One of the unique problems modern military members face is the utter partition between themselves and the regular public. While headlines about progress in the Global War on Terrorism may dominate the news, the fact is the amount of Americans serving in the military is at one of its lowest numbers in the last 50 years. That, combined with the closure of many installations, has created a natural division in the relationship between the public and military personnel through lack of daily contact.
I’m not insinuating that there isn’t a great deal of support for our troops out there, it’s just that it seems all you have to do is slap a yellow ribbon on your SUV to be “down” with the military these days. Our nation has become comfortable with simply getting their knowledge of military culture from asinine movies like The Hurt Locker, and overly dramatic shows like Army Wives. I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking, “Chewy, you just think those titles suck because you’re a Marine.” Wrong! I’ve contacted a number of individuals who are in the Army to use as a variable in my assessment of those mentioned productions. My conclusion is that Army Soldiers hate those shows worse than Marines do, because they actually have to share the same uniform with those fictional fuckwads.
The disconnection comes from both sides of the aisle. Billy Bob NASCAR Dad loves the troops because of his large collection of Tom Clancy novels and his Rambo box set on Blue-Ray. He doesn’t really know anything about how the average Marine or Soldier operates in country, but he sure as shit can love you based off of his perverted obsession with tough guy stories.
Now, if you grew up where I did, you’re more likely to run into the Norwegian Nerd Boy. They usually wear thick brimmed glasses, scarves, corduroy, and will only watch films that fall under the indie genre. Billy Bob NASCAR Dad is just a dumb ass, but the Norwegian Nerd Boy is worse; he has a liberal arts degree from a private university. While Billy Bob NASCAR Dad has an unvarying—and often unhealthy—erection for the troops, Norwegian Nerd Boy sealed his view of the military the day he went off to college and developed a same-sex crush for his humanities professor. I actually heard this from one of these guys before:
“I kind of lost all respect for Marines after that one guy threw that puppy off the cliff.”
Yes. This is what goes through the garbage infested brains of these semi-educated elitists. With that mentality, I suppose I should quit watching the NFL because of what Michael Vick did. But I won’t, because that would be un-American, as un-American as disliking Marines. We’re ignoring the bigger problem, though. The real issue is that this guy was quick to condemn my people because of one bored asshole who threw Fido off a cliff, but I guarantee you he never blinks an eye when he opens up his New York Times and sees that another American service-member has been killed in some unpronounceable region in Iraq or Afghanistan. Who wants to bet this bastard was that kid in high school that still pulled his pants all the way down when he peed in the urinal?
These kinds of run-ins might be comical if it wasn’t for the fact that they can become awfully exasperating after a while. When I took my first leave back home after boot-camp, I was thrilled at the prospects of showing the world that I was a United States Marine. But over the years, countless encounters with ridiculous people in my hometown caused me to hide my Mariness in order to avoid getting into conversions with people that actually made Iraq a more comfortable thought than home.
The encounters I had with certain types of human, never even allotted me the opportunity to educate them on their ridiculous perception of the modern military. While I am a very proud Marine, these individuals caused me to hide my service at all costs in order to avoid listening to their absurd ramblings about the subject. I have listed the worst type of offenders, a guide I’d like to call, “Chewy’s Avoidance Directory.”
The Be All You Can Be Suburban Dad: Do not tell this man you’re a Marine. The first thing he will say to you is, “Marines, huh? I thought about doing that once.” My response would be, “Well, I guess that pretty much makes us brothers, doesn’t it?”
He hasn’t served a day in his life, but he loves the stereotypical Jarhead haircut, and he wears it proudly. Weighing in at 280 lbs, this man has close to every single war book in print. Don’t bother telling him a combat story in the hopes he will understand modern warfare and its problems, because will often narrate the horrors of combat back to you from his extensive familiarity with Stephen Ambrose.
For The Be All You Can Be Suburban Dad, his grandfather’s wartime service is good enough for him to engage you in conversation about the tactics, weaponry, and life of a Marine in the field. He will often boast of his personal weapons and how they are far superior to the government issued stuff. When he’s not kicking major butt at his job as a CPA, he’s laying down hellish lead at paper targets with his personal rifle that he has spent thousands of dollars customizing, but will sadly never get to use on a home invader.
He analyzes movies like Blackhawk Down, Platoon, and Saving Private Ryan, while he thinks about how he would have done things differently if he was in charge. Then he will retreat to his den in the basement of his home where he will cry to himself all night because his wife has left him for his boss, his teenage son wears black makeup, and his paintball club has replaced him with a younger and more agile player.
The Bleeding Heart Victimizer: People who grew up in cities like Seattle, Eugene, Austin, Minneapolis, Madison, or Cambridge, often run into people who not only hate American foreign policy, but genuinely hate the troops too. It may be hard to believe, but there are a lot of people out there that feel this way. This may offend many of my veteran friends, but I can deal with these people because they have the audacity to be honest about it. What I can’t deal with is The Bleeding Heart Victimizer.
This individual hates the war, but takes a maternal pity on you like you were their baby who just got lured into a van by a creepy man (Uncle Sam). I’d rather be called a baby killer by Jane Fonda than be looked at as a senseless idiot who got duped by a deceptive recruiting machine. At least Hanoi Jane understood that the troops knew what they were doing when they enlisted, unlike others who think of us as slack jawed mouth-breathers who are incapable of making pragmatic decisions.
The majority of Marines I’ve known are neither violent blood thirsty myrmidons, nor are they semi-retarded short bus aficionados. They’re regular people who joined the Marine Corps because they wanted to serve their country, and yes, kill bad people too.
What the Bleeding Heart Victimizer wants to do is treat us like innocents caught up in a war we didn’t realize was going on. This is an actual conversation I had with one of these people when she spotted my tattoo:
BHV: “You were in the Marine Corps? Did you serve in Iraq?”
Chewy: “Yes.”
The BHV lowers her head and shakes it.
BHV: “I’m sorry.”
Chewy: “Why?”
BHV: “I think it’s such a shame how they make you boys go over there for Bush’s war.”
Chewy: “I volunteered.”
BHV: “Only after your recruiters lied to you.”
Chewy: “But I volunteered…I wanted to join. It only took me like…five minutes to do the paperwork. I wanted it.”
BHV: “You’re just a child; you don’t understand what you’re doing.”
Chewy: “I’m twenty.”
BHV: “Well, what are you going to do after the service?”
Chewy: “I dunno…I’ll probably continue to contribute to the machine somehow…”
BHV: “Excuse me?”
Chewy: “…or maybe I could join a commune in Texas and learn to play the guitar while I develop an unhealthy religious following.”
BHV: “Please don’t patronize me.”
Chewy: “Please don’t make me contemplate suicide.”
The Alpha-Sigma-Sigma Soldier: Every time I went home after a deployment, I made a visit to a few friends of mines college campuses. And every time I visited, just wanting a fun weekend, I ran into the ASS Soldier. He is the epitome of a collegiate imbecile. He has an annoying goatee, usually wears the latest witty t-shirt, and thinks his constant drunkenness is what makes him a man. I know that half of my stories involve Marines being unreasonably intoxicated, but they do it because it becomes a coping mechanism for their daily woes and stresses—kind of like Winston Churchill. The ASS Soldier drinks alcohol as a sophomoric badge of honor instead. He’s obnoxious about it, and has no qualms about making a game of it—kind of like Oakland Raiders fans.
I learned to avoid these guys like the plague. I made the mistake of telling one that I was a Marine once, and it went something like this, “Ah bra…if I was over there I’d be wastin’ motherfuckers!”Ah bra, you make me hate my generation.
He may be king shit in his frat house, but guys I’ve known in the Marine Corps salivate at the chance to physically and mentally devour tools like this. You see, we didn’t pay for our brotherhood for one–unless you count inconceivable misery as payment–, and two, we don’t judge each other off of false machismo meant to impress whorish groupies with daddy issues. Rather, we judge our fellows based off of performance in real situations. ASS Soldier’s justification for partying is because he had a rough semester with professors who were less than understanding towards his lack of motivation. Marines party because they had a rough deployment in Iraq and their Platoon Sergeant called them “fucktard” on an hourly basis, followed up by the famous, “Shut the fuck up and put your gear on…Alpha Company is taking fire on route Tampa.”
I don’t hate college students, because education is key to a successful and prosperous nation, and many Marines will attain degrees themselves after their service is up. It’s just that a lot of college age males don’t understand their place in post 9/11 America. If you’re going to make outrageous claims about your yearning to go out and kill America’s enemies, you better make sure to do it towards someone who will buy that trash, and not towards Marine fresh off of a combat deployment.
The offensive bravado of frat house America would be laughable if it wasn’t for the fact that I personally know quite a few current and former Marines who have, and wait to, destroy the egos of these mannish imposters.
The ASS Soldier is a barnyard chickenhawk that will undoubtedly hold a house seat one day, giving him the great power to send better men than him to fight and die.
J. Mandaville