Well, some of you know who I am. Some of you even know I’m in the Navy. Most more likely associate me with Texas A&M.
Our Ship, the good ship Bunker Hill is going into the shipyards for some plastic surgery shortly. For those of us hard-chargers who live on ship, our barracks rooms won’t be ready for a few weeks, so we get to a Berthing Barge. yay!
The Actual accomadations aren’t that bad. It’s clean, has tile floors, the whole nine yards. The problem, however, is the sudden and drastic change of who my Division is berthed with.
I’m a CTM3, a cryppie. We’re as a whole, cryppies are fairly bright. Sure, cryppies can be just as loud and assholish as the next sailor, we’re sailors first after all, but mostly we’re quieter and tackle such problems in our free time as “Who’d win in a fight, the First Ones or the Galactic Empire”
Well, our Division got moved around a bit, and we’re sharing a berthing area with…deck division. If us and Operations are the “smartest 10% (based on ASVB cores)” in the navy, Deck is somewhere down the list. Or they can only pull that or Mess Specialist because of a the apporxmiatly 1 million waivers they had to get in order to sign up. These are the swabbies and paintchippers you see. Not that I haven’t down my own fair share of swabbing.
On my little asle we have 6 racks. 5 undesignated seamen, one CTM3 (Petty Officer 3rd class). The reasoning being that, since I’m the most senior I can control and enfore them. Yeah, sounds like a plan, Pffffpt.
These yokels seem to enjoy staying up at all hours talking loudly, playing their music (with earphones on!) so loudly I can make out the lyrics with alarming clarity, and generally seeing how “Stereotypical black” they can be. Perhaps not surprisingly, the black guys in my Division aren’t quite like that.
Well, since these idiots like to stay up all night, they have a tendency to sleep in until approximately 15 minutes before muster. At that point I’m probably in my space waiting for morning muster. As a result, they don’t pick up their crap they leave lying around the area. Or maybe they wouldn’t pick it up if they had plenty of time, I don’t know.
As I said, we’re going into the yards soon. Today we had a safety standdown so the command could go over Yard work safety. A nice, short Friday, we should have been outta there by 1100. Of course, the Captain (well within his rights) took a stroll through our berthing area.
Guess Fucking what.
We got a big downcheck. After lunch everyone went over to clean up berthing. I had to stay in my space because there’s sensitive equipment/information/chairs in there and someone who knew the machines had to watch a contractor. I finally mosey on over at 1345 or so. (lunch having ended at 1230)
This idiots are staying bullshitting about “Hitting it”, while they’re crap is strewn about the asile. My rack’s linen is so tight you could bounce a quarter on it (possibly because of my Cadet days). Theirs looks like a homeless guys slept in damn near all of them. I start tearing into them to do something about it. I’m not a very impressice figure, short, with a speach impediment, and a George Costanzaesque physique and hairline. But, by God, I’m a petty officer and I need to get these goat-felching asses moving.
Said goat-felching asses could care less what I think. I have to dick around with finding a PO1, then he has to dick around getting a CPO to come over and make them work.
We didn’t get released until 1700 today. My rage burns.
