Suck Less Tomorrow

“2004!  Ready for War!  2004 Ready for War!”

We chanted this as we waved our blue, class-colored baseball caps in the air.Other classes got less terrifying chants like 2001, fire it up! Or 2005, full of pride!

“2004! Ready for What the fuck…?”

The more we chanted, the louder we got. A wave that never crashed. Just kept building as 1300 of us kept blindly repeating.

I moved my lips with the group, dauntingly aware that I was an imposter. I left my body and stared down at this surreal blue blanket of intensity.

I was a lot of things, but ready for war was not one of them.  I wasn’t even really into planes. But I didn’t tell anyone that. I didn’t soar through the ranks of JROTC like those nerds in high school. I didn’t spend the last ten years carrying a photo of the Cadet Chapel in my wallet – a mobile vision board of sorts. And I didn’t have lofty dreams of becoming a fighter pilot. What in God’s name was I doing at the Air Force Academy?  

The auditorium was crowded, sticky and smelled like basics. Basics, smacks, doolies, whatever you want to call them—they have their own distinct smell. Like pity, fear, and sweat all rolled up into a pathetic ball of weakness. That’s what we were told anyway, by the screaming cadre, (upper class cadets) who had been disgusting basics just like us only a year or two prior, but had somehow morphed into these omnipotent, all-knowing beings who controlled every minute of every never ending day.

Looking back, the only difference was they wore intimidating berets instead of blue baseball caps and had the luxury of daily showers that lasted longer than 15 seconds and included fancy things like soap and hot water and not having to low crawl in and out of the shower stalls naked. But that’s a trauma for another day.

Beneath the pulsing caps, it was a  blur of shaved heads (for the boys), masculine pixie cuts (for the girls) and  multi-green camouflaged battle dress uniforms.

“2004 Ready for War!  2004 Ready for War!”

The faces of the basics that surrounded me were indistinct. Filthy blank slates. I couldn’t tell you who was standing next to me that day, but the vision of our Cadet Commander’s presence on the stage before us is burned  into my memory.  Even still see him perfectly. His defined jawline as sharp and threatening as the overly ironed creases in his uniform. 

It appeared as though maybe he even traveled with his ironing board- storing it under his shirt along his back to keep it so rigid and unnaturally upright. 

The spotlight bounced off his shiny black shoes and closely shaved head. In my mind, there was smoke and mirrors and a rock band, too. But that could just be fear and delusion talking.

He gave us an inspirational speech.  The theme: Suck Less Tomorrow. He told us all the ways we had sucked since arriving at the Air Force Academy the week before, but assured us we could and that we WOULD do better.

He assured  us how Tony Soprano assured someone who owed him money would find a way to pay him. You WILL find a way to suck less tomorrow.

So we changed our chant for a while: “Suck less tomorrow! Suck less tomorrow!”

We did not want to disappoint him. Or get whacked.

Suck less tomorrow. Now this was something I could get behind. I appreciated changing the topic to something a little lighter and relaxed a little.

But then I felt a sudden tinge in my bladder. 

The hardest thing about being a basic is having to control your bodily output. There is no autonomy for normal human functions. Basics hold in coughs and sneezes. A brain aneurism is more favorable than losing one’s bearing. Basics will be buried with that stray hair tickling their nose or the back of their arm because surely they’d be murdered if they got caught trying to move it. And basics definitely don’t get to excuse themselves to go to the bathroom anytime they damn well please. They poop and pee when they are told. And only then.

I waved and chanted and prepared to pee my pants in my second week of college.

 I reasoned with myself…no one will notice. You’re  wearing camouflage and everything already stinks in here. Go for it!

Then out of nowhere, the rock band started up again, or maybe it was just a CD blaring through the sound system. It was so dramatic and loud that it  sent the pee back into hiding and I wished I could join it.

Cadre began appearing everywhere. Had they been hiding among us, then switched caps for berets while we were all busy trying not to piss ourselves? Did they low crawl in under the chairs evasion style? We’d never know. Smoke and mirrors.

A beret-wearing, clean shaven physical male specimen appeared on each side of me screaming in my ear.“Get your knees up! Higher! Why do you suck SO BAD! Quit bringing it weak and get your KNEES. UP. BASIC!!!!!!!” You know, motivating things like that.In a panic, I tried my hardest to run in place and lift my knees to where these six-foot greek gods held their hands in front of me at an unattainable height.

Had the circumstances been different, I might have come face-to-face with these perfectly chiseled jaws at a frat party or a bar I’d gotten into with a fake ID. Instead of making drunken small talk and dodging roofies like a NORMAL college student, I was screaming “Yes, Sir! No, Sir! Sir, I do not understand!” at the top of my lungs and peeing my pants just a little bit each time I lifted a knee.

It had all been a set-up.“Hydrate or die.”This is what they told us multiple times a day, and they really emphasized it before we went into the auditorium for our weird (but admittedly effective) pep talk. 

They made us chug all the water from our canteens, refill them and chug again. The canteens must have been recycled through every class since the academy’s inception five decades earlier. They smelled like iodine mixed with the grundle sweat of all who came before us. 

The only thing that smells worse than a basic is one of those green canteens. But we drank because we were ordered to drink. And because we were fucking thirsty. 

All that grundle water down the hatch was not ideal for the 1300 of us who were about to enter an auditorium for two hours with no bathroom rights. 

The pop-up training session lasted somewhere between 20 minutes and six hours. That’s another thing about being a basic. Time is just an illusion. They strip our watches along with everything else on the first day and there is rarely a clock in sight. This is by design. It’s amazing how taking away someone’s sense of time renders them powerless.

Finally, the music and yelling stopped and I could barely hear all the heavy breathing over the ringing in my ears. Stunned and silent, we recovered from the beatdown standing straight up, staring straight ahead at attention, and waited to be told what to do next.

The Cadet Commander, who had been standing on stage watching, told us to take our worthless selves out of the his sight and back to our flights with one last friendly reminder to Suck Less Tomorrow! 

We began to chant again. “Suck less tomorrow,” and shuffled down the aisles.I don’t  remember when we were finally able to use the bathroom. But I do know I did not fully pee my pants that day. I’m fairly confident that not every basic in that auditorium managed to make it out saying the same.  

I’m also confident that any cadet from the class of 2004 will travel right back to that auditorium if you say tthe words “Suck Less Tomorrow.” Then subconsciously head to the bathroom. All by themselves. Because they can. Just in case.