp from yours truly.
Luckily I was allowed to continue with the Platoon as this injury happened very late in the week. I was given a cane and had the privilege of hobbling behind my platoon for all of grad week, until I got an ankle brace and could stomach putting pressure on it.
To my shame I did not get a chance to participate in the grad parade, despite a bid to do so when I was given the green light to at least walk without assistance from the MIR. I understood why; I definitely didn't have enough practice to be included. But I felt the need to at least ask.
And so after 14 grueling weeks, mixed with some truly awesome times, I graduated. Definitely the proudest moment of my life so far.
I headed home for the weekend, my proud parents enjoying the opportunity to have me around for at least a little while before I had to head off to jolly old Meaford. I remember the trip to Meaford from home. It was when I read the sign that said 'Home of the oldest continuous manufacturer of hardwood flooring' that made me realize I was in for some excitement.
I would like to pitch to anyone heading to the RCR, and conversely Meaford, to disregard everything everyone tells you when you arrive at PAT there. They will fill your head with horror stories to the point that when you actually see the staff you will make every conceivable effort to not ever be seen at any point. They are right on some counts. Being stuck in rooms with six or seven guys on ancient mattresses using plastic pillows certainly makes for an ominous first sleep.
It was in basic that I finally obtained a shred of common sense, and the ability to know what I wanted. I wanted to work with electronics. I definitely did not want to be Infantry. My previous facade that I was going to go be Private Amazing and ace every course disappeared faster than KFC through an average humans bowels. Add that to the still existing family issues and I found myself overloaded with a plate full of SNAFU.
So I made a memo. Which I gotta say, I have that memo format pretty good. At this point I'd have to glance at the sheet again but the only issue I ever have is writing it neatly. In it I stated that family issues had arisen again. My Grandmother was going through chemotherapy and it wasn't looking good. My mother couldn't get around. Dad was busy. Sister was at school. Brother is a story all of his own. Everything that I had squared away was once again springing out of the nice little box I had packed it into.
I also mentioned my lack of a desire to be Infantry. This was met with the usual skepticism of them thinking I was merely afraid of the training, when truly it was a complete and utter lack of a desire to be involved in it. I have every respect for anyone that does it, but I had lost my taste for it. Gone were my illusions of what the Combat Arms are all about. It was no fault of the CFRC, it was my fault for not thinking my decisions through. They heard where I was coming from, and I got some truly inspiring advice.
“Sort out your issues, leave and then reapply as a different trade. It'll be faster than an OT.”
Fair enough, thought I. I was the jerk that waited until after BMQ to suddenly decide I don't want to be Infantry.
I wasn't alone, of course. PAR (Personnel Awaiting Release) was a platoon filled with injured personnel, and similar people.
There was some good times and some very cool people. I can't say I enjoyed myself but I'm a sucker for punishment.
And so I spent about three months going through that process, and found myself where I am now.
It's still as generic and boring as I remember. Civi work is a drag. But, in the immortal words of one of my BMQ Staff; “Suffer in silence, you!”
So after some extremely boring months I reapplied. I am currently applying as NavComm, AC Op and NES Op. I spent most of my time pouring over the trades, reading these forums, figuring out what would fit me. But alas, I was again beset by my own mistakes.
I did end up acing the interview (again!) but I had to do some serious persuasion. Having done well in Basic helped but naturally they had to be sure I wouldn't do this all over again. Admittedly I found myself hard pressed to defend me. I can imagine what my interviewer was thinking, and I tried my best to get myself into his shoes. Would I allow this person back in? I mean, he's screwed us two times now. And he's not even in the Government.
In the end he gave me the green light. I'm eternally grateful; I can't say I would have been so accommodating. Well, I would now; but hind sight is 20/20.
So now I am on the merit list. Sort of.
They forgot to close my security clearance so as a civi for the past few months I've apparently had a level 2 security clearance. And because of a bit of a failure in communication the CFRC had no idea, and could only tell me that their was a hitch but for all other purposes I was on the merit list. After that I got the 'Call in a week if you don't hear from us' shindig. Again, not blaming them, it's merely a failure of communication. This is hardly the only organization to suffer from that. Not that I'm any professional on these matters, I can't fault a clerk I've never met and I'm sure they're extremely busy people. If anything it encourages me that at the very least the people getting checked for things of importance to this country are getting checked thoroughly.
So here I sit. Waiting for my security clearance to be erased and started over. Should be a few weeks, I'm told.
In the meantime I've found myself skiing and paint balling and such. And the Gym, naturally.
I've recently perfected my new Skiing trick, the 'Faceplant-Do-A-Barrel-Roll-And-Lose-The-Skiis' routine.
Anyways, thats my story, such as it stands.
If theres anything I've learned it's that most of the time you never really know what you want until your kicking yourself in the a$$.
It's a bit of a wall of text, I did my best to space it out. Anyways, I begin my story like many others.
I walked into the recruiting center convinced of what I wanted. I had a conviction, a passion. I wanted to be Infantry. Nothing else would suffice. Indeed, even the thought of a separate trade evoked horrifying images of having to do something other than shoot a rifle. I was, of course, incredibly naive.
My interests have always been in electronics, but when it translated to what I wanted to do in the Military I could only think of the plethora of action movies with the idea of me being the heroine (edit: hero. Sort of. Just pretend you didn't read the word prior to this bracket) running around saving the world.. I was going to be Private Awesome, running around as a mean green (Red and White?) rifleman defeating terrorism, scoring (so to speak) and being back home in time for Christmas. Maybe Easter... I like eggs. So I applied as Infantry and Infantry alone.
Shortly thereafter I was sent along to the MEGA, full of pride and mettle. Although mettle is more or less a fill in for the empty spot in my head that was supposed to be housing common sense. Honestly I shouldn't have left so early. My mother is ill, my father is always at work and I have only one sibling I could ever rely on and, well, she was in school. The stress of training and the feeling of letting my family down became overbearing, and so within two short weeks of training I succumbed and began the long journey back home. Honestly it was my own lack of a backbone that stopped me more than anything.
This is usually the part where an individual smartens up and sets some priorities. But not me. I came home. I did my time back in the calm and generic town I call home. Partied with the friends, hung out and sat around. So when everything calmed down the Military reared it's awesome head at me and I reapplied.
Now what do you think this young aspiring genius did? Well obviously I applied for the same trade I did last time. I want to make it perfectly clear that I respect the Combat Arms. They have the hardest jobs physically, and in many cases mentally, in the Canadian Forces. So if I offend anyone, I apologize. I mean no disrespect.
But it's not my dig. (Yeah, I said 'not my dig'. I know, I'm totally gangster. And no, you can't unread that.)
I'm a bit of a computer nerd. I enjoy electronics, at any rate. So naturally I went to the one trade where I have a chance to deal with maybe a GPS or maybe drive a LAV, should that possibility arise. They took my application and the wheels began to turn. Soon I would in like flint.
Aaaand I waited. I have no issue with the recruiting centers speed of processing; I took it as an opportunity to get into better shape. I made damn sure I could exceed the EXPRESS test, and I prepared myself mentally. I set the alarm for 5, and I went to bed at 11. Well, most of the time anyway. Nothing beats sleeping in.
I couldn't fault the recruiting centers reluctance for getting me back in. I screwed up once, why should I get another shot? But I aced the interview and made it clear that I was not going to be a repeat. I even chatted it up with another fellow who had been to St. Jean 7 or so times. I admired his tenacity but I've always thought that legitimizing ones own failures by reflecting on anyone else doesn't leave you any better off, it just means you both screwed up. My preparation worked wonders. I got through everything with relative ease, I got stuff done. I mingled. Admittedly my tenure as course senior in week one was lackluster. I have vivid memories of the duty staff screaming into my face, but the blame for that laid squarely on my feet. (Everyone had insecure kit. I failed to ensure that while I worried about my own. Lesson learned.)
Other than that I had a clean run. A PO failure or two, but nothing I couldn't handle. I can say that the only low point was getting swiped because someone decided to use the washrooms a minute before inspection, and left a dirty paper towel in the toilet. (I was part of the glorious and elite bathroom cleaning team). But that was my bad for not keeping an eye on the bathroom. That low point went away quickly when my comrades offered support and helped me out. We came together as a team and got stuff done, and that was all that mattered. Not that everything was so pleasant but times can't always be good.
The Platoon was awesome. We had quite a bit of unrest in the beginning but we eventually came together. Quite a few truly epic punishment Pt's, but we knew that we deserved it so we stuck it through. We worked with our lazier individuals, helped the ones that wanted to be helped and usually waved goodbye the ones that couldn't be. Everyone helps everyone, and a few people simply couldn't grasp that if you wanted to be helped, you had to show some initiative. We can't help you simply because you're too lazy to do anything yourself. If you don't understand, we can teach you. If you don't want to understand, then we can't help you.
It was at the end of week 12 that I found myself injured. I somehow sprained my ankle on a patrol. One of those things where it started really mild, like an itch, until within a few hours any pressure on it elicited a yelp from yours truly.
Luckily I was allowed to continue with the Platoon as this injury happened very late in the week. I was given a cane and had the privilege of hobbling behind my platoon for all of grad week, until I got an ankle brace and could stomach putting pressure on it.
To my shame I did not get a chance to participate in the grad parade, despite a bid to do so when I was given the green light to at least walk without assistance from the MIR. I understood why; I definitely didn't have enough practice to be included. But I felt the need to at least ask.
And so after 14 grueling weeks, mixed with some truly awesome times, I graduated. Definitely the proudest moment of my life so far.
I headed home for the weekend, my proud parents enjoying the opportunity to have me around for at least a little while before I had to head off to jolly old Meaford. I remember the trip to Meaford from home. It was when I read the sign that said 'Home of the oldest continuous manufacturer of hardwood flooring' that made me realize I was in for some excitement.
I would like to pitch to anyone heading to the RCR, and conversely Meaford, to disregard everything everyone tells you when you arrive at PAT there. They will fill your head with horror stories to the point that when you actually see the staff you will make every conceivable effort to not ever be seen at any point. They are right on some counts. Being stuck in rooms with six or seven guys on ancient mattresses using plastic pillows certainly makes for an ominous first sleep.
It was in basic that I finally obtained a shred of common sense, and the ability to know what I wanted. I wanted to work with electronics. I definitely did not want to be Infantry. My previous facade that I was going to go be Private Amazing and ace every course disappeared faster than KFC through an average humans bowels. Add that to the still existing family issues and I found myself overloaded with a plate full of SNAFU.
So I made a memo. Which I gotta say, I have that memo format pretty good. At this point I'd have to glance at the sheet again but the only issue I ever have is writing it neatly. In it I stated that family issues had arisen again. My Grandmother was going through chemotherapy and it wasn't looking good. My mother couldn't get around. Dad was busy. Sister was at school. Brother is a story all of his own. Everything that I had squared away was once again springing out of the nice little box I had packed it into.
I also mentioned my lack of a desire to be Infantry. This was met with the usual skepticism of them thinking I was merely afraid of the training, when truly it was a complete and utter lack of a desire to be involved in it. I have every respect for anyone that does it, but I had lost my taste for it. Gone were my illusions of what the Combat Arms are all about. It was no fault of the CFRC, it was my fault for not thinking my decisions through. They heard where I was coming from, and I got some truly inspiring advice.
“Sort out your issues, leave and then reapply as a different trade. It'll be faster than an OT.”
Fair enough, thought I. I was the jerk that waited until after BMQ to suddenly decide I don't want to be Infantry.
I wasn't alone, of course. PAR (Personnel Awaiting Release) was a platoon filled with injured personnel, and similar people.
There was some good times and some very cool people. I can't say I enjoyed myself but I'm a sucker for punishment.
And so I spent about three months going through that process, and found myself where I am now.
It's still as generic and boring as I remember. Civi work is a drag. But, in the immortal words of one of my BMQ Staff; “Suffer in silence, you!”
So after some extremely boring months I reapplied. I am currently applying as NavComm, AC Op and NES Op. I spent most of my time pouring over the trades, reading these forums, figuring out what would fit me. But alas, I was again beset by my own mistakes.
I did end up acing the interview (again!) but I had to do some serious persuasion. Having done well in Basic helped but naturally they had to be sure I wouldn't do this all over again. Admittedly I found myself hard pressed to defend me. I can imagine what my interviewer was thinking, and I tried my best to get myself into his shoes. Would I allow this person back in? I mean, he's screwed us two times now. And he's not even in the Government.
In the end he gave me the green light. I'm eternally grateful; I can't say I would have been so accommodating. Well, I would now; but hind sight is 20/20.
So now I am on the merit list. Sort of.
They forgot to close my security clearance so as a civi for the past few months I've apparently had a level 2 security clearance. And because of a bit of a failure in communication the CFRC had no idea, and could only tell me that their was a hitch but for all other purposes I was on the merit list. After that I got the 'Call in a week if you don't hear from us' shindig. Again, not blaming them, it's merely a failure of communication. This is hardly the only organization to suffer from that. Not that I'm any professional on these matters, I can't fault a clerk I've never met and I'm sure they're extremely busy people. If anything it encourages me that at the very least the people getting checked for things of importance to this country are getting checked thoroughly.
So here I sit. Waiting for my security clearance to be erased and started over. Should be a few weeks, I'm told.
In the meantime I've found myself skiing and paint balling and such. And the Gym, naturally.
I've recently perfected my new Skiing trick, the 'Faceplant-Do-A-Barrel-Roll-And-Lose-The-Skiis' routine.
Anyways, thats my story, such as it stands.
If theres anything I've learned it's that most of the time you never really know what you want until your kicking yourself in the a$$.
iper:
