With May, and the end of my four years as a Lieutenant in the Air Force, rapidly approaching I thought it would be somewhat appropriate to put together a collection of stories that have occurred over the past few years. Some of these stories happened to me, and some of them happened to others. Individuals appearing in the stories may to totally factual, or composites. Some punches will be pulled, while others will not. In the end, I hope this serves as a series of entertaining anecdotes, about a young Air Force officer, and a potential guide for those that follow.
With all that being said, enjoy the first installment.
Day One
“Oh, we were not expecting you, Ell-Tee.” The second person that I met from my new squadron, and first operational squadron after graduating from the United States Air Force Academy and earning a commission as Second Lieutenant (2d Lt) was our office secretary, Rob. It was 0705 on a Tuesday morning, and Rob had found me, in my Blues uniform standing awkwardly at the front door. To Rob, this newly minted 2d Lt’s discomfort was an obvious source of enjoyment, and he cackled as I explained why, on a day when everyone else on the base was dressed in their Airman Battle Uniform (ABU), I was at the office, a half hour early and in the wrong uniform.
I explained to Rob that my sponsor within the squadron had instructed me to be here at 0700, in Blues, to meet the commander. “Really?” the retired USAF NCO chuckled. “Well no,” I responded, “He told me to be here at 0700 in Service Dress, but I didn’t have all the ribbons and stuff yet.” This answer, combined with the fact that it was now 0710 and neither my sponsor or the commander were anywhere to be found, amused Rob significantly. “Did he also tell you that the commander comes in at 0730?”
Frustrated, and pissed at my less than reliable sponsor, a First Lieutenant (1st Lt) “G”, I responded “No, that slipped his mind, but he did instruct me to call him Sir.” This statement proved to be nearly too much for Rob as he threw his head back and started laughing, nearly hysterically, at my plight. After he managed to settle down, Rob set to work helping me get in-processed to Goodfellow Air Force Base and the 17th Contracting Squadron.
Just before 0730, my new commander, a soon to be Lieutenant Colonel (Lt Col), walked in to the front office. Seeing this stranger sitting in the office, in the wrong uniform, it took him a moment to process who I was and why I might be there as I stood up to greet him.
“Good morning, Sir,” I extended my hand, “I am Lieutenant Jacobson.”
Major Hamilton looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then glanced at Rob, “I wasn’t expecting you today, Ell-Tee.”
To be honest, I was not sure what the appropriate response to that comment was. I had orders in my binder, telling me to report by 0900 on this exact day, and instructions from a “superior” officer to show up at 0700. So I just started fumbling with my paperwork, attempting to pull out a copy of my Permanent Change of Station (PCS) orders to show the commander. Luckily for me, Rob jumped in to alleviate the awkward exchange.
“Lt G was supposed to let us know when he would be here.”
“Ah,” a slight nod of the Major’s head, “well come on in to my office and let’s get you situated.”
As my new commander started outlining his expectations of his young lieutenants, it started to really sink in that I had no idea what was getting myself into. The Air Force Academy had prepared me, on some level, to be a Company Grade Officer in a flying, maintenance, or security forces squadron, but Major Hamilton was throwing out words, phrases, and acronyms that I had never heard before. What I did take away from this brief, initial conversation with Major Hamilton was two things: I was going to be filling the position of “Deputy Flight Chief” in the Construction Flight, and that I had to learn my job, and I had to learn it fast. After numerous nods with accompanying “Yes, Sir” or “No, Sir”, an internal struggle on whether or not I should be taking notes (the internal answer was “too late now”), and a mental note that Lt G had not shown up, Major Hamilton dismissed me back to Rob to pick up some additional forms.
As I awkwardly walked out of the office, the Major called over his desk, “Hey, Lieutenant, why are you in blues?” At his desk near the door, Rob started his cackling anew.
The rest of the morning was a bit of a blur. Forms being signed and dropped off, more forms being picked up, checking in to lodging, getting my email address set up, and finally, being shown to my temporary desk, which was in the middle of the hallway. Within a few hours, nearly everyone in my new squadron swung by to greet me and invariably ask me about my choice of uniform. Everyone, that is, except my sponsor.
As it neared time to get lunch, I finally asked someone where Lt G sat. The building is not huge, and I had already been introduced to my flight at the end of the hallway, and shown where my desk was going to be after the current occupant PCS’d to Georgia. Lt G sat on the exact opposite side of the building, where I found him listening to country music and surrounded by a pile of six-part contract folders.
“Hey man,” I said quietly enough to keep the conversation within his cubicle, my displeasure at my day’s start showing through, “What the fuck?”
“Excuse me?” I can still see him, sitting there at his desk, acting indignant that I would have the gall to bother him, in his cubicle domain.
“What happened to ‘I’ll meet you at 0700’ and why the hell did you have me wear Blues?” In all honesty, the Blues thing didn’t bother me much. I had always been told that I would be expected to report to my first duty station in Blues. What pissed me off was being stood up for my first day in the Squadron. “Oh!” I suddenly remembered something from earlier that morning, “and why did the Commander seemed surprised to see me this morning?”
After mumbling out something about forgetting to set an alarm, or missing an alarm, and offering no explanation for the commander’s surprise, Lt G managed to at least, sort of apologize. As our brief conversation closed, and my frustrated ego was somewhat soothed, I turned to walk away.
“Lieutenant Jacobson,” Lt G called to me, just loudly enough to be heard over his own cubicle, “I know that we are very close in age, and in some respects, peers, but I am a First Lieutenant.”
“What’s your point?” I knew his point, but even this early in our short relationship, I knew what route I was probably going to be taking with this unreliable First Lieutenant.
“Well,” the arrogance practically dripped from this guy, “Around the troops, you should probably refer to me as ‘Sir.'”
“Noted,” I nodded slightly and turned away, rolling my eyes with an audible groan.
The rest of the day was consumed by trying to figure out just what USAF Contracting was all about, mostly by trying to read through the massive Federal Acquisition Regulations and its supplements. As the dry material made a valiant effort to seep into my brain, I started to wonder, for what felt like the millionth time that day alone, what I had gotten myself into.
I had, of course, chosen this particular career field for myself. It felt, however, that I may have chosen it for the wrong reasons. The only contracting personnel I had talked to before that day had not mentioned anything about the actual work entailed, which somehow escaped me as he talked about the deployment tempo and retention bonuses.
Now, not only was I confronted with an unfamiliar career field, but I had already started to deal with an unreliable peer. To top it all off, the Air Force Academy had prepared me to work with and lead Airmen and NCOs to a certain level. Looking around, however, it was dawning on me that about half the squadron was comprised of DoD civilians, which comes with a set of difficulties that nobody at the Air Force Academy had thought to tell me about before graduating.
I quit reading through the large volumes of Acquisition regulations with enough time to just check the meager contents of my new Air Force email address. The only emails of note were the Temporary Duty Assignment (TDY) for my Technical Training at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio, along with instructions on how to fill out the travel authorization and voucher, and an email saying my eight days of house-hunting leave started in the morning.
People started filtering out of the building, and my phone vibrated with a text, my Sponsor and his fiance were inviting me to dinner, and he would have told me before he left but he had to go pick her up from work. I sighed and started my short trek to Goodfellow’s temporary lodging facility next door to the squadron. Changing out of my Blues and into running attire, I strode out onto the road and jogged towards the base gym.
What have I gotten myself into?