The Shoe Shine Boy!

Overseas back in the 80's.

I have no idea what it's like serving overseas now but back in the 80's . . . . .

What We Didn't Have

1. Cell phones - no picking up the phone on a whim to call & no texting!

2. Long Distance calling plans - it was EXTREMELY expensive to make calls to the states so it was a rare occasion when anyone did and even then it was only for a few minutes. German phones had --well, I don't know what they were called but they were like an odometer and when you made a call to the states, the numbers would roll fast and furious. You were charged, "by the mile".

3. Email, IM, chat --and basically no computers. We did have word processing which would do basic documents, mail merge and the like. We'd save everything to a disk, which was larger than an 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper.

4. FedEx or UPS or any express type mail. Oh, it was around but it was CRAZY expensive. We did have snail mail, which we didn't call it that back then. Letters could take up to 2 weeks, to get to us, packages even longer.

5. Shopping. Of course no Internet so mail order was by catalog and that was very time consuming. I ordered a sweater from Lands End once and after it finally arrived, it was too warm to wear it. Shopping "on the economy" could be expensive, depending on the exchange rate. in Ansbach, where I was, there weren't many places to go. There was a fairly large BX in Nuernburg but getting there was a challenge. I'd have to find a ride or take the bus --the bus option pretty much too all day long and then I'd have to make sure I didn't miss the last one back.

6. TV -- one military station, the Air Force Network. It played old shows and VERY stupid commercials. Radio was one station as well that would play a different genre of music at certain times a day. Only a few people liked when the country music played.

7. CD's had just made the scene so we were still using vinyl albums and cassettes. My roommate and I liked to go the the record store downtown.

It was a pretty isolated life style. I did get to travel quite a bit. I went to places all over Germany (including the black forest), Switzerland, Lichtenstein, Paris, Holland, Austria, London . . to name a few. I like riding the train. In fact, I LOVE riding the train, which was nothing like we have in the states. I did know enough conversational Germany to get around and a lot of Germans, especially the younger generation, spoke English. If the person wasn't fluent, we both knew enough of each other's language to get to the gist of it. Hotels were interesting because unless you were in a big city, in the hotels you'd share a a bathroom with other guests. There would be one bathroom at the end of a hall. Restaurants were different too. Many of them served "family style" dining so they didn't bring you plated food but bowls of stuff --just like at home. If there were only 2 people in your party and you were at a table for 4, without asking or informing you --2 strangers would be seated at your table. That was a little strange sometimes.

I did love the little town of Ansbach. Germans didn't really have big refrigerators like we had. If any, they'd have something small, much like you'd have in a dorm. The woman shopped market style --like daily fresh goods. There was a bakery, produce store and butcher. I never had a need for these things since I lived in the barracks but I loved to browse and watch the Germans women shop for their dinner. I LOVED the candy store that had an abundance of Gummy Bears and all sorts of European Chocolate. There wasn't a lot in Ansbach in way of clothing.

Germany was a contrast of old world against a modern day setting. Sometimes you could almost see or hear the war as the buildings and surrounding looked like a war-time movie setting. Other times it felt no different than being in the states. German ketchup was peppery so you had to be sure to ask for American Ketchup when ordering out. They usually served drinks room temperature and I hated that. A lot of restaurants didn't even have ice or if they did you had to ask for it. Germans used mayonnaise like we use ketchup --dipping their fries in it and such. Since I lived in the barracks I wasn't around families too often and I missed the sound of children, especially children at play and their laughter. There was a German public school that was right outside of our back gate. I used to like to be around there when school was getting out because I'd watch the kids and listen to them laugh and interact with each other, though I had no clue what they were saying. Of the few Germans I got to know, it was a general consensus they believed Americans were wasteful. Like, if I asked what they thought of Americans they'd comment how we waste or live in over abundance. For some reason, they were infatuated with Texas or New York. If asked where in the US they would like to go, it was often one of those two places. I'd always tell them, "Trust me, if you ever get a chance to go to American, Chicago is where you want to go." Chicago by an large was known as being a gangster city. They'd replied, "and get shot by gangsters?" Al Capone's reputation lives on.

Sometimes you'd run into someone anti-American or anti-military and they'd most always tell you their opinion --in their hateful way. Mostly though, was my experience Germans were very hospitable and accepting of us in their country. They called us "American GI." When I'd be on the economy they'd ask me, "You American GI?" One time during the duty day I was down town and in uniform. We weren't supposed to be off post in uniform, unless it was to/from your home or just couldn't be avoided. So I'm in a store in my BDU's and a guy comes up to me and says, "You American GI, you look like boy. You look like shoe shine boy!" I guess he meant I looked like I was wearing men's clothing, which I was since BDU's were designed to be anything but feminine. I really have no idea what he meant but he definitely was making fun of me. He walked away laughing. I was pretty offended and embarrassed. I didn't want to look like a shoe shine boy!

Criminal Law

I loved the legal field. It was exciting. My job was never boring to me. I always wanted to learn something new and as soon as I'd get that down, I'd want to move onto something new. I especially liked working in Admin law because I was the only enlisted soldier in that department. It wasn't too long after my first promotion that I got another, then another and now I was a PFC (Private First Class). That's why when I was informed I'd be moving I was floored and disappointed. What did I want to do? Why of course, cry.

My NCOIC called me into his office one day and told me a soldier in our division was getting reassigned and would be joining JAG and I'd be moving across the hall to Criminal Law. I felt like I was being punished for something -like I was doing a bad job. Of course, I didn't say anything --mostly in the Army you just do what you're told without questions. I was told in a few weeks I'd be training SGT R to do my job. I was devastated. SGT R was not a 71D, she was a 71L (no time to explain the difference and no time to find a link that does but great idea, Andy). I wasn't told why SGT R was coming and why a 71L would be working in JAG but there again, you don't ask many questions in the Army.

When SGT R first arrived I didn't like her after all, she was taking my job! I guess maaaaaybe I might have had a tiny bit of an attitude about it because the NCOIC called me into his office and asked me if I was having any problems training SGT R. Me? Problems? No (oh, you mean besides the MAJOR problem I have with someone taking my job) problems here. Not convinced, my NCOIC pressed on until I finally admitted to him I felt shunned. He laughed, "Seriously? That's what this is about?" Well duh, I thought. How was I supposed to be glad about losing my favorite job? My NCOIC went on to explain to me because I had done so well I was getting a new job which had more responsibilities. He pointed out to me I was an E3 9 (PFC) being replaced by an E5. Hey, I never did think of it in that manner. I'd be working in pre-trial in Crim Law and would have more hands on experience. He also told me SGT R was getting reassigned under special circumstances. He assured me I'd like Crim Law. He was more than right. I got over my little attitude problem and moved across the hall to Crim Law, leaving Admin Law in SGT R's capable hands.

I LOVED Crim Law. I worked with the prosecutors in getting a case to trial; jury selection (personal fav), pre-trial confinement, witness coordination --just to name a few. Remember, this was pre-computer days s everything was typed out. Word processing was coming onto the scene. We had disks that were the size of vinyl albums. Yes, I do realize I just dated myself on both accounts. Sitting here writing about it brings me back --to those dark black screens with the green type. Gosh, I thought we were so high speed. We had pretty big cases, these were all general court martials. Most of what we had to do had to be signed by the CG so our Colonel had a standing appointment with the big man. We'd set up file folders for each case and the prosecutor would brief the Colonel on the case, then it would go up to the CG for signature. We had a lot of drug related cases but also treason, murder, rape. When the crime was committed off of a military installation or against a German national, we had to get a release of jurisdiction from the Germans to try the case. Most often times they would release jurisdiction. I only know of one drug case that they did not release and one murder case, which was quite brutal, they almost didn't release but finally did.

I tore each case apart in that, I read it from cover to cover. I wanted to know it inside and out. If it was a rather large case or had a lot of evidence, I'd sometimes go to the office late at night or on the weekends and just read through cases. If pre-trial confinement was requested, I'd have to set up the orders for the CG to sign and coordinate with Manheim, the prison facility. Days we had a trial, which were held in Nuremberg, were always exciting. We'd anxiously await a call from the prosecutor to learn the disposition of the case which was almost always -GUILTY! Yeah, the military doesn't quite operate like civilian courts. So the big surprise wasn't so much in the verdict but the sentencing. That was the real tell tale of how well we, the prosecuting team, presented the case.

As I was accustom to doing, I was going over a case one day. It was a rape case. The accused name was SGT R, a male that committed a crime while on CQ duty one night. I was behind all the hype in the prosecutor's office. We were the "good guys" putting away the "bad guys" --making the Army and the world a safer place to be. I was proud to have even the smallest part in making that happen. The accused was nothing more to me than a criminal. A crime was committed --punishment must ensue.

One day while spending some time with my replacement, SGT R, I asked why she had gotten reassigned. She told me because her husband was accused of a crime and --she went on to tell me the story, which was the exact same story I had read about in the case file. THAT SGT R was HER husband? Making matters worse, they had a 5 year old son. I wasn't at liberty to tell her anything I knew and from the way she talked, she had no idea I was familiar with the case. I just remember as she was telling me the story from her perspective, I was changing inside. This was no longer just a scum bag criminal whose face I'd never see --this was a husband, a father, a soldier and up until this point, he had a stellar military career. I wanted her to be quiet and go away. I wanted to forget there were real people behind those case files. Up until now, the only "real people" to me were the victims and the families of the victims. SGT R (the wife) was reassigned because she and her husband were in the same unit and the victim of the crime was also She needed to be away from all of that.

Her husband was found guilty and was placed in confinement at Ft. Leavenworth for a long sentence.

I know this isn't a fun or funny post but it the experience changed me both as a person and as a soldier. It changed the direction I was traveling in and my heart was growing mercy.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? POT? MARIJUANA?

Being the new kid on the block wasn't always easy (ie, the Alert prank) but making new friends wasn't that difficult to do. One Friday evening I was invited up to the second floor to a party of sorts --just hanging out. Since there was absolutely nothing else to do, I decided to go.

Take a step back. Nothing else to do really meant --nothing else to do! TV? Not really --just one station AFN (Air Force Network) that ran reruns and STUPID AFN commercials! Radio? Not really --just one station that played different genre of music, depending on the time of day. Internet? None. Shopping? VERY limited. Gaming systems. Not really. Videos? VHS --and A LOT of bootleg copies (no video rentals). Movie theater? One but you had to take a bus and no new releases --basically your dollar theater. Restaurants? A few downtown but on base just the NCO club *gag* with a limited menu selection. Reading? I tore through what books I had and with no library or bookstore in sight, that wasn't an option. Entertainment wise, not a whole lot of choices.

I went up to the room and there were quite a few people from our company there --I knew some of their names, others I struggled with since they were out of uniform and they didn't have a name tag on! I stood back a little, kind of shy when suddenly my sight and sense of smell both detected --at the same time ---

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? POT? MARIJUANA? IN THE FLIPPING ARMY BARRACKS? THEY PUT SOLDIERS TO JAIL FOR LESS THAN THIS!!!

No sooner than my senses became aware of what was going on, a certain something was passed and offered to me. Uh, no thanks! I couldn't get to the door fast enough in fact, I must have been running. Please don't let the MP's be waiting out here for me. Oh please let me out of here. I don't want to go to jail! I'm innocent. Will they believe me? Get out of here! GET OUT FAST!!!!

As I was making my way down the stairs in a running for my life fashion, a soldier came out from the room and stopped me, "Hey, where are you going? You don't party?" No, I assured him I DID NOT party --then he asked, "Are you going to tell? You gonna get us busted?" ME? GET YOU BUSTED? Uh, I think you're gonna get YOURSELF busted!!! I said to him, "I don't know what I'm going to do but I do know I don't want to be anywhere near you guys. Don't they ever send the dogs in here? Don't you know they run random urinalysis tests in the Army? Don't you know if you come up hot . ." He cut me off, "Man! That ain't nothing. We won't get caught. Come on back . ." Now I cut him off simply by walking away.

I went back to my room and I wasn't sure what I should do. Here I am in a foreign country and basically, I don't know a soul. I need friends to survive here. I had no idea who I could trust. That night I did nothing. I just stayed in the solace of my room however I did decide this was information I wouldn't keep to myself.

Eventually, at least two soldiers that were in that room that night ended up in jail on drug related charges. Others came up hot on a urinalysis (some mulitiple times) and got an Article 15 or other form of military punishment. It didn't matter if I told or not because the Army has its own way of weeding these people out. Random drug testing and barracks searches (drug dogs) always sift out the ranks. I might have always been in trouble for stupid things like walking down range during live fire or being outside in uniform without any headgear on but break the law? I don't think so --not military or civilian law. I lived in a healthy fear of the Army.

After that, I didn't go upstairs very often --maybe 2 or 3 more times (even then only for a specific reason and when I was with another soldier) or whenver it was required of me while pulling CQ duty. I was learning my way around the Army, my company, the barracks -- and I was also learning that unspoken language of the soldier. More on that tomorrow.

Be My Little General

It is often said in the Army to never volunteer for anything --especially any detail duty. Contrary to the advice, I often volunteered for detail and was never really sorry I did. You never knew what you were going to do before you stepped forward so it was always a gamble. One morning while in formation the 1SG said he needed some privates for a detail. I was quick to let the Platoon Sergeant know I'd be glad to go. All I was told was to report to the the headquarters building.

Turns out, this was a detail the CG had requested himself. In the front of the HQ's building was a tank and the CG decided that tank needed to be painted. There were 3 of us on the detail; myself and two male soldiers. I have no idea who they were. We were given a gallon of paint and some brushes and very little instructions. The tank was obviously out of commission --just there for show. I never painted a tank before. I never saw a tank that up close. Painting it was quite a challenge as there were a lot of nooks and crannies. I hoped we could get inside but it was sealed shut.

Where do you start when you paint a tank? Well, seemed obvious to me start at the top and work your way down. I didn't mind the detail at all and in fact, I might have enjoyed it a little bit. What I didn't like was all the stares and condescending looks I got from those from the officers and senior enlisted that were going in and out of the HQ's building as if to say, "Poor lowly privates good for nothing more that painting a tank." That's what it felt like to me. But when I could put that out of my mind, I painted away. Several hours into the job, I saw some soldiers walking towards the tank. I know they looked pretty important --just the manner in which they were walking. I was on the top of the tank, keeping one eye on what I was doing and one eye on who was walking towards us. As usual, I figured I had done something wrong or was doing something wrong and as usual my plan of attack was just to play dumb --which was more than perfectly natural. I don't remember how many people were there certainly no more than 3 put as soon as they got closer my eyes could only fix one that one man. All of my basic and AIT training came flooding back. In an ultra light speed fashion my entire flipped through my head. Think, Melissa! Think! Don't panic. DON'T PANIC! You know this. This is nothing. Come on now. Be My Little General.

No matter how much training I could recall and how much I tried to calm myself, all I could do was freeze. I stood on top of that tank, paint brush in hand, and froze as if I were a bronze statue atop a bronze tank. Soon I heard, "Soldier, come on down here." Oh Melissa -don't blow this. Don't screw up. What do I do with this paint brush? Leave it here? Take it with me? Think, hurry THINK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I set the paint brush down and climbed to the ground and stood the straightest, tightest, tallest, stiffest position of attention I could muster with wobbly knees. He came and stood right in front of me, "At ease, soldier. What's your name?" I wanted to be so you know --hoor-ah! ARMY! I wanted a commanding voice like a thunder of confidence but instead this crackly weak meek little voice said, "Private Dodge, Sir."

"Private Dodge, where are you from? Where's home?" Oh please make Chicago proud. Represent! Do it right --but still in a voice flowing with nerves, "Chicago, Sir." He made a few comments about Chicago, most of which I didn't even hear as I was still shaking in disbelief, "Where do you work, Private Dodge?" I was ever so slightly beginning to gain control of my voice once more, "JAG, Sir."

"Ah yes, there with MSG C. Well, I just wanted to come over and say thank you for working my detail today. You're doing a good job and I'm going to call MSG C and tell him so. Keep up the good work."

"Yes, Sir! Thank you Sir!"

That's right. Standing there talking to ME, Private Dodge was the Commanding General of the 1st Armored Division, a two star General! It wouldn't be my only encounter with a General. Somewhere in my future there was yet another General I'd come in contact with --- a 3 star!

Basic Training helped me to remember:
B (Be) - Brigadier General (one star)
M (My) - Major General (two star)
L (Little) - Lieutenant General (three star)
G (General) - General (four star)

On The Home Front

As I was settling into Germany and the Army things were getting better, or at least more bearable. No matter how much I liked Germany, the Army or how many friends I made, I was simply homesick most of the time --ALL of the time. Many nights I'd cry myself to sleep because my heart ached so much for the home front. I had pictures of my family posted all over my barracks walls and office. I thought of them constantly and missed them beyond measure.

Soon after I arrived at 1st AD I became known as the soldier that got the most mail. My sisters Val and Sam wrote me ALL of the time. They'd send me packages, pictures, cards and letters. My grandmother sent packages --mostly homemade goods. They weren't so good by the time they reached me, often stale or crumbled but regardless, I ate them with such delight. She would also write letters and send me pictures. My cousin Marsha and my Aunt sent packages too. My mother wrote me a lot of letters. She also sent me post cards quite often. They didn't say much but they didn't need to because the "Love, Mom" at the bottom was what meant the most to me. My Dad even sent letters every now and then but also he'd call me once a month. In fact, he was the only one that ever called me. We couldn't talk long because it was so crazy expensive to call overseas back then. What he probably never knew is throughout the entire conversation, I'd have tears just rolling down my face.

Just like the postcard, it wasn't what they sent but the fact that you knew you weren't forgotten. We didn't have cell phones, internet, email, IM --all I had was snail mail and back then, even just a letter could take 2 weeks to reach me. Sometimes at night I'd lay in bed and count the days it had been since I heard someones voice. I'd think, "Now the last time I talked to Mom was . . . . " then I'd try and figure out how many days it had been since I heard her voice. My sister Val was amazing --I'd write to her and tell her things I needed or couldn't get and within no time a package would arrive with exactly what I had asked for. My sister Sam just sent fun and whimsical things.

When I'd get really bad-off homesick I had a little trick. I'd go to a pay phone and put in what would be equivalent to an American quarter. I'd call a family member and as soon as they said "hello" the call would end. 25 cents bought you about 2 seconds of call-time. This was before caller-ID days too so they had no idea what the call was about - -no clue it was me. As I was placing the call I'd get excited because I had no idea who was going to answer the phone! As the phone was ringing I'd try to guess who it would be. After they picked up I'd try to rush in a "hello" back but the call most always ended before I could. I know, it sounds silly now but hearing someones voice always made me feel better. Even if for just a split second, I was connected to my home and family and for the 12 months I was overseas, this helped me through it all.

Mail Call was my favorite time of each day. I LOVED Mail Call! I'd take my mail back to my barracks or office (if it was during the duty day) and I'd rip open each letter or card and read it over and over and over again.

I still have a VHS video my Dad made for me while I was in Germany. It was right after my niece Lindsay was born and my family was at my cousin Marsha's house celebrating my Dad's birthday. Courtney and Morgan were running around in nothing but a diaper (it was a sticky hot July day). My sisters interviewed my family members as if they were on Oprah. At the end of the video my Dad recorded himself talking to me. To this day I can't get through it without balling --I'm crying now just writing about it.

I never missed any place or any people as much as I missed Chicago and my entire family. I LOVED telling people I was from Chicago and in fact, people in the barracks used to call me, "Chicago". Uh so --nick names are really popular with soldiers and often times a nick name is given based on where you are from or something you did --either incredibly good or incredibly stupid.

I'm still not sure why they didn't call me Buffer! I was so bad (as in good) on that machine.

The Making of a Soldier

One day the SJA NCOIC said to me, "Your collar is looking a little light there." It took me a minute to realize what he was saying -- it was the Private E1 no rank on my collar look. He said, "I'll see if we can do something about that." That he did. I soon received my mosquito wings -- the little Private E2 chevron rank. It wasn't much but it certainly was something. I was happy.

The day after my NCOIC gave me my new rank, I couldn't wait to come to work the next day proudly displaying my new status. Yeah, it was just E2 but that was better than E1 and a step before E3. The next morning I was getting to leave for formation --I grabbed my BDU jacket and pushed those little mosquito wing pins right onto my collar. I secured them with the backing, put my jacket on and proudly walked my way to formation.

At this time, our company formation was at the motor pool. It would later move to behind the company barracks, which was literally outside my door. But this day I walked over to the motor pool and as was the norm, the company mingled and stood around before the 1SG arrived. Once 1SG got there, we'd have to get into our squads/platoons and get ready to be called to ATTENTION (I realize this is a lot of military jargon but its not paramount to the story so I won't try to explain it all). An E6 from our company, someone I really didn't know at all, came up to me and said, "Did we loose the war?"

Oh come on! I'm NOT falling for anymore pranks. I know what an Alert is, I know what a GI Party is . . .there wasn't a war and we haven't lost anything. The SSG (Staff Sergeant E6) is grinning and looking at my collar. I look down and I said, "Oh that!" I thought he wanted to congratulate me and admire my new E2 rank! I was so proud I said, "Yeah, I got promoted!" I still didn't understand the reference to losing the war but . . . .SSG looks at me and says, "I see you got promoted. Your rank, it's upside down. You have it wrong on your collar."

I was so embarrassed I wanted to run but here comes 1SG and we had to get into formation. As soon as we were done I couldn't wait to get back to my room to fix my collar. I was so intent on getting it perfectly centered on my collar I really didn't take note if it was upside down or not and honestly, I had no clue one way or the other.

These were the little things I was never told or taught. I mean yeah, I earned an Expert Badge for the M16 rifle and I can launch a grenade and fire an M-60 machine gun and I got to basic training not able to do even 3 push-ups and 8 weeks later was able to knock out 27 -----but I wasn't quite savvy as to little things like --which way is up and which way is down for a chevron.

But I was learning --certainly the school of hard knocks route but learning nonetheless and that is basically, the making of a soldier.

Lessons Learned by Private Dodge

Soon after our bathroom renovation was complete one morning I noticed signs posted all over the hallway and bathroom that said, "GI PARTY TONIGHT! 1800 HOURS!"

A GI party? Man, this place isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. GI party? For us? Wow, that's nice. I wonder where it will be. Is it like --big? Will there be a DJ? Food? Hmm --I wonder what I should wear --Do you have to wear a uniform to a GI party? I guess it doesn't really matter! I'm just excited --WE'RE HAVING A PARTY TONIGHT! WHOO HOO! The whole day I was quite excited about the GI party and I could tell everyone else was too. Even my NCOIC told me to make sure I wasn't late for the GI party.

That night I walked back to my barracks not knowing what to expect. It was nearly 1800 hours so I was in a bit of a hurry, especially if I needed to change into civilian clothes. When I walked into the barracks I was confused by what I saw. All of the female soldiers were in BDU pants, boots and a brown t-shirt. That combination usually meant WORK! In the hallway there were buckets, mops, all sorts of cleaning supplies and the ever favorite, the buffer! Before I had a chance to process any thoughts a sergeant E5 came up to me, clipboard in hand, "Bathroom or Hallway, 1SG Office, the CO's office . . ." She was rambling on. It was obvious to me we had barracks detail but weren't we going to be late for our party? Annoyed I wasn't snapping to pick something she yells, "Well, what are you going to GI? Pick something or I'll assign something." I was trying to figure out exactly what was going on. We were going to be late for the party and all of the guys were going to eat up all of the food before I got there! "Um, okay", I said softly, "I guess --I guess I'll buff?" She laughs. "You buff? I don't think so. Besides, it's already taken." She then proceeds to assign me the showers and toilets. All the while soldiers are running around everywhere. Mops are flinging, walls are being scrubbed down --it was like spring cleaning GI style --and then it dawns on me . . .

Wait a second! Spring cleaning GI style? IS THIS THE GI PARTY? Boy do I feel stupid! In fact, I feel as stupid as I did that time basic training when going to the range for the first time and drill sergeant kept telling us we were going to get some magazines.

Magazines? Isn't that nice of them! I was tired of the "hurry up and wait" game we had to play --at least now on the waiting part I could flip through a magazine. Being so sheltered from the civilian world during basic I was glad I'd get to get back in touch. Magazines! I thought even if they are out dated at least it's better than sitting there reading my stupid Smart Book! I wondered if they'd all be military related and I secretly hoped for a Glamor magazine.

Lessons Learned by Private Dodge:

1. Magazine - a metal receptacle for a number of cartridges, inserted into certain types of automatic weapons and when empty removed and replaced by a full receptacle in order to continue firing.

2. GI Party - military jargon for a group cleaning effort of a barracks, common area, bathroom, or, any area, room, office, etc. in general. It is not a casual cleaning, but rather an intensive top-down, inside-out, scrubbing, polishing, detailing, etc., typically in preparation for an inspection. Contrary to the name, it is no fun. One is not invited to a GI Party; one is ordered to participate in a GI Party.

3. Alert - does not mean Germany has been invaded.

Will I ever get the hang of this Army business?