Let me tell you all a little somthin’ somethin’ about my trip to MEPS (Military Processing Entrance Station). It all started with a two-hour ride in a stuffy white van that smelled too much like dirty cat box, en route to a hotel where about 90 recruits from all over parts of California and Nevada would be having a giant slumber party with cotton candy and Disney movies.
Not really.
It’s more like: where 90 recruits would be taking a nap before waking up at 4 a.m. to spend the day being poked, prodded, quizzed, and questioned.
We get to the hotel and check in; rooms are assigned, rules laid out, and awkward handshakes were had by all! Curfew is 10 p.m., dinner begins at 5 p.m. However, the litter box van fumes EXHAUSTED me and I took full advantage of lying on my bed watching HBO, while my roommate went off to do her thing. She’s shipping out the next morning to Missouri for chemical engineering stuff. As in, she’s smart. And her pajamas were jean shorts. Two thumbs up
4:58 p.m.:Â I am out the door for dinner (I obviously need those two minutes to adjust the tennis balls on my walker) and lasso some confused looking people to enjoy the all-you-can-eat buffet with me. All conversations in this place begin as such:
“Hey, I’m (your name).”
Handshake action while the other person says, “(their name)”
“Nice to meet you.”
“What branch are you going for?”
“(Army/Navy/Marines/Air Force)”
“Oh nice, I’m (Army/Navy/Marines/Air Force)”
It’s a little ice breaker. No one cares, really. But we’re all in the similar position of being surrounded by strangers who are going through this crazy thing, too. And it’s as if having this conversation makes it all normal. I sat with two guys going into the Army to be a medic and an infantryman, respectively, and a Navy girl going in to work on meteorology. It was nice to get to know these three, and comforting to hear that you’re not alone in having all of the feelings about what you’ve gotten yourself into.
After dinner:Â I went back to my room and talked on the phone with a friend until my phone died. Felt better about life, and set approximately twelve alarms for the next morning.
4:00 a.m.: Good news, the alarms worked! My immediate objectives are to chug water, shower, and pee so that the urinalysis I take later isn’t a bad sample. The recruiters will vehemently warn you to carefully moderate sugar and protein intake the night before and morning of the pee test, because it apparently may cause a bad sample. I figured that not smoking a trash bag full of weed or drinking until 3 a.m. the night before would be a good start… but now I have to watch my bacon intake too!?
*The consequence of not listening to your recruiter is having to travel back to this magical place, again, just to pee in a cup, again.
5:00 a.m.: Roommate and I pack up our bags and head to breakfast with our neighbor girls. Its G-D delish, except I am too paranoid to eat bacon, and we aren’t allowed to drink coffee. Which is a big problem. My eyelids weigh one-thousand pounds, and there is nothing I can do about it.
5:30 a.m.: We’re all put in line to wait for the bus that will take us to the Poke n’ Prod. Neighbor girl ships out to basic training today, like a lot of the recruits in line, and it’s just now hitting her. I’ve had ten glasses of water, and it is just now hitting my bladder. “Dog Days Are Over” is playing in the lobby, and it is hard not to clap along and sing about running fast for everything and bubbles in sinks or something.
6:00 a.m.: We unload from the bus and are put into several single-file lines based on whether we’re coming for the full-monty, the “mini” physical, or a return trip to amend anything that came up on the first trip. A National Guard Officer is out giving us the what-for, which includes “yes sir/no sir” or “yes ma’am/no ma’am” answers to any and all staff, some logistics, and a “don’t fall asleep or we will scream at your head” warning. Lovely.
6:30 a.m.: We enter the building. There is an airport security-esque setup that we all file through. Everything but the clothes on our back and our social security cards must be put in a storage room that stays locked until we leave. The first round of questions and biometric signatures (fingerprints) happen right after.
8 a.m.: Eyeball testing. Basically, you read a line, with letters. Easy, right? Earhole testing is next. Somewhere, clouds part, and a not familiar at all, but totally familiar face comes and sits on the stool next to mine. An equally cold and nervous baby butch! It was like seeing a relative you used to hang out with all the time but haven’t seen in years. We chat about how weird this all is, and about her girlfriend, and eating pizza, we laugh at the assholery of two other girls in a line with us when one said to the other: “They don’t look like girls to me!” because no one has ever heard THAT one before…
9 a.m.: We’re led into a classroom, where the health director and an officer come in, hand out scantrons, a pencil, and a laminated sheet, then tell us not to fill any of it out. Wait, fill it all out. Wait, don’t fill it out. Wait, put your name on it. Then they leave. Are you confused? Me too.
(At this point, time will be referred to with P.P. (pre-pee) and A.P. (after pee). You’re not allowed to wear watches in the facility, and there is one wall clock in the place. It is also fifty degrees and there are no windows. Just in case anyone was wondering…)
P.P.: Two nurses come into the classroom and introduce themselves while prepping a power point, they forewarn that the form we are about to fill out is to cover our lives from birth until this very moment, and if we fail to correctly answer any of them, we go to jail, directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200. No pressure. One of them distracts us by talking about how wild and crazy going to San Francisco for Pride weekend is: “There were topless ladies just walking around selling weed brownies!” Then she goes over undergarment policy. No sports bras. No thongs (no problem there). No boy shorts. And, NO BOXER BRIEFS. They ask if anyone has an issue with that, and I say nothing. If my fate here is to change out of my underoos, it would be by force! Bah humbug underwear misers!
One nurse calls up all of us kids taking the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) gives us a breathalyzer test and send us off. I pee-pee dance through the halls, resolved in my mission to hold it, because I refuse to come back to this place over pee.
P.P.: The Test. First off, if you ever have to take it, don’t worry. It’s not as bad as you’re going to make it out to be. In my case, I rushed through that shit because bladder. However, and I didn’t know this, after finishing the ASVAB, Army recruits are required to take the TAPAS (Tailored Adaptive Personality Assessment System), aka, a personality test. It’s 160 questions that literally have no good answer.
Example:
Which are you more like?
a) I often lash out at my friends and family
b) I am generally disorganized because it’s not important to me.
Even if you are a color-coordinated folder to pencil type person, and the sweetest honey bee in the hive, one of those HAS to be your answer. Fuuuuuuuun-not at all enjoyable.
P.P.: I’m sent back take to medical, and the officer there asks if anyone is available to take me to pee. I wish you all knew how exciting that moment felt, but maybe it was something like this:
A lady officer comes up, leads me to a stall, gives me instructions on how to pee since maybe I look like I don’t know how? And let me at it. To be frank, having someone watch you go isn’t weird at all. Maybe a few farts could dampen the situation, so don’t do that. She and I had a lovely chat about her babies, my tattoos, and how awesome she was for taking control of her career and having her husband stay at home to rear the babes. The Pee of 2013 lasted about as long as In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. Furthermore, I am not pregnant. So that’s good.
A.P.: From here, there is a whole lot of “hurry up and wait.” A phlebotomist with a southern accent and Hawaiian-print shirt stabs me a few times, gets some blood, and makes fun of boys for fainting. Then, waiting. Someone takes my blood pressure. Then more waiting.
A doctor calls me in to his office, and he re-asks all of the questions that were on the scantron. Tells me my ears look nice, makes fun of me for my speeding tickets, and tells me I can’t get any more tattoos in an endearing, fatherly way. It was weird. Really, really weird.
12:30 p.m.: Finally! A clock! We no longer have to tell time with bladders! But boo, because now it’s time to strip down and duck walk across a freezing linoleum floor with three other equally stripped-down women.
This is the moment of truth. I start unbuttoning my shirt, but can’t really decide on a way to make getting undressed in this space any less uncomfortable, so I just drop my pants, exposing an Emporio Armani-clad booty for all to see…
…and no one cares. Because they shouldn’t. But still, it’s exciting that I can “get away” with wearing the underwear that I feel good in. I stand taller in that victory… and then the “not wearing clothes” part kicks in. A sure-fire line to Vulnerability City for me is being in any state of undress in front of other people. There are very few (I can count on one hand) that I’m okay with being kiiiiiind of naked around, even less (one) that I’m comfortable with. Its just a thing. A thing that will take a lot of getting used to over the next two or three months.
FUN FACT: You will definitely be naked with the women in your barracks for at least ten minutes a day during shower time in basic training. Not that anyone is looking, but now would be a good time to check in with the ole bush confidence-o-meter. Jus’ sayin’.
We each take our turn being weighed and having height measured. No big. Then the nurse says, “Stand behind the black line and do what I do.” and immediately begins making hand-flappy, wrist-twisty movements. We all turn into birds and fly off into the sunset. The end.
After we roost a bit (re: speedwalk and duck-walk with no clothes on) and ruffle our feathers under the florescent lights, we get our next instructions: “…take off your bra and panties, put on your gowns, and wait for the doctor to call you in to the private exam room.” AH! NAKED!
Thing number one: it has been a WHILE since I’ve worn anything besides a sports bra, so taking off a real one would have been hilarious to watch:
So now we’re just, you know, hanging out on wooden benches, in hospital gowns. It was like we’re all waiting for something really awful to happen, simultaneously joking about our haute new style. I’m third to go, and it helps a little to see two people come out unscathed and not crying before I go in.
The same doctor from before calls for me, so I grab myself by the gown-straps and sit on the exam table. He does some basic ear/nose/throat, lungs, heart (all those squishy things under your skin n’ bones) and it isn’t the worst. Then…dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuun…junk check! This is the part I am not at all looking forward to. Plus all of the other parts. But this one the most. I think the whole veil of scrutiny you’re under at MEPS doesn’t lend well to having the best attitude about having your vag and asshole getting checked on. Maybe it was just me. The good news is, that part took a cumulative five seconds. Bada-bing, bada-boom.
1:30 p.m.: After clearing medical, it’s lunch time! Dry wheat bread and browning avocados have never been so tasty.
2:00 p.m.: My Army liaison finds me in the break room shoving a cookie in my mouth, and takes me back to his office to confirm my job. He asks fifty of the same questions everyone has been asking all day. I have fifty of the same answers. He asks me about the pin-up girls I have tattooed on my forearms, because breasts, and points out a nude lady-statuette on a shelf that he’s (very tactfully) covered in electrical tape because the big bosses are there today. We now have a bond I guess. He confirms everything with a quickness and sends me off to be fingerprinted for perhaps the fiftieth time today.
2:30 p.m.: Waiting. The man taking my fingerprints this time is also asking the fifty questions everyone else is dying to know the answers to, except he’s staring me straight in the face, but his face isn’t engaged at all, its robotic or something. He is serving up robot face realness.
3:30 p.m.: After walking to the front desk from the liaison, and back, (for the fiftieth time) my job is confirmed, and the contract is signed. I’d be lying if I said it felt momentous or special in some way. It feels more like overwhelming relief that this day will be over soon. If you go through it any time, for funsies or something, you’ll know what I mean.
4:00 p.m.: I’m sitting in another waiting room with the last group of folks waiting to be sworn (or oathed) in, and a severe-looking fella from the Marine office approaches and yells at no one in particular; “What is article 86 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice??” the five or six of us sitting there go…
…and start shuffling through our papers, as if the answer is on one of these fucking forms. I have had it with this day. Seriously, this man is scary. He goes “Well get the fuck off of your thumbs and learn it!” and walks away. Just fyi, article 86 is absence without leave, better known as AWOL. Good lesson Scary Marine Man, now I know forever.
4:10 p.m.: A gentleman at the main control desk informs us that we will be swearing in, and to go into this classroom to await further instructions. This is where everything gets real for me: I start thinking about how this is it, I’m in. Irrevocably in. For a period of five years, I go where they tell me to go, and do what I am told. That this means the entire framework of my life up to this point will be a structure in the distance. That my little sisters and I will miss a lot of birthdays together. That I’ll miss a whole lot of things with my friends. That the girl I am in love with will be farther away than ever. And especially, that my grandma will have to find another shopping buddy (I will be one tough act to follow). It isn’t permanent, but it is a Big Thing. And as much as I want to be everywhere and everything to everyone at once, I am doing this for me. While there is guilt, there is also this insane feeling of being free, like, a really fucking excited puppy running through a big hilly field during the spring, while the grass is all tall and green and dewy in the morning. Which is weird, because you know, its the Army and I like cats probably more than dogs and…
ANYWAYS.
We’re in the classroom, being instructed on how to behave and how to address the Captain who would be officiating the ceremony. Basically it goes like this: when he enters the room, we all stand at attention until he tells us to return to our seats, he then goes over relevant USMJ articles and asks if we understand. He’s a quick-talking man with a big smile and has fun asking questions that require a continuous “Yes sir!” from us, he leads us into the ceremony room where we stand “at ease” until he call us to attention and asks us to repeat after him:
“I, (your full name here), do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”
And with that, he congratulates us, we go back into the classroom to biometrically sign (index fingerprint) our paperwork one last time, shake hands, and are released to the care of our respective military-contracted transport home (a.k.a. kitteh litter box van). It all comes back to that van.
And that, my friends, was my experience at MEPS. While I wish it to go this smoothly for all, I do have to caution that your experience may be drastically different. It isn’t anything like a day in Dolores park, but it was not at all as terrible as I made myself believe it would be. Now, I have about one month before going back to MEPS for a checkup, and being shipped out to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina for basic training. Already, I’m a glorious combustion of feelings, and wish I had arms long enough to wrap around everyone I know and hold on until the day I go. Whatever. I’m tough, okay? It also helps to realize that while not everyone is going to be there when you get back, that the ones who are, love the shit out of you. Which is a G-D lucky thing to have.
Comments
Hah, I remember being nervous about the fact that I was wearing boxers to MEPS, too. No one cared/noticed. I went to basic in the winter, which meant we went home for Christmas, so I brought boxers back with me. Feelsgoodman.jpg.
I loved this!
Your sense of humor is so gemeeeeeeeeel (beautiful in Arabic because only Arabic will do). And I’m glad everything worked out for you with the boxers!
Aah, my visit was pretty much the same, except the van was much nicer and the trip much shorter (only Dayton to Columbus), and I was just about dying during the physical because I had to pee so bad during the entire thing. Managed to make a friend, though! I commented that I was used to “shipping” having a different meaning and found out that she had a tumblr, too. Unfortunately, I had to go back again for an opto consult because my eyes are so bad, but my recruiter called three days ago to tell me I got approved, and there’s no more obstacles between me and swearing in! I go up the third week of September!
aw, another autostraddler in dayton and you’re leaving?? but congrats!
I’m impressed you managed to hold it that long. Two standardized tests after 9AM and you hadn’t peed since 5:30? I would have wet myself.
From someone who has not/will not ever be affiliated with a division of the US armed forces: this was both fascinating and hysterical. Also, it took me awhile to figure out there was a second page (I was all like, WHY DID IT END, CLIFF HANGER?!). And mad props for holding it that long.
A second page?
*scrolls back up*
I am so thankful you mentioned the second page…. I was sitting here wondering why it ended so abruptly while reading the comments haha
Why wouldn’t you affiliate yourself with people that protect your rights both foreign and aboard? It’s very naive of you to assume that that anyone in the military cares about your beliefs. All most personnel care about is upholding your freedoms and your rights. It’s been a very long time since a Marine gave a flying fuck about someone’s sexual preference. The only people that make it an issue are the same people that make the news. Learn your facts before you spout off because at the end of the day it’s the soldiers protecting you and your beliefs that allow everyone in this country the rights that they were born with
Oh yeah. I would’ve peed myself.
Hooray for public affairs! It’s an awesome job. But if you think that random Marine was scary or intense, wait until you get to Ft. Meade. Nothing like a pack of new Marines who think they are on top of the world. They will literally stand outside of the DINFOS building and scream about blood making the grass grow every single morning. We are a strange breed. Good luck!
I find this whole thing just fascinating.
yes, same. and so well written and fun to read.
also — pinup girl tattoo?! want to see. right now.
I will never forget that moment when it really hit me that I was giving the army 6 years of my life and what I was giving up because of it. It may or may not be a good thing that it hit me AFTER I swore in, haha. I think I was sitting with my family eating lunch and randomly blurted out “What have I done?!?”
It all worked out for the best though. I owe a lot of my self confidence, pride, and general awesomeness to my experiences in the army. He’ll, I wouldn’t even know about Autostraddle!
Anyway, welcome to the army! I look forward to hearing more about your experiences.
Representing Nevada! Woo hoo! Great piece though, and good luck!
Seriously this was FASCINATING as I have zero knowledge re: aaaaanything that happens in the military that isn’t played out in some lighthearted movie montage.
Also this was hysterical. Thank you for sharing.
Super great account! I love your writing style and humour.
Question: How do atheists take the oath if the very last word is “God”?
We were allowed to just leave it out if we didn’t want to say “so help me God.”
That pretty much sounds like how I remember it. Except after the entire thing was over I changed my mind, having had serious issues with the whole thing to begin with, and finally realized the college money wasn’t worth it for me personally. Fortunately they messed one of my tests up so all I had to do was refuse to retake it and sign some discharge papers. Course this was years ago. Anyway, enjoy your last month or so of freedom and then have fun at basic. Don’t hit a drill sergeant (I think that would have been one of my issues, I HATE being screamed at, it ticks me off).
… no sports bras? Really? I would have thought if anything that they would want everyone to wear sports bras considering the physical training involved. Rules, what do I know. Anyway, I’m glad it’s going well for you! I love your description of that moment of butch companionship. And being a puppy running through the tall grass. And all of it! I know nothing about the military world and I love hearing about things I don’t know anything about, so thank you! And good luck!
i’m finding the sports bra thing confusing also. seems like an important part of supporting our troops IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
Yeah, I’m confused also. They want you to be wearing underwires while training?
The no sports bras thing is only for MEPS, when you actually get to basic everyone has to wear sports bras. They actually issue them to you.
Oh, how this brought back so many feeling and memories, even though it’s been 14 years since I went to MEPS (though you’re making me feel my age because I took the ASVAB on paper and my fingerprints were done with ink…).
Hope all goes well in Basic, my brother is going through Fort Jackson right now and it looks like it’s changed a lot since my time there. Good luck.
This is somehow making me feel better and worse at the same time about my girl that just left for basic. It’s hard for me not really understanding what she’s going through.
This is giving me so many mixed feelings. I can’t join the armed forces anyway cus of asthma but I am so conflicted about wanting to join as something I’ve been interested in since childhood vs being politically and philosophically opposed to or sceptical about the purpose of armies, imperialism, national borders, unquestioning obedience, the sanction and celebration of aggressive and destructive masculinity…..I could probably go on.
In the end I think I’m pretty lucky the decision was taken out of my hands. This is really interesting to read though, I had to google public affairs and it sounds kind of ok but also a lot like a propaganda machine. Sorry to be negative, I know its not about the individuals involved per se, I just hope you keep an independent mind about it all.
In regards to unquestioning obedience, that is only necessary in training environments and war fighting. Additionally, there is a lot of humanitarian aid done by the US Armed Forces.
In regards to Public Affairs, it isn’t a propaganda machine. Think of it more as the military’s internal news service and liaison with the non-military population. Just like you needed to google Public Affairs, the military Public Affairs personnel are there to bridge that gap and provide information to non military folks in an intelligible manner. Not to mention, most large corporations have public relations offices for the same reason.
As to the decision, well, the modern military is very different from what most people have inflated it to being. Now a days there are so few who have served recently that the experience is very foreign to the general public, unlike the post WWII era through the Vietnam era when every family held at least one Veteran.
Maybe a weird question, but did you get teary during the oath? I’m not in the military, but I did have to take a very similar oath for my job and whenever I had to say it, or hear others say it, it makes me cry – every. single. time.
Thank you for an amazing article!
Thank you for writing this, Sara. That certainly is the borderline-universal MEPS experience in a nutshell. So it’s seven months later — I would venture to guess you’re probably about halfway through AIT, rapidly ascending Maslow’s Hierarchy as your individual freedoms are restored to you on at a time and always precariously, and generally trying to decide how you feel about life?
I hope the experience has treated you well so far. My own four-year term is drawing to a close. It has had ups and downs (frankly, more than a few downs), and not always of the stripe I’d anticipated. To judge from your writing, you may face challenges similar to mine. Progressive liberal intellectualism is one of my favorite things about civilization, but it is more a liability than an asset in a lot of parts of the army. Having a uterus tends not to help. I hope you’re doing alright out there. I’m sure that many friends, family members, and battle buddies have offered you all the support they can. For whatever it’s worth, I understand what it is to suddenly and completely be alienated for the values you hold closest. Good luck to you, take care of yourself, keep your head down and your powder dry.
I so appreciate your comment. It feels like it has been a millennia since I’ve been able to sit down for a few minutes and write anything at all.
That being said, foot powder and I have solidified a very special relationship. And the muscles in my neck have become robust from attempting to keep upright and awake with a kevlar helmet on.
Thank you for your service, mystery commenter on AS. I hope your four years coming to a close has been able to provide a decently comfortable future for you to stroll into.
You are right though, about seven months…maybe its about time I update?
This is literally perfect. As a future navy sailor I have found no information from LGBTQ members of the military. Your experiences in these posts have really helped me gain confidence in going through with my desire to join the navy. These posts really mean a lot to me and I hope you continue to post more of them as you progress in you military career. Thank You!
omg I always joke that MEPS was worse than the entirety of OCS. No matter how much Sgt instructors made me feel like “garbage,” it never happened while I was nekked lol. It got especially bad when the female who was overseeing the gyn exam (because the dr. was a man, a female service member had to be present), she left the room and therefore LEFT THE DOOR OPEN for all the other females to hear my conversation with the doctor! Not to mention she was a freaking peanut gallery; she stood way too close to my boobs during the breast exam (almost over me), and she chuckled when we talked about my hemorrhoid!
Also, why can’t they get a female gyn… how hard could that possibly be.