The hardest thing about death is not the thought of burning in hell, but the thought of just how much more you could have lived.
-Sayin
Hey guys! Yea, there's a part II for those who didn't get enough of the first one. First, and foremost, I would like to say do not EVER go to DeKalb Technical College regarding a GED (I'm sorry, guys... that's just from my experience.). Okay, so let me start... I was supposed to be at the hotel by now, right? ...I intended on being ready to move on to Basic Training, right?
...wrong.
At around 1124 hours, I'd gotten my test scores from the main GED office in Atlanta, which came from the DeKalb GED Center, only to find out that I have no score for the final test-- the writing portion. To be honest, I can't forget sitting there in the classroom, halfway about to fall asleep, writing the same paragraph 4 times to get it right and hoping my right hand doesn't explode (yes ladies, and gentlemen, I am right handed), yet they play ...almost like I never done the test. They did insist on telling me the score went through, but if it did, why did I not get any notice in the mail like I was told I should? I don't know either, folks. Anyway, the aptly-named Ms. Prune continued to "insist" that the score which would not be show to me for security reasons (for whatever reason, if you fail a portion, they refuse to show you by how much you failed) but with my most difficult subject; math, getting a passing grade, how would I fail my best subject too badly to allow a passing grade?
That, folks... I don't know, either.
Even in all that, I ended up having to reschedule the test for the 9th of July, cutting into my ship date (which was tomorrow...) so badly that I may end up having to wait until late August, or even early September before I'm able to attempt it again.
All in all, the day wasn't all bad... I did get to sit at the station with Mr. Nice Guy, and all the other NCOs, and pass jokes while eating sugar cookies with red, white, and blue frosting, as well as assorted sprinkles that match the color of the frosting on each one, which didn't taste as bad as I thought they would, as well as getting to wingman for Mr. Nice Guy to transport one of the inductees (Any new entrant, ranging from Future Solders, to re-entering soldiers, to solders who are just moving from one branch, to another) from the mall, back to the recruiting station to get her to the hotel, so that she can ride the shuttle (A coach-like bus, used to transport soldiers to the base which they will be doing their Basic Training) to Ft. Jackson.
Where is the fun in that? there's enough for me... trust me. But the fun in it wasn't being allowed to do part of his job, it was trying to figure out whether or not she ...was a she. At first glance, she, aptly named Samuel, looked just like the average Junior male, but the problem was, as you looked on, she continued to look just like that. She seemed, in all ways like she wasn't a woman, she looked, walked, stood, and dressed like a man, but when she talked, she sounded like a slightly younger girl, which mind you, was quite scary to me, yet I kept as composed as possible, remembering the words he'd told me before we left the station to retrieve her;
Mr. Nice Guy: You remember what I said about gender issues?
Me: Yea...
Mr. Nice Guy: Well, you're about to meet the girl I was talking about.
Me: Uh oh... you've got to be kidding...
Mr. Nice Guy: You'll probably want to laugh, but keep cool. Don't screw this up.
Me: Okay, okay... (laughing all the while)
Come to find out, she's from Chai-town (Chicago, for those who are unfamiliar with the zone colloquialisms), had never been in Georgia, and couldn't make sense of anything we do. During the ride, she spent her time talking endlessly about how dumb the things we do seem to her, and how bad our cooking is. It had gotten to a point where I was almost enticed to reply, but I decided to fade small comments into the complaints every now and then.
It was kind of interesting to see just how a がいぎん reacts to Atlanta's culture... feel free to feel the same way I did;
Samuel: Yo, why yall gotta do that thing with tha "one glove"? (She was sitting in the back seat, at an angle which she could only see one of the two black gloves I was wearing)
Me & Mr. Nice Guy: I'm/He's wearing two... (I show both hands)
Samuel: Oh, I just see that alot down here, and I don't know what's up with it... I don't see why yall do that, I think it's pretty useless.
Me: . . .
Samuel: I don't understand alotta stuff yall do round here, alot of it just seems real useless...
Me: ...Stick around here for awhile, you'll begin to notice alot of stuff you don't understand. (playing on her comment)
Samuel: Yea, I know. And yall's cookin, I can't be eatin no soul food, that stuff tastes disgusting, I just-- it makes me sick on the stomach.
Me: Aw... you just ain't eaten from the wright place, yet...
Samuel: Naw, It just tastes nasty... it's like ...yall be grillin the meat, without no sauce... then put the sauce beside the meat on tha plate...
Me: ... (thinking "Err... What?")
Mr. Nice Guy: (laughs it off) Yea, it depends on where you go, cause if ya go to the wrong place, you're going to end up getting crap.
Samuel: I dunno...
Me: . . .
With that, I just listened to her drag it on, bringing up various things about the south which she didn't particularly like, or as she put it, hated/didn't understand/thought was stupid.
Well, anyway... Today was only a minor setback, only to allow me to stand fast, and take a good look at the bigger picture. The USAREC BN (United States Army Recruiting Battalion, responsible for, ...you guessed it-- recruiting citizens into the US Army.) Commander asked me one very important question that I almost jumped at answering-- "Did I really want to do this?" I thought to myself "No way did he just ask me that... I guess I better stay formal, regardless to how much I wanna scream Yes! I'm here, ain't I? I wanna do this so bad, I can taste the concrete roads on the FT Jackson road marches!"... so I paused for a moment, and calmly said "Definitely."
Another Day's another day;
心あなたがあいている。。。"Kokoro anata ga aiteiru..." (Free your mind...)
~Yours Truly.
...wrong.
At around 1124 hours, I'd gotten my test scores from the main GED office in Atlanta, which came from the DeKalb GED Center, only to find out that I have no score for the final test-- the writing portion. To be honest, I can't forget sitting there in the classroom, halfway about to fall asleep, writing the same paragraph 4 times to get it right and hoping my right hand doesn't explode (yes ladies, and gentlemen, I am right handed), yet they play ...almost like I never done the test. They did insist on telling me the score went through, but if it did, why did I not get any notice in the mail like I was told I should? I don't know either, folks. Anyway, the aptly-named Ms. Prune continued to "insist" that the score which would not be show to me for security reasons (for whatever reason, if you fail a portion, they refuse to show you by how much you failed) but with my most difficult subject; math, getting a passing grade, how would I fail my best subject too badly to allow a passing grade?
That, folks... I don't know, either.
Even in all that, I ended up having to reschedule the test for the 9th of July, cutting into my ship date (which was tomorrow...) so badly that I may end up having to wait until late August, or even early September before I'm able to attempt it again.
All in all, the day wasn't all bad... I did get to sit at the station with Mr. Nice Guy, and all the other NCOs, and pass jokes while eating sugar cookies with red, white, and blue frosting, as well as assorted sprinkles that match the color of the frosting on each one, which didn't taste as bad as I thought they would, as well as getting to wingman for Mr. Nice Guy to transport one of the inductees (Any new entrant, ranging from Future Solders, to re-entering soldiers, to solders who are just moving from one branch, to another) from the mall, back to the recruiting station to get her to the hotel, so that she can ride the shuttle (A coach-like bus, used to transport soldiers to the base which they will be doing their Basic Training) to Ft. Jackson.
Where is the fun in that? there's enough for me... trust me. But the fun in it wasn't being allowed to do part of his job, it was trying to figure out whether or not she ...was a she. At first glance, she, aptly named Samuel, looked just like the average Junior male, but the problem was, as you looked on, she continued to look just like that. She seemed, in all ways like she wasn't a woman, she looked, walked, stood, and dressed like a man, but when she talked, she sounded like a slightly younger girl, which mind you, was quite scary to me, yet I kept as composed as possible, remembering the words he'd told me before we left the station to retrieve her;
Mr. Nice Guy: You remember what I said about gender issues?
Me: Yea...
Mr. Nice Guy: Well, you're about to meet the girl I was talking about.
Me: Uh oh... you've got to be kidding...
Mr. Nice Guy: You'll probably want to laugh, but keep cool. Don't screw this up.
Me: Okay, okay... (laughing all the while)
Come to find out, she's from Chai-town (Chicago, for those who are unfamiliar with the zone colloquialisms), had never been in Georgia, and couldn't make sense of anything we do. During the ride, she spent her time talking endlessly about how dumb the things we do seem to her, and how bad our cooking is. It had gotten to a point where I was almost enticed to reply, but I decided to fade small comments into the complaints every now and then.
It was kind of interesting to see just how a がいぎん reacts to Atlanta's culture... feel free to feel the same way I did;
Samuel: Yo, why yall gotta do that thing with tha "one glove"? (She was sitting in the back seat, at an angle which she could only see one of the two black gloves I was wearing)
Me & Mr. Nice Guy: I'm/He's wearing two... (I show both hands)
Samuel: Oh, I just see that alot down here, and I don't know what's up with it... I don't see why yall do that, I think it's pretty useless.
Me: . . .
Samuel: I don't understand alotta stuff yall do round here, alot of it just seems real useless...
Me: ...Stick around here for awhile, you'll begin to notice alot of stuff you don't understand. (playing on her comment)
Samuel: Yea, I know. And yall's cookin, I can't be eatin no soul food, that stuff tastes disgusting, I just-- it makes me sick on the stomach.
Me: Aw... you just ain't eaten from the wright place, yet...
Samuel: Naw, It just tastes nasty... it's like ...yall be grillin the meat, without no sauce... then put the sauce beside the meat on tha plate...
Me: ... (thinking "Err... What?")
Mr. Nice Guy: (laughs it off) Yea, it depends on where you go, cause if ya go to the wrong place, you're going to end up getting crap.
Samuel: I dunno...
Me: . . .
With that, I just listened to her drag it on, bringing up various things about the south which she didn't particularly like, or as she put it, hated/didn't understand/thought was stupid.
Well, anyway... Today was only a minor setback, only to allow me to stand fast, and take a good look at the bigger picture. The USAREC BN (United States Army Recruiting Battalion, responsible for, ...you guessed it-- recruiting citizens into the US Army.) Commander asked me one very important question that I almost jumped at answering-- "Did I really want to do this?" I thought to myself "No way did he just ask me that... I guess I better stay formal, regardless to how much I wanna scream Yes! I'm here, ain't I? I wanna do this so bad, I can taste the concrete roads on the FT Jackson road marches!"... so I paused for a moment, and calmly said "Definitely."
Another Day's another day;
心あなたがあいている。。。"Kokoro anata ga aiteiru..." (Free your mind...)
~Yours Truly.
