A Day In The Life of a Grunt Trapped In Garrison

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I love being a Marine but I hate being a grunt trapped in Garrison. As a grunt, I bitched about being in the field and couldn’t wait to get back to main side. I loved turning my weapon in and being able to drop pack for a week or two.

Yet as soon as I returned to Garrison, I always would get hit with petty shit from higher. Immediately wishing I was back in a training area sitting on my assault pack, eating MRE’s and throwing rocks at… well, other rocks to pass time.

I’m going to give you a timeline that should resonate with every grunt for across the board.

0500 Wake Up

I hate early morning and having to scrape myself out of the bed. But I have to get ready for Physical Training (PT). As a Marine, Grunts especially are expected to stay physically fit and be prepared for combat whenever the call comes. How is this accomplished? Usually, by a pissed off squad leader or a Gunny, that’s trying to build some camaraderie using the age old adage of Misery loves company.

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PT usually consists of a death run in boots or an even longer run in green on green. You know it’s like ground hog day, trapped on a course that continues racing past the barracks almost to the point of utter infuriation.

Or, if my leadership is chill, they’ll let me visit the steel mill to sling some weights while wearing my unit shirt. I do this to make the POG’s feel bad for not signing a 03 contract.

Little do they know; they have the life I envy the most, a 9-5 with annual range time.

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0700 – 0745: The Three S’s

By now I’m dead ass tired from a long night of Netflix and still winded from PT. I have 45 minutes to shit, shower and shave. My leadership expects this transformation to happen like Clark Kent in a damn phone booth.

In all actuality, I’m scurrying around the barracks bitching and complaining or fighting to see who if I can get the shitter or shower first.

But, alas, I do.

I’m freshly groomed and ready to begin a beautiful Marine Corps day. By beautiful day, I mean sprinting to the chow hall to avoid being that asshole that’s late for formation.

Got chow? Good, now run back.

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0745 – 0800: Formation

Morning formation is the most pointless formation of the day considering I was just released from PT. Semper Gumby. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to dodge most of the dumb stuff by going to a dental appointment or sneaking over to the Battle Aid Station.

I hate garrison days because they consist of complete bullshit. I get tired of running to the company to sign a roster and giving hip-pocket classes to the newest boot.

I shouldn’t fret though, I’ll find out soon enough from the bullshit word.

0815ish Till Noon

Now, I get to carry out the plan of the day. Which usually means a little me time… A trip to my room to fire up the TV and take a nap until I absolutely have to be somewhere.

Luckily, I never had a room that’s always invaded by the brown baggers. Those married fucks who have homes and families but can’t leave the BN area because… well, I don’t know, I never figured that out.

This last for the majority of the day, except when I got tasked out to clean weapons, field the hallways, teach a class on land nav because my boy got lost last time, fuck with the duty and try my damnedest to skate better than Michelle Kwan in the Olympics to avoid all the working parties.

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Noon – 1300: Chow

The best part of my day, especially since I’ve avoided everything up to this point and I know that I’ll be released in time to catch evening chow at the chow hall. When the company breaks for chow, we pretty much look like a bunch of roaches trying to scurry under the fridge when the lights turn on.

I’ve learned to disappear, turn my phone off and enjoy a few minutes of free time.

I was stationed at 29 Palms and I’d speed off to Santana’s and order some carne asada fries or a California burrito, then go to the PX to make fun of all the Comm boots with their CamelBaks on.

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1300 – Close of Business:

The hours of uncertainty. The time of day when I begin to regret my decision to enlist especially as I watch all of the POG’s leaving work or the neighboring battalion having their evening formation.

I get so pissed because if we had solid word at 0900 and gotten things done right, we would be off by now. Instead, leadership chooses to  instead of to spread everything out to keep us busy. Right around this time you start getting random knocks on your door  asking if you’ve heard any word or what the fuck is going on, to which your answer is usually always, “No” & “I have no idea”.

1700 rolls around and you finally get word on formation, where your company guns and CO decide they want to talk for what seems like an eternity when everything can be summed up in about 10 minutes.

They also call formation just to get mad at us because nothing got done today and why we have to try everything again tomorrow because we: fucked off, dicked around, don’t care enough, don’t pass word etc. This in turn makes us mad, because it’ll be the same thing all over again tomorrow… and it’s all our fault since we love to skate and wish we were in the field. The life of a Garrison grunt is a vicious cycle. But, we all knew that.

The life of a Garrison grunt is a vicious cycle. But, we all knew that. Yut, kill, rah and all that other moto shit. Because we all know false motivation is better than no motivation.

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