I can remember the first time the idea of me getting promoted was spoken within my earshot. At the beginning of my junior year, either my platoon or the whole company was standing out in front of Delta’s dorm. Our … not our platoon leader – that would have been a senior and an officer – but the “enlisted” second-in-command of our platoon, a junior … was really ripping into the squad leaders for something. The way we marched, squad duties, the condition of squad members’ rooms … something.
And suddenly he busted out with, “I know a junior who’s doing better than all of you and I can just as easily replace one of you with him!” There was only one person that could be. Not (just) because I was so great, but because I was a new cadet (I’d been gone for two years and was in lower school last time I was on campus so almost nobody even knew my name) I was the only junior who didn’t have a position and my room was spotless, I was born to shine shoes, my grades were always hot, etc.
It was an off-hand comment, more meant as a warning than anything … but it was also a warning to me of things to come.
The more I did well and excelled at the things that mattered: no discipline problems, clean & orderly room, great grades … the more stripes I got. Eventually, for a reason I can’t remember, I turned it in.
The only time I regretted that was at some military summer camp that would have been a lot more fun if I didn’t have to do things like wash dishes and perform other mind-numbing, time-killing tasks because I wasn’t an NCO or officer.
