Spoiled by the Force

The Air Force spoiled me. Thinking back and comparing to now, boy was I spoiled professionally.

It’s a good thing I had to log in to my work email last night, because if I saw that same email this morning I would probably have gone home. A promotion of a colleague that more or less made me want to vomit – literally. I just couldn’t believe that *I* didn’t get the position. I must mention, though, that I didn’t apply… So… Therein lies the problem.

Back on point: why did the Air Force spoil me? Because, professionally speaking, promotions and raises were a given up to a certain level – the level at which I left the Air Force for greener pastures. It became well-known of when you’d make rank. And my bosses pushed to give me more – unofficial increases in responsibility – a way to shine above the rest.

After the Air Force I joined a company that, for whatever reason, promoted me after just 3 months – a mere continuance of the already-set promotion schedule. And ever since, it’s been a challenge to gain any ground.

Sure I’m in a better place than I was years ago. Sure I have a better life. Sure I’m more comfortable and arguably more happy. But I’m missing that gain – missing that growth – missing that improvement in career.

For 3 years now I have held the same title and position, though my duties have changed slightly over the years. I’m quickly becoming over-educated and under-employed (actually, I’ve been under-employed for a long time). What’s worse is that I have seen little to no growth – especially compared to the schedule set of 6 years between the Air Force and the post-Force job.

I’m not one to sit by and let things happen. Actually, yes, yes I am… But seeing the promotion announcement last night made me feel left behind. Hopefully that was the last straw. I’m educated, I’m qualified, and I’m smart – I can do anything, literally anything, that I set my mind to. I’ve been in over my head and came out on top time and time again. I’m a survivor. I’m a go-getter. I’m good. Hear me roar. Hear my battle cry!

… … …

Thanks for the pep talk. Now let’s go get it.

(And keep on me about it!)

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I would probably consider moving to Texas if it wasn’t for that jackrabbit.

(Scene: Summer, June/July 2002, Sheppard Air Force Base, Wichita Falls, Texas. Another airman (woman, actually) and I are conducting a walking tour of the base for newly-arrived trainees. I begin to warn them about the dangers of jackrabbits.) (Narration by yours truly.)

You think I’m joking, but I’m serious when I say “watch out for the jackrabbits.” They’re squirrelly and will attack you. They have human-like eyes that just stare at you, and you can tell that they’re sizing you up. You know they’re looking at you. You know they’re thinking about you. It’s really kind of freaky. Just keep your distance.

(Enter jackrabbit on the sidewalk 50 feet ahead, facing the street.)

See, there’s one right there. We have to go in that direction, so let’s walk slowly toward it and hopefully it will run away.

(The group and I walk slowly toward it. As we move closer, the jackrabbit turns toward us and squares up with the group.)

See! See what he did there!

(As we approach closer, in a burst of speed the jackrabbit runs toward us, aiming directly for the group as if it were trying to attack.)

(We all jump back in fear of being mauled by the rabbit as it comes within 15 feet of us.)

(It turns right and runs with great purpose to the middle of the road.)

(It stops, turns left, squares up with the car driving toward it, and runs in attack mode directly at the car until it is only a few feet from the vehicle.)

(It then bursts left and runs back toward our group until it is 10 feet away, forcing us to jump back again, and then darts away from us with great purpose, running off to terrorize others on base.)

(End scene)


Ever since that day I’ve been wary of jackrabbits. And ever since that day I’ve vowed to never live in Texas, almost exclusively because of the jackrabbits.

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It’s not always as it seems

During my tenure in the US Air Force, I had the privilege to spend a summer in Kuwait. I use the word privilege for a reason, which it two-fold: 1) I am proud to have served my country, and it was a privilege to represent my nation and what it stands for while on foreign soil, and 2) it was a privilege to have met such wonderful people in Kuwait.

You see, I’m not speaking solely of the men and women with whom I served in Kuwait, but also of the locals and third-country nationals (people from a country other than Kuwait, there solely for work, away from family and friends in their home country). This group of people, from countries and cultures I haven’t had much exposure up to that point in time, are among the nicest people I have met in my life, and I mean that literally.

While in Kuwait, I was fortunate to have worked in a position where I was in close interaction with the third-country nationals on a daily basis. I met people from not only Kuwait, but from Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Syria, Bangladesh, Egypt, and India. Each day they would offer me food from their own lunches, juices, candy, and ice cream that they received from the on-base American cafeteria. One of the bosses even offered his house for me to stay in should I ever visit Bangladesh, and gave me his email address to contact him. His name is Bichu. Funny enough, Bichu also gave me his own burned CD with local music straight from his car CD player, and insisted that I keep it.

I remember one day, while I was supervising the third-country nationals in the landfill area on base as they removed construction debris, one of the truck drivers pulled in and went on with his business as I noticed that his hand was bleeding pretty bad, wrapped in a cloth. I had remembered that there was a first aid kit in one of the piles of debris so I ran over and grabbed it, gave it to him, and he thanked me profusely. He was the most thankful person I have ever seen when given a Band-Aid. One day while riding in the cab of this same man’s truck on the Kuwaiti side of the base, he stopped at the Kuwaiti store for a drink and a candy bar and asked if I would like anything. I said no thank you, as always. Upon his return to the truck, he pulled out a candy bar from his bag and insisted that I eat it. I tried saying no, but there was little chance of me not taking the candy bar he just purchased… for me.

Mind you, these are individuals from Middle Eastern countries. Countries in which we find to be hostile. Countries in which we tend to look upon negatively. Countries in which we seem to harbor a degree of fear.

Individuals are who I met while in Kuwait; I did not meet entire nations. It was those individuals who opened my eyes to the outside world, a world much bigger than America… a world where the lot of people are of good nature and mean no harm. These individuals also opened my eyes to our American ways, and after my trip I had a greater appreciation for America than I had before. I try my best to carry this appreciation with me still to this day.

I always like telling this story because the majority of Americans have no clue who is outside our borders (hell, we don’t even know who our neighbors are most of the time). I also like this story, not only because it’s mine, but also because it’s the same story for a great number of Americans who have served on foreign soil. It’s unfortunate that what people hear is usually only the negative; it’s even more unfortunate that people don’t realize it’s not always as it seems.

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