The Ballad of QA, Part III: Revenge of the Shitbag

When last we left our intrepid author, there was finally a charge sheet on its way down from legal for failing to properly sort cigarette butts.

In this case, as I was deposed QA was unable to produce enough evidence to get past the sergeant major, leaving QA embarrassed and seeking revenge.

Unfortunately for me, nobody is NJP-proof. They will get you if they want you. Also during this time, I was struggling with my weight due to some injuries I had suffered.

Soon, the mando PT gods would come calling, and sure enough, I was shortly found up an unsanitary tributary lacking adequate means of propulsion.

To make a long story short, I was charged with UA for failing to go to PT which I had not been assigned to yet. The SSgt wrote a statement that he had ordered me to go, but had been unable to contact me to sign my assignment letter because I had been on leave. (The fact that I had not been on leave was completely irrelevant to my case)

I showed up to my first restriction muster with a gold star in place of the crossed rifles on my rank, which the SDO (whom I had known for some time) found moderately amusing, we laughed a bit, and I put on the proper rank. In our conversation I remarked that I had actually not even been a sergeant long enough to have had my uniforms done, and the only thing that had been done was the alpha blouse that I had hand-sewn the Sgt. chevrons on the night before.

We had a good laugh that, in this case, not being ‘squared away’ actually paid pretty big dividends. The half-month pay actually being less than having the base tailor do the ranks, and then have everything cleaned and pressed again.

About this time, QA shows up (to make sure I am properly suffering under the yoke I am supposed to be under) and overheard that last part. I was now ‘fraternizing’ with the SDO, and was being blatantly disrespectful to the uniform.

(How I am supposed to be disrespectful to my own property is STILL beyond my comprehension)

As QA whined to my superiors about how horrible a person I am, he came to the realization that I was suddenly the junior corporal in the shop. I can still almost hear his little shoulder devil, cackling like an inbred hyena and drooling on itself, as he realized that he ‘had me right where he wanted me’.

Now he could send me on every shitty little assignment he could think of (The fact that this got me out of the shop, and I actually enjoyed it was completely beside the point). Additionally, I actually read the disciplinary manuals, much to his chagrin, and my amusement. I discovered that (because I had to muster with the SDO every 2 hours all weekend) I rated to be escorted to the PX during the business day, to purchase whatever essentials I might need. Not many members of the shop had cars, and I wasn’t allowed to drive mine. The escort also had to be senior to me, so that left three corporals and a sergeant (besides QA, who certainly wasn’t doing it himself. He would have to have stopped surfing blackvoices.com) eligible to escort me. I was friendly with them all, and we took full advantage.

Given that Miramar had greatly increased in population, it only makes sense to knock down the chow hall, and build a smaller one. As a result the lines were horrendous. This left my escort and I waiting forever to get our food, and if we weren’t in a great hurry, so be it. Upon finishing our meals, we proceeded to the exchange, where the first thing I did was get in line for a haircut. Since many other marines were trying to squeeze in haircuts during lunch, this took a while (I had decided to cultivate the low-reg to end all low-regs, just to piss off QA at this point). After that, we headed into the exchange itself, just in time for the dependa-wave, as they all finished grazing with their husbands and headed inside to buy inane shit.

After searching for the perfect razor, and killing about two smoke breaks, we would head back to the shop, freshly shorn, and in possession of all needed cleaning supplies.

Just in time to go home for the day.