My freshly shaven head was resting on my crossed arms as I sat on a chair behind a desk in the middle of an empty room. I’m so friggin’ tired, I thought as I sat there trying to catch a few minutes of sleep. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I probably should have thought this through a bit more before deciding to sign the dotted line. Oh well, time for a new adventure in life.

Just a few hours ago, I had been riding on a bus in the middle of the night. We crossed over a bridge and passed through a gate with a sign off to the side that read “Welcome to Parris Island.” Our bus pulled up to a stop in front of a brightly lit building just after midnight. Just outside the bus were hundreds of yellow footprints on the ground. The door to the bus opened. Here we go, I thought. I had seen it a hundred times in the movies and heard about this very moment from friends and family. Out of nowhere, a tall, muscular Marine dressed in a crisp tan shirt and green trousers stepped onto the bus. The minute he opened his mouth, he did nothing but scream at us at the top of his lungs. It was utter chaos as we all tried to follow his instructions and carry them out as fast as possible. As time went on and night turned to day, more drill instructors came out to yell at us and drive us mad.

Shortly after they gave us what they called breakfast, a frozen Jimmy Dean meal, we were taken to a receiving area where we had to fill out paperwork. The drill instructors had ordered us to sit at desks that reminded me of those we used back in high school. Once we were all seated, backs straight and eyes forward, they told us we were to put our heads down and lie there until our name was called. Since my last name started with a T, I lay there for what seemed like an eternity. The only thing that kept me sane was a television mounted on the wall blaring in the background. It gave me a sense of normalcy in all the chaos.

I must have had my head down for at least an hour before I heard a commotion coming from the television. I dared to look up, trying not to let the drill instructors see me. On the screen I saw a very familiar skyscraper with smoke spewing from its side. One of the drill instructors began to turn his head in my direction, so I quickly put my head back in my arms. Why did that tower look so familiar? I thought. And then it hit me. Having lived in the New York metropolitan area for most of my life, I had been to the top of that tower numerous times. It was one of the Twin Towers. But why the hell was it on fire? Before I could think of it further, my name was called. I stood up and made my way to into another room to fill out some paperwork.

As I was filling out some documents, I noticed that a lot of the active-duty Marines in the administrative office I was in were talking hurriedly but in hushed voices. I didn’t think much of it because I figured they were probably talking like that so we couldn’t hear anything.

After I answered a few questions that another Marine was asking me, I was taken into another room where the recruits were being held. None of us spoke, not because we didn’t want to talk but more out of fear of having the drill instructors come in and put us through hell again. Another thirty minutes passed, and a drill instructor finally entered the room.

“Recruits, get your asses up and make your way through the hatch to my right. Once you get into the room, stand at attention until I tell you to do otherwise,” yelled the drill instructor in a raspy voice. We slowly began to rise to our feet, but apparently it wasn’t fast enough.

“Oh, you want to play games. OK, good to go. Sit back down!” yelled the drill instructor, his Smokey the Bear hat bobbing as he yelled at us.

We began to sit on the ground. “OK, stand back up!” he yelled. I wasn’t even halfway into the sitting position, so I stopped myself and began standing up. We stood up and sat down about fifteen or twenty more times until the drill instructor figured we got the point.

When we entered the room, we all stood at attention. However, the room was small, and with over two hundred men in the group, standing at attention without getting in the way of another guy was difficult. A few moments later, a short, stocky drill instructor entered and told us to sit down. We all immediately dropped into an Indian-style sitting position. There was no way were going to go slow this time around.

The drill instructor moved to the front of the room so we could all see him. His eyes scanned the room as he began to speak. “Recruits,” he said in the familiar, raspy drill instructor voice, “a terrible tragedy has befallen our beloved country.” Surprisingly, he wasn’t yelling at us as we had become accustomed to.

“At approximately zero eight forty-six this morning, a plane was hijacked and flown into one of the World Trade Center. Approximately a half and hour later, another plane was hijacked and crashed into the other tower.” My jaw dropped, as did many others. What the fuck is happening? I thought. It had to be some sort of joke the drill instructors were playing with us. And suddenly it hit me. I remembered the image of the tower burning on the television.

“Recruits, our country has been attacked by terrorists. They have invaded our soil and brought death upon our citizens. This is what you all signed up for. When you complete boot camp, you will be United States Marines. Marines’ sole purpose is to train for war and destroy the enemy. As you go through training, take this shit seriously because you all are going to be downrange fighting these fucking terrorists. Do you understand me?” he said, still with a calm voice.

“Sir, yes sir!” we yelled in unison.

“No, I said, do you understand me?” This time he raised his voice, which was an indication that we had better yell even louder.

“Sir, yes sir!” we yelled, this time a bit louder.

“Very well, carry on.” As he left the room, the other drill instructors who had been standing off to the side began yelling in unison, making us stand up and sit down over and over again before finally leading us out of the room.

That night, my mind couldn’t stop going. A month prior to leaving for boot camp, my recruiter asked me what I wanted to do for a job in the Marine Corps. I had scored very high on the ASVAB, a standardized military test, so I was able to pick anything I wanted. I scanned through the list of jobs, and one particular job really piqued my interest: crypto linguist. The recruiter told me that a spot wasn’t currently available. I had two choices: I could either wait until the following year when a guaranteed spot opened, or I could go with an open contract and hope for the best. I didn’t really want to wait another year, so I asked his opinion about my chances of being a crypto linguist if I went in with an open contract. He assured me that since I had scored so high, I was very likely to get it. I should have known better. Recruiters only tell you want you want to hear.

A week later, we were finally introduced to our permanent drill instructors, who would be putting us through hell for the remaining twelve weeks. After yelling and playing mind-fuck games with us for a few hours, they took us into our senior drill instructor’s room to go over administrative details.

When my name was called, I ran to the drill instructor’s office and stood just outside the door with my left shoulder to the wall. About shoulder level there was a yellow handprint on the wall. Any time we wanted to talk to any of the drill instructors who were in the office, we had to stand outside of the door at attention, slam our hand as hard as possible against the yellow handprint, and announce ourselves.

I slammed the handprint three times. “Sir, Recruit Tanner requests permission to speak with the senior drill instructor, sir!” I yelled, referring to myself in the third person because we were not allowed to refer to ourselves any other way.

“Get in here, Tanner!” the senior drill instructor yelled.

I quickly entered the room and stood at attention on top of the yellow footprints that were in front of his desk. My senior drill instructor was a short, muscular guy with a permanent scowl on his face. He looked as if he had been to hell and back and beaten the crap out of anyone in his path.

“Tanner, I’m going through your file, and it says you went to college. Is that right?” he said, this time not yelling.

“Sir, yes sir!” I responded.

“How many years did you go to college?”

“Sir, three years, sir!”

“And why the hell did you leave college? You couldn’t hack it?” he said mockingly.

“Sir, no sir!” I yelled, frustrated because I knew he was trying to incite me.

“So you couldn’t hack it then?”

“Sir, Recruit Tanner could hack it. Recruit Tanner just wanted a new adventure, sir!” I said.

“Oh, so you think this is some sort of vacation, Tanner?” He voice was starting to rise and there seemed to be a hint of anger.

“Sir, no sir! Recruit Tanner just wanted to do something other than go to school, sir!” I was trying my best to explain myself without pissing him off more.

“Good to go, Tanner. Since you’re a college boy, you’re gonna be my scribe. You understand me?” he said, calming down a bit.

“Sir, yes sir!”

“It looks like you signed an open contract, Tanner. You know what that means, right?” he said with a grin slowly creeping across his face.

“Sir, no sir!” I responded.

“Tanner, it means that you’re a dumbass. Some friggin’ recruiter took you for a sucker. What did the recruiter tell you that your MOS was going to be?” he asked.

“Sir, the recruiter told me I had a chance at being a crypto linguist, sir!” I responded, concern starting to creep into my voice.

“Tanner, you really are stupid, aren’t you? Maybe I shouldn’t make you my scribe. Your recruiter is a fuckin’ genius. He got you to sign an open contract, and now you’re gonna do whatever my beloved Marine Corps wants you to do. In fact, with all that’s going on, I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be an oh-three-eleven. You’re going to the infantry to be a grunt. Your ass is gonna be on the front line, killing the motherfuckers that dared to spill American blood on our turf. That’s some good shit, Tanner. I think I’m gonna make your college ass my scribe after all.”

“Sir, yes sir!” I said trying to comprehend everything he had just thrown at me.

“You have anything else for me, Tanner?” he asked, sounding as if he was trying to end the conversation.

“Sir, no sir!”

“Then get the fuck out of my office!” he yelled.

“Sir, yes sir!” As was custom in boot camp, I had to request permission to leave. “Sir, Recruit Tanner requesting permission to leave, sir!”

“Tanner, get the fuck out of my office now!”

“Sir, yes sir!” I yelled. I did an about-face and marched out of his room.

I didn’t have much time that day to think about the conversation I had had with my senior drill instructor. We were too busy getting harassed by the other drill instructors to have time to think. However, once nighttime finally came and the lights were off, I lay in my top bunk bed, and reality began to sink in.

I’m going to be a grunt, I thought. Never saw that happening. But there was no use worrying about it. What was done was done, and all I could do was make the best of it. After a couple minutes of worrying, I began to calm down and realized that it wasn’t so bad after all. One of the reasons I had joined was for some type of adventure, so being an infantryman was sure to bring adventure.

As the night wore on, I began to embrace the fact I was going to be in the infantry. I began to think of all the things that were in store for me. Training, exercises, infantry school, deployments, and the possibility of going to war. War, though, didn’t seem like a certainty. We were already being told that we were invading Afghanistan to beat the living shit out of the terrorists who had attacked us. By the time I was done with training, the war would most likely be over, and we’d go back to regular deployments.

Oh well, I thought as I began to close my eyes to get some sleep. Maybe I won’t go to war. Hopefully I’ll get to do something exciting while I’m in the infantry.