I have to be the most unprepared soul to ever attempt US Army Basic training. I still remember the trajectory that my life was supposed to take. I had just finished Apex technical Institutes’s course for auto mechanics. I still remember the corny commercials where the actor said “We can’t call you, you call us”. After eight or nine months I graduated. I was contacted by a service manager from PepBoys auto service and hired as a service writer. Basically, the service writer takes the customers car and writes up what ever service is necessary. This is a high stress job, especially for a nineteen year old. Also, I worked in Nassau county which is actually part of newYork State and not NewYork city. This was the first time I had to deal with a very subtle level of racism. I grew up surrounded by people of all races and religions in Queens, Ny, and while to an outsider, it might seem that there would be many chances for racism, most of the racism that I had to deal with consisted of myself and a group of friends chiding one another with racist jokes back and forth. For the most part no one took it seriously and it was all in good fun. However here at Pepboys I had to deal with a ton of people that were used to working with people of their own race and seemed to what to make life difficult for you if you werenot the same color as them. We had a White Hispanic manager and a Black manager and an Indian manager, and the cliques at work were all based on race, and everyone complained about the favoritism that each specific manager showed to their brethren. I was told on a quite a few occasions that when I was alone, and basically the manager, that I was to ensure that the Black workers were given the best jobs, because that is what everyone else did. I remember the first mechanic that introduced me to this system. I forget his name, but I remember what he said to me. 
I had no idea what I was getting into. These are the words many who complete basic armed forces training in any country will probably claim. The truth is what they mean is they knew what they were getting into, but they didn’t know just how badly their minds and their bodies would let them down. I on the other hand, literally had no idea what was going to happen. Sure, I heard the term drill sergeant before, but I had never seen so much as a picture of one, so the term didn’t mean much to me. I remember the carefree attitude that I had when I shipped out. I remember landing in the St Louis airport, but I don’t remember getting into the transportation to the base at Ft. Leonard Wood, but I do remember pulling into base and the reception that we received. He boarded the bus and started screaming instructions. All I saw was his hat, the feared hat, and I knew that somewhere in my life I had taken a wrong turn. I don’t remember much of what he said, but I know it had a profound effect on me and everyone else on the bus. He somehow ruined the smell of buses for me. I had always liked that bus smell. The smell of something slight to cover, yet not overpower the scent of so many people; especially since many of them would be of low hygienic standards. It smelled like new car, and freshly cleaned bathroom all at once. How many had gone on unbelievable journeys, life changing journeys with only this scent as their companion? Now this asshole had ruined it for me, interjecting his musty scent of howling authoritarianism into my happy place. 
