“I see your patch,” the Colonel said, foregoing any formal greeting of any kind. He had zeroed into the two-inch stitch of cloth announcing my status as a basic free-fall parachutist as he ushered me into his office from the waiting room, “can I take it that you are an Academy grad?”
“Yes sir,” I responded, taken a bit off guard. I thought I was supposed to do some sort of reporting statement when I had been ordered to the Colonel’s office, but he seemed to have breezed right over it and launched into the meeting.
The Colonel motioned to a chair at his meeting table as his deputy followed us in and closed the door behind him. I took a seat at the table, and the Mission Support Group Commander sat across from me with his deputy at his side.
Less than a week prior, I had returned to Goodfellow Air Force Base from my initial Contracting Officer’s course at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. Waiting for me in my email inbox was a meeting request from the Colonel’s secretary with a tag line that simply read “The Colonel would like to meet with you.”
I had a small voice of apprehension that plagued me whenever I thought about the meeting in the three days prior to its appointed time. Part of the apprehension came from wanting to present a good image, it was the first time I was meeting the Colonel after all. The other part came from an instinct honed during my time at the Academy. When a high-ranking officer wanted to see someone, and it was good, the invitation was filled with specifics:
“Please come to my office so that we can discuss the excellent work you did in your chemistry lab.”
Or the email was lighthearted:
“Swing by my office at your earliest convenience.”
When a high-ranking officer wanted to speak to you, and it was negative, the email was vague, as the email invitation I had just received was.
So I was determined to make a good impression. I got a fresh haircut the night before. I pulled out and de-cabled (trimmed and burned off the excess fibers) a brand new Airman Battle Uniform (ABU) set. I made sure to bring a notebook. When the time for the meeting came, I had already been sitting in the waiting room, pen and notebook in hand, for ten minutes.
Of course, the appointed time came and went, with the Colonel’s secretary informing me that he would just be a few more minutes. Was this a legitimate delay, or was the Colonel pulling some sort of power play with the new Second Lieutenant? My dread mounted, and my mind raced, got carried away, and then the sweating started.
So much for brand new ABUs.
It would only be a couple more minutes, but the Colonel finally ushered me into his office, where I now found myself, being stared at by the Mission Support Group Commander and his deputy, fully sure they had talked to that instructor, or maybe that Academy Military Trainer from USAFA, and I was going to be getting a post-graduation ass-chewing.
“So you’re an Academy grad,” The Colonel held up his thumb, “and you’re in the Contracting Squadron.” The Colonel’s pointer finger raised to join his thumb. Colonel’s counting is rarely a good thing for a Lieutenant.
“Yes to both, sir.” I said, attempting to be confident and charismatic. My voice probably squeaked.
“But you don’t wear your ring.” The Colonel said, his thumb and fore finger remained in the air, hovering a bit ominously. I really wished he would put them down.
“No, Sir,” I responded, my voice oozing with charisma, I am sure, “Only for special occasions.”
The Colonel’s face twisted in thought. I knew that any second he was going to launch into a diatribe about how his good friend, who was at the Academy, had warned him about me and my antics, my double probation, and the multiple demerits and confinements that went along with that. Did this Colonel’s friend tell him that I had jacked with their samples in the Biology lab, been caught performing my dissections with a switchblade or had skipped Anatomy class to go to Jump School?
His hand went down, and my hopes soared. For a moment.
“In my experience, Academy Lieutenants are the worst.” The Colonel looked over at his deputy, and the deputy nodded solemnly, as if truer words had never been spoken.
I was dumbstruck. Out of all the permanent party Company Grade Officers on Goodfellow Air Force base, only about five of them, that I knew of, were Academy Grads, and only three of them were Lieutenants, counting myself. I caught myself wondering what the other two had done to piss the Colonel off.
“And the way this Contracting Squadron runs drives me insane,” The Colonel was just staring at me, perhaps trying to gauge whether or not I was going to sweat through my uniform and leave a stain on his fancy leather chair. The deputy just shook his head.
I did not know what to say. So took the fifth, and sat there sweating into my new ABUs.
The Colonel launched into a short rant about Academy grads as a whole, and Academy Lieutenants in particular. We gave him nothing but problems. We don’t show up to meetings on time. We think we know everything. On and on it went, for what felt like hours.
Until he finally switched to how cumbersome and inefficient Air Force Contracting is, and especially the 17th Contracting Squadron. Always telling him “no.” Slow rolling projects. Lazy, shiftless airmen, officers, and civilians, the entire lot of us.
I cannot tell you what the Colonel, or his deputy said after that. Presumably they laid out some basic expectations, but my mind had slipped into a place I had not visited since Doolie year at the Academy. A safe place, where the lambasting registers as simply noise. A place I can stay until the Colonel finishes his rants. If I do it right, he won’t even be able to notice.
I didn’t do it right.
I was out of practice, so perhaps my eyes glazed over, or drool ran out of my mouth. At any rate, I was suddenly aware that the Colonel was calling to me through my safe place.
“Lieutenant?” I focused back in on the Colonel across the table, “Do you have any questions?”
“Uh, no Sir!” I said, as cheerfully as I could, “I think you covered it all.”
The Colonel narrowed his eyes at me. Great, now he thinks I’m an idiot too, I thought to myself.
“You are dismissed,” the Colonel stood from his chair and I raced to stand up. I didn’t know what to do, so I snapped off a quick salute.
“Thank you for your time, Sir.” The Colonel awkwardly returned the salute, and I hustled out the door. Yep, he thinks I’m an idiot.
As I hustled to extract myself from the ambush I had been lured into, the Colonel’s secretary looked up at me sympathetically.
“Rough one?”
I simply nodded in reply, still moving towards the door and relative safety.
“Yeah…” the Secretary flashed a sympathetic smile, “Well I am sure I will see you around.” I tried to return her sympathetic smile, but I was in a hurry to get the hell out of there.
Finally out of the headquarters building, I took a deep breath of the October air.
“What a dick!” I said to nobody in particular, although loud enough that it startled the airmen hustling down the troopwalk.
I hurried back to my office, desperately wanting to put on a fresh set of ABUs, and, if possible, take a shower.
If that was the type of shit I wanted to put up with, I thought to myself as I sat down at my desk, I would have joined the friggin’ Army.