An Avalanche of Information

When it rains, it pours, as the old saying goes.

Where we last left off, I was still waiting on a form to come back from the Coast Guard's Washington DC headquarters to say that I was no longer "technically"a member, so that I could go forward with my Army OCS plans. This paperwork seemed to be the chicken bone caught in the throat of Mama Cass's Process.

I hadn't heard anything coming into the holiday weekend, and knowing that government employees tend to do nothing leading up to a long weekend, I decided that I had to call in a favor.

I sent a message to my old XO, a guy whom my admiration knows no heights. And I don't say that because he checks in on this blog every now and then, but for the simple fact that he's a helluva guy. He "gets it." He's extremely proficient at what he does and he can be counted on. He's never let me down, not once in three or so years I've known him.

He's a fucking rock.

In short, I humble myself and ask if he can, to paraphrase, go up this guy's ass with a flashlight and see if he can find where my paperwork went. Less than an hour later, he's telling me he's on the case.

Again, not expecting much since it's a holiday weekend. I try to put the anxious, claustrophobic feeling that my board date is slowly encroaching upon us someplace else mentally. Jill and I go get a nice hike in on Saturday, have a terrible lunch out on Sunday, buy a tv on Monday.

By Tuesday at noon, I still hadn't heard anything. I was getting antsy. I snagged lunch and kept checking the email on my phone, waiting for something, anything, resigning to the fact that it'd be another day of waiting for me.

Just as I was pulling into my local community college to go to my next class, my phone buzzed.

"Hello?" I said with some extra spit in my mouth that made me sound weird.

"Hello!" Came the excited voice of my former XO. Suddenly I was swept over with a sense of relief. Like when you're waiting for what feels like forever for someone to come and pick you up, and you see their familiar car pulling into the parking lot.

"Were you sleeping in the middle of the work day?" He asks as a joke, referencing my strangled voice. I explain that I was just wrapping up lunch. We chit-chat for a few minutes, catching up a little, since we haven't spoken in about a month. He then gets down to the meat and potatoes:

"I just called down to HQ, and I spoke with the guy handling your paperwork," he starts. "It's at it's highest level, and we're just waiting for it to come back down to this guy, so he can send it out to everyone involved. He knows who you are; he's pretty much on the ball," which was also a relief. I would've been upset if my name was brought up, and this guy doing my paperwork had no clue who I was, or needed a memory jogger.

So at least my paperwork was being processed. I gave it til the end of the week, mentally.

We said our goodbyes, and I couldn't have thanked him enough. I went to class feeling a little better. I sent Jill a text, giving her an update. She was equally pleased.

About forty minutes later, my pocket was aflutter of activity. Unfortunately, I was in class.

I can't stand the kids who have to diddle their phones in class, it's rude and disrespectful to the professor that's in front of everyone giving a lecture. If you're going to spend 75 minutes on your phone, why did you sign up for classes in the first place? So as a rule, I never play with my phone during class. I'll answer emails, texts and return phone calls in that ten minute gap of time while I'm walking from classroom to classroom.

But given the news I had already gotten, this phone call I was receiving could be very important. As my phone buzzed in my pocket, I slowly reached in and pulled it out just enough to see the screen. It was my recruiter.

Just prior to his phone call, I had received the tell-tale buzz of an email. Oh shit, the ball was rolling.

At the same time, my journalism professor, who is a great guy with over 30 years of journalism experience, was going off on some ridiculous tangent not really related to the course material. He's known for these blustery, long-winded speeches and stories about his personal experiences in the news room, or as a reporter covering a beat. At the moment, he was giving instructions on how to format a story for printing on a Windows-based word processor.

I couldn't be any less interested.

I sucked it up, slowly slipped out of the back of the room and went to my phone. I checked the email first. The Petty Officer down in DC had sent everyone on my team the completed form I needed. The vmail from my recruiter said as much. I called him back immediately.

"Jack!" He started. "Did you get my email?"

Admittedly I hadn't yet, but almost as if on queue, my phone chimed briefly in my ear; an email had arrived. He went on to explain the process from here:

With my OCS packet 100% complete, it goes back to MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Service) for another "read" where they look everything over. Sgt. Steve "guaranteed" my packet was good to go and we should hear, maybe even by the end of the week, that I can go in for a physical. Once I get that physical out of the way, I can then sit for my board on Nov 1.

When it rains, it pours.