A little Dose of Reality



USS William H. Standley (DLG/CG-32)
A little Dose of Reality

DO YOU REMEMBER HOW IT REALLY WAS?

This document is lengthy. It will take 10-15 minutes to read.

TO: ALL FORMER STEAMERS

FROM: Gunner Mitchell

SUBJ: Simulated Shipboard Living

BACKGROUND: Some of us direly miss the "best days of our lives". This is true despite the fact that we chronically complained about everything. So that we can remember "how it really was", here is an exercise that will probably snap us back to reality.

ACTION: Perform the following simulation as often as necessary and for as long as necessary to keep us from seeking the services of the nearest US Navy Recruiter.

SIMULATION UNIFORM OF THE DAY:
E-1/E-6: Dress Blues with P Coats
Chiefs & Officers: Summer Khaki Undress

*When commencing the simulation, remember to lock yourself inside your house and board up all windows and doors with all friends and family outside. Communicate only with letters that your neighbor will hold up for four (or six) weeks before delivering, losing one out of every five. Have a bleary- eyed, overworked, disinterested sailor yell "Mail Call!" at random intervals through one week of each month, only to tell you with a smirk, "You didn't get anything" nine out of ten times.

*Surround yourself with people you would not choose to be with, roughly one person per square yard; those you do know, you don't like. Suggested choices are those who: chain smoke, belch loudly and often, snore like a steam locomotive on an uphill grade. Also, they must: complain incessantly, seldom shower and/or brush their teeth. Lastly, they must use expletives in speech like children use sugar on cereal. In-laws will do nicely.

*Remove all radios and televisions to cut yourself off completely from the outside world but have a neighbor bring you last month's issues of Time, Newsweek, The Retired Officer, and Playboy (with all of the photos cut out). On one lone monitor, located in the worst possible place, connect three channels. The first should play old TV shows that even a "normal" station won't play. The second channel plays eight movies a month, over and over and over. The last channel plays "Training" films on such engaging topics as: small engine repair, proper blender operation, paperwork routing procedures, damage control for recruits, first aid, etc. Each channel must randomly go off the air, preferably when there is finally something you wanted to watch.

* Monitor all operating home appliances hourly, recording vital parameters (plugged in, light comes on as door is opened, etc.). If not in use, log as "SECURED". Make line drawings of all piping and electrical circuits.

* Do not flush toilets for the first three days to simulate the smell of forty people using it. After that, flush and overflow once daily. At least every five days, post a sign stating "The Head and Showers are Secured Until Further Notice." It is OK to forget to remove this sign. Shower water should be either hot or cold, when you have it at all. When you get all soaped up (soap on face or shampoo in hair), have a neighbor turn off all water.

*Wear only proper uniform attire or approved coveralls in designated areas (no special T-shirts or other clothing). Even though nobody cares, once a week, weather notwithstanding, clean and press one uniform (in the dark on a broken ironing board), go outside, and stand at attention for one half hour. After this, change back into your coveralls (catch and rip the sleeve of your shirt on your way back to change. Curse and yell, then wad it up and throw it back into your locker.)

*Cut your hair weekly, making it shorter each time, until you are bald or you look as though you have tangled with a demented sheep shearer. Have one of your close quarter strangers tell you to get a haircut at least once a week, whether you need it or not.

*Work in 18-hour cycles, sleeping only four hours at a time to ensure your body doesn't know or care if it's daytime or night. At random intervals, announce that you will either add or subtract an hour from the apparent time.

*Listen to your favorite cassette six times a day for two weeks, then play music that causes nausea until you are glad to get back to your "favorite" cassette.

*Cut a single bed in half lengthwise, and enclose three sides. Add a roof that prevents you from sitting in any position (18" is a good height). Replace the mattress with a steel plate and cover it with three inches of foam to duplicate a shipboard bunk. Place a dead animal under your bed to simulate the smell of your cubemate's sheets. Each "bed" should be equipped with: two sheets (with unidentifiable stains) that are twice the size of the mattress, one very scratchy wool blanket that is half the size of the mattress, one pillow that smells like dead, wet fowl, and one pillowcase (again with the same stains) that is about half the size of the pillow. Whenever possible, have someone take your pillow or blanket to instill a sense of camaraderie that exists on all US Naval vessels.

*Rig up an alarm system that will go off at random intervals for the first and last hour of your four-hour sleep period. This will simulate the various alarms of watchstanders going off at odd times, drills, and routine noise from inconsiderate people. So you will not get accustomed to ignoring your alarm clock, this alarm system should alternately sound like a fire alarm, police whistle, music you hate, or a plane landing overhead. Place your bed on a rocking table to ensure that you're tossed from side to side for the remaining three hours.

*Nose-picking, crotch-scratching cooks should prepare all food while blindfolded, using all the spices that can be grouped (or none at all). Add salt. If the food (term used loosely) does not stick to an inverted surface when served cold, add more lard. Add more salt. If the food contains at least one part per thousand of fiber, dispose of it (unless it was mixed with a broom). Add more salt. Such food is traditionally eaten with eyes shut, nose plugged, and asfast as is humanly possible. Also a tradition, always take more than you can possibly eat. Beat your tray enthusiastically against the side of the trash can when disposing of your leftovers.

*Periodically have a neighbor shut off power at the main breaker and send a muscle-bound seventeen year old sadistic psychopath with a funny haircut and loaded rifle (simulated Gunners Mate striker) running through your house, repeatedly yelling at the top of his lungs "Security Alert! Security Alert! All Hands Freeze!". If, at this point, you don't freeze with your hands on top of your head fast enough, you will be beaten to a pulp while the psychopath screams "Don't Move!". This should last for at least twenty minutes.

*Buy a gas mask, smear the seal with rancid animal fat, and scrub the faceplate with steel wool until you can't see out of it. Wear it for two hours every fifth day, even to the bathroom.

*Have a neighbor prepare an emergency (i.e., burn down your house) that will require you to evacuate the premises, knowing that if you exit, a biker gang you hired (simulating sharks) will cut off your arms and legs. To ensure readiness for such a contingency, randomly start small fires and practice putting them out. Study an ancient first aid book to treat any wounds that may occur. If none occur, ask for a volunteer.

*Remove all plants, pictures, and decorations (except vulgar photographs). Paint all furnishings gray, white, or hospital green. Use a special "fading" paint that will require you to do it all again in three months. Stencil everything with numbers.

*To ensure a clean and happy environment, sweep and dust twice daily. Every week clean the house from top to bottom. Work hard all day (even if it's only a three hour job) repeating your efforts as often as possible. When finished, have someone inspect your work criticizing as much as possible.

*Twice a day (or more if there is no need) get everyone together in as small a room as possible (a closet or bathroom should do) and have a meeting to listen to someone tell you what you did all day.

*Since you have no doctor, stock up on as many antacids, aspirin, Band-Aids, Robitussin, and suppositories as possible. These have been proven (by Navy corpsmen) to cure any disease known to Mankind. For major injuries (broken bones, etc.), use Band-Aids and Motrin.

*To achieve the permanent, smelly, gray, dingy looks in your clothes, have a plumber connect the washer directly to the sewer lines. Additionally, throw clothing in a dark corner for a few days before drying.

*Every three weeks or so, go outside directly to the city slums, wearing your best clothes. Enter the raunchiest bar you can find and order their expensive beer. Drink as many as you can pour down in four hours, then hire a cab to return you by the longest route he can find. Tip the driver even though he doubled your fare. Lock yourself back in your dwelling for three more weeks.

*For the final touches, run a blender at a constant high speed the entire time to simulate the constant whine of the ship's machinery. Also, have the biker gang you hired bang on the plumbing to simulate men working on other decks at all hours of the day and night.

*This simulation must run a minimum of 90 days to be effective. The exact date of the end of the simulation will be changed no fewer than seven times without your knowledge. This is done to keep you guessing as to when you can hope to resume a semi-normal life, and in the hopes that it will screw up any plans you might like to make. On the last day of the simulation, remove the boards from the windows and doors, but do not go outside. Have your loved ones stand across the street while you stand at attention for four hours and look at them (this simulates having duty on the day you return).

CANCELLATION: When the desire to re-enlist goes away.

Signed: Charles F. Mitchell, CWO3(Ret.)

I hope that no one is offended by the above. I wish to point out that after all, a retired Senior Chief Stew Burner by the name of Charles F. Mitchell (that's right, the same as my name) sent it to me. I adapted it for use here by toning it down a bit.

I feel that a dose of reality will be good for all of us, particularly those of us that tend to get very excited at the prospect of renewing old relationships; lest we get too wrapped up in our attempts to recapture some of our youth. After all is said and done, I still miss it, and would still dearly love to put to sea on a DD (galloping greyhound) for a WestPac cruise.

Have you ever thought about how boring civilian life really is?

Gunner Mitchell