A deal with the devil…

Friends,

My dad took me to the recruiters.

He served in the Navy. 20 years. Can you imagine being on a boat for 20 years? I got to tell you- he was a hell of a deep-sea fisherman. I don’t really remember him being around much when I was a kid. If you think the Army is bad when at war, you should check out how often the Navy leaves.

Hell, my family has more veterans than I can count. It’s just what we do. And to make it worse, they all were great at their jobs. In some cases, famous. Like mentioned in history books or articles written about them.

No pressure.

When I graduated from high school, I was sent off to college to get a higher education. A small Christian college in nowhere Oregon. I don’t remember much about it. Other than that, I didn’t fit in. Everyone knew what they were doing with their lives. What their degree plans were. What their futures were going to look like.

Not me.

Don’t get me wrong. I had dreams. Own a bookstore. Become a chef. Maybe major in history. The world was my oyster. But as with any military brat, it was drilled into me that dreams are not achievable. They are fleeting and impractical.

A belief that still holds true today.

I didn’t last long at Western Baptist. I was on the verge of being kicked out for not attending enough Bible studies or mandatory Sunday services. I was combative in the classroom because I didn’t agree with the theology. And I worked. Long hours at the local Arby’s, and that was a no-no. Everyone had to be in their dorms by 9:45 p.m. A very inconvenient rule when you work until closing.

So, after a one-sided conversation with the Dean about my lack of discipline, I chose not to return after the Christmas break.

I might have forgotten to tell my parents.

They figured it out soon enough, and in my memories, I was banished to the couch. They had already transformed my room into a study or something, besides what parent wants to acknowledge they have a college dropout living at home.

At first, they were disappointed but understanding. But I might have gone a little crazy. What 18-year-olds don’t go a little crazy when they’re trying to find themselves? Remember, my father was in the military, and my mother was a military brat/military wife. We don’t do crazy.

The next six months were not my greatest. I got jobs. Quit jobs. Learned about strawberry wine. Spent countless hours at Denny’s drinking coffee and eating seasoned fries with ranch dressing. Complained about my parents. Cursed the government. Laughed at the fools who went to college.

I did everything but come up with a plan.

Needless to say, my parents hit their wall with my shenanigans, and I was given an ultimatum- get out or join the military.

Military it was.

My father took me. I remember it was in a shopping complex, a long hall with each branch on either side. Posters lined each side with happy-go-lucky service members smiling for the camera. This was the 90’s. People had forgotten war’s brutality, and instead, the military looked like one big frat party. Sign me up.

I was originally interested in the Coast Guard. You know, become a pirate. Their uniforms were cool, and their physical requirements weren’t outrageous. I was skinny but not physically fit. It seemed like an ideal fit. I don’t remember why I didn’t join their ranks. I have said it was because they were out to lunch at 9:45 a.m. But I really don’t remember.

The Marines looked good for a moment. Until they told me I had to run three miles in 18 minutes. I left the office quickly.

Then there was the Army. Cool uniforms. P.T. test seemed reasonable. And they had job openings. Hell, even the poster of Uncle Sam was pressuring me to join. ‘Be All You Can Be… In The Army.’ Catchy slogan. My recruiter was male. He took me and someone else to lunch the next day. He seemed genuinely interested in what I could do. It was a first for me. He said I was worthy. He said that the Army would be lucky to have someone like me.

In other words, he played into my insecurities. Well done, nameless recruiter. Well done.

I signed up. Now, I’ve told this story so many times that I think it’s true. Or, knowing me, I may have tweaked reality a bit to make the story funnier. But I do remember a video of a hovercraft storming the beaches of California. People jumping out with weapons, covered in camouflage, and ready to take over Disneyland.

The recruiter told me they were 88Ms. What’s an 88M? Not a beach storming badass, I can tell you that. It is a Motor Transportation Operator.

A truck driver.

Logistics to be more accurate. But I didn’t know that. I just knew what was on the video and what my recruiter told me. Plus, I could leave in a few weeks. Words that sang to my father. He was ready for me to get my ass out of the house.

So, I signed the papers. Took the test. Weighed in. And was shipped to Seattle for the physical. They even put me in a hotel for the night. Honestly, I don’t remember much about it except that I had to do a duck walk. And the USO had a snack table.

A week later, I was back for shots, paperwork, and a swearing-in. Maybe the swearing-in was the first time I went to the Seattle office? But there’s a picture of me standing somewhere, wearing an Army t-shirt, with my hand raised and a smile on my face.

I was on my way to my first great adventure.

Until tomorrow, my friends- Keep Reading and Stay Caffeinated.

If tales of legend, myth, and fantasy topped with a cup of coffee interest you, I suggest checking out my book, The Writer and the Librarian. It’s a historical fantasy about a middle-aged woman faced with a decision: accept what is written in the history books or find out for herself the truth behind the stories. Limited edition copies are now available on my website (Shop – R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author (rlgeerrobbins.com) or at

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