Death by PowerPoint and hard lessons…

Friends,

Okay, it wasn’t death by PowerPoint. It was death by an overhead projector. Did PowerPoint exist back in 1999? I’m not sure. I remember being selected to run the overhead projector one day. I had to flip the plastic sheets every time the drill sergeant nodded in my direction.

Let me tell you, there’s nothing worse than getting selected for that job. You had to pay attention to what was on the screen and watch the drill sergeants’ pace around the room. Miss the small nod of their head to change the sheet and face the consequences.

I never knew where to look or what to pay attention to.

Military rank and customs were the topics of the class. A long tradition of where to stand, how to address higher ranking officials, and rank. The army is nothing without its rank.

I was a nobody at the time. The collars of my uniform were smooth as silk. What I wouldn’t have given to have E-2 mosquito wings. There were a few in my platoon that were E-3s and E-4s because of college or ROTC. They were gods.

That rank on their collar meant they belonged.

Looking back, they were just as lost as me, just with a little more education and life experience. But at the time, I didn’t know that. They were chosen to stand in front of the platoon as platoon sergeants or selected as squad leaders.

A job I didn’t want. Too much pressure. I was getting into enough trouble without adding more responsibilities. I don’t really remember why I was switched out with so many ‘battle buddies,’ but the drill sergeants felt sorry for whoever got selected to hang out with me for the week.

I smiled too much. Laughed too loudly. Made jokes. I was having the time of my life. I knew when to wake up, what uniform to wear, what time to be somewhere. Except for all the damn running, I was in my element. Not much could phase me.

That was my first mistake.

In basic, you are not allowed to have a personality. At least not the females. I had a host of strong female leaders who fought tooth and nail to get to where they were. In their world, being friendly meant not being taken seriously. It meant you were sleeping with someone. Let’s call a spade a spade. No reason to pretend it wasn’t that way. No matter how much it hurts to hear.

Females were second-class citizens who had to prove themselves daily to be accepted. I’m not sure that’s how they felt; I can’t speak for them. But that was the harsh truth they drilled into us females. At least, that’s the lesson I learned.

Because they tore my personality to shreds and built a new version of me.

I don’t hate them for it. I appreciate that they took the time to do it. It was another one of many lessons I would have to learn over the years. Boobs meant that you were dumber, slower, and not worthy of the title soldier.

Two weeks of classroom instruction taught me a lot. How to read a map. How to dig a foxhole. What movements were effective in what environment.

And how not to talk.

Gone were the days of telling stories and making sarcastic remarks. If I said anything, not only did I have the drill sergeants on my ass, but a host of males rolled their eyes at me. I think that’s when I first learned that there was always a dark part of the room. If you stood in it, people forgot you existed.

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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