SUNDAY, APRIL 2nd

Day 3

Well, I knew it would come, but I didn't know it would come so early: I want to quit. There are no words to describe how hard each day is. There are too many details and not enough time to write them all down. It's difficult to even write about it.

First, let me correct my previous letters. I am not in Basic Training. I am in a program called On Site Unit Training or OSUT. This OSUT is specifically designed to train military police from the ground up. Now, before you get all excited for me, let me tell you what has happened.

We left reception with 73 future MPs. Eight males have already quit, one on the first day or "Day 0." Two males have passed out resulting in a medical discharge. One of them dropped his head on concrete because he couldn't hold himself up in the push-up position any longer. He fell right next to me and cracked his head open One other male had a seizure after our PT assessment, which of course, means discharge.

Remember in the movies when they show Army "chow" times in a cafeteria setting? That's true, frustratingly so. We have four minutes to eat, and that's if you're at the beginning of the line. Once you sit down, you must drink a full glass of water before you touch your food. The last 30 seconds of your meal, you must drink another beverage, usually Gatorade. How much time do you actually have to eat a full meal? About 1 1/2 minutes.

Alright, so maybe I'm exaggerating. But no, I'm not. This is a total control environment.

Showers. I timed my shower today. 36 seconds. All of the males in our platoon (about 60) walk at a constant speed through eight shower heads, soaping and rinsing as we go. That's the shower drill.

Anyway, enough whining. I'll write more about all of this crap later.

Today, I personally had a pretty hard day because my grandfather's funeral was today. During Reception I got to call home for eight minutes during which I learned that my grandpa had died. His funeral was today and that was all I could really think about. There really isn't any personal space here, so mourning isn't really an option yet.

Every day, multiple times a day, I questions why I'm here and want to quit. Why do I want to submit myself to getting cussed at, screamed at, and insulted for asking for permission to speak in the incorrect position? This just doesn't feel right for me. I haven't had much time to process it all either.

I should have a mailing address soon. Tomorrow I have a three mile hike with a rucksack. I'll let you know how it goes, maybe in person after I quit! :)

Sulking and nursing my wits,

Benjamin.