The Young Canadian Sailor

This will probably be the first post for my "official" weblog.  I just wanted to get down a record of what went before...

Where to begin...

Okay.  It all started in October of 2003.  My wife (Ellen, but more on her later) had just attended her graduation ceremony for her B.A.  I was wasting my life doing a job a monkey could do.  I was doing it quite well, though.  I don't think a monkey could do it as well as I could, I'm just saying that the job was so simple that a monkey could complete the required tasks.

Where was I?  Right.  Anyway, I felt that I was in a trap.  See, I never completed my university degree (Psychology), and I had no real certification or degree in anything, which kind of limited my career choices.  Sort of like a living "stay in school" message.  My problem, though, was I couldn't figure out a way to get training and work full-time simultaneously.  I know there are people who do, but I still have no idea how.

So I was stuck in the working poor category, and despairing of ever escaping it.  My employer held out the hope of promotion, but all that meant was greater responsibility without any pay raise.  So now what?

Okay, so you've read the title of the blog and can guess what I did.  Bravo.  I'm just trying to set up a little drama here, okay?

So, yes.  I decided to join the Canadian Armed Forces.  There were two reasons for this:  First, through them I could get training and certification (while being paid to do it), and that would mean a better future on civvie street if/when I left.  But, Second, it meant I could make a difference with my life, rather than just marking time until I check out.

Because that's what I've always wanted: an Adventure.  Don't get me wrong, though.  The thought of leaving my wife, my cats (don't ask), and the only city I've ever lived in doesn't exactly fill me with unmitigated joy, but it is a price I'm willing to pay.  And you get what you pay for.

So, in October, that left me with one obstacle.  How to enlist.  I realized I had no clue.  Sure, I had the (mainly American) cliché in mind of the wily recruiting sergeant who tells people whatever they want to hear, and has them in an uniform before they can get back out the door, but I had no idea how things really worked.

And, let me tell you, for me, at this time, in this military, glaciers move faster.

Here's my story, and the beginning of my journal.

October 2003:

Discovered there is 1 (one) Canadian Forces Recruiting Centre in Toronto.  Fortunately, it is relatively easy to get to by transit.  Unfortunately, it is only open 9-5, Monday to Friday.  As an aside, who thought that was a good idea?  We're just not going to hire people with day jobs?  They couldn't stay open to 8pm maybe?  Or even Wednesday to Sunday?  It's not like there unionized...

Ahem.

Went to CFRC.  Talked to a really nice Sergeant, Bill Kowalchuk.  Strangely, he was wearing a navy uniform, which would make me think his three cheverons would make him a Petty Officer 2nd, but his business card said "Sergeant" so go figure.  He gave me some forms to fill out, showed me the various trades that you can join and so on.  I look at the physical requirements and blanche.  The grip and situps, sure, but the push-ups and running?  Yikes.  I "decided" on three trades.  Signal Operator (basically a radioman), Communicator Research Operator (Communications Intelligence), and Armoured Soldier (e.g. a tank gunner), and went home.

 
November and December 2003:

Thus begins an interesting exercise in providence.  Now, you need to understand two things about me at that time.  Number one, I was out of shape.  Not morbidly obese, mind you, but not exactly fit.  If I had taken the Basic course at that time... Shudder.  The second thing is that we (my wife and I) were poor.  I was making a little less than CDN$20,000 a year, and Ellen got some money on loan from the government to help cover tuition, but that was pretty much it (aside from bumming money off family).  So we could generally cover the rent, food and the telephone bill, and maybe the occasional frill but that was it.

Each of these two things presented an obstacle to my future in the military, one hard, one soft.  The soft obstacle was exercise.  As I had never really been in shape, I didn't really have a firm idea on how long it would take to get there.  So I dieted, and began "working out."  I wince now when I think of those "work outs."  See, we were too poor for me to join a gym, and it was winter in Canada, so I ended up climbing the stairs in my building (about 22 stories).  I could do sit-ups,  but I couldn't even do one push-up, so I ended up improvising exercises which I figured worked the same muscles.  It worked but...

There is a quote from the Simpsons: "We're behind the other kids, so we're going to catch up by learning slower?"  I was maybe a little naïve, but every day I figured I was just a week or two from meeting those physical requirements.

The hard obstacle was ID.  See, back in 2000 I lost my wallet.  In it was my Social Insurance Number card and my Driver's License (well, learner's permit, but good for ID).  Have you ever tried to replace ID when you don't have any?  It's not easy, and I didn't really need any, so I let it be.  Now, I was faced with a problem.  I was willing to navigate the endless bureaucracy to get new ID, but that takes time, and money.  And it took a while before I received both.

But then I was ready!  Look out, Army/Navy/Whatever!  Here I come!

 
January 2004:

Okay.  So now I had ID, and if I couldn't quite do as many push-ups as I needed to (or, for that matter, two...) I was getting stronger, and it shouldn't take much longer, should it?  So I finally filled out those forms that Sergeant Kowalchuk had given me.  I decided to change my trade selections, though.  I decided to go for Navy.  See the world, proud naval traditions, etc.  So, I replaced Signal Operator and Armoured Soldier with Naval Communicator and Tactical acoustic Sensor Operator.  Then I went back to the CFRC.

Well, they seemed pretty enthusiastic.  Apparently, the Navy trades desperately needed recruits, and nobody in Toronto ever wanted to join the Navy, so they were kind of enthusiastic.  They asked me when I could come in next to do the tests (aptitude, Physical and Medical).  When I didn't give a response right away they asked, "tomorrow?"  Yikes!  No way could I pass the physical by tomorrow!  Better put it off a little and have more time to get in shape.  "How about next week?" I responded.  Yes.  Surely a whole week will be enough time to go from barely able to do one push-up to 19.  After all, I thought, once I can lift my own weight easily, what difference does it make how many push-ups I do at once?

Now, here is where I feel the need to defend myself.  I realize, now, how stupid that reasoning was.  I should, I suppose, have realized it at the time.  But I had never done this before, or anything like it, and I was so desperate to move ahead with this that I kept squashing down that voice in my head that said I was an idiot.

After all, that same voice was telling me to give up on this thing altogether.

That's when I made my second mistake.  After leaving the CFRC I met Ellen and discussed the situation.  I realized I had a lot of work to do to get in shape for... Ahem... Next week.  Now, we had a bit more money then than usual; Ellen's loan had just come in.  I had joined the local YMCA, and though I was working out (and beginning to do actual workouts, too) I was having difficulty with my job.  Aside from the fact that it was a never-ending source of frustration and stress, it was hard to work all day then push myself at the gym.  And, to my credit, I was working hard at the gym.  Three days on, then a rest day, then three days again, about two hours a day.  I had lost weight, was fitter, and was starting to find my stride running.  But my job was killing me.

So, I decided to quit.  See, I had to beg time off work to go to the CFRC anyway (Mon-Fri, 9-5 remember), I figured that if I pushed myself all day, every day that week I could squeak through the physical, and I we had some money put aside.  The lure of finally quitting, on my own terms, was just too much to resist.  So I did.

And flunked the physical the next week.  But I passed the other tests (though the medical was later), and I thought "I can pass this.  Maybe another month?"  So I rescheduled for next month.

 
February 2004 - April 2004:

And the next month, and the next, and the next.  Month by month I got closer and closer but push-ups!  Oh how I came to loath push-ups.  I was actually getting quite (for me, then) fit.  I'd lost about 40 lbs, was running regularly, and doing push-ups as part of my daily workout.  I just choked when I has to do them in the test.  By April, though, I'd gotten to the point where even when I did choke I still squeezed through (put they wrote "weak" next to my score.  Bastards).  So, I'm in now, right?  Money's getting kind of short guys...

Nope.  I need an interview.  How's May?  May good for you?  So I end up waiting a month for my interview.  I follow the guidelines in the package they give potential recruits on how to prepare for the interview, make notes, and generally prepare myself for an interview from Hell.

One month later, the whole thing lasts about 10 minutes.  And I still sounded like an idiot.

So, what now?  Now, they send off my medical file to Borden, ON.  Say what?  You haven't done that let?  Nope.  Turns out they hold off on that until everything else is done so that they don't waste resources on people who drop out partway through the process.  I kid you not.

So, how long will that take?  "About a week or two."  So I wait.

 
May 2004 - June 2004:

Money is beyond tight.  I'm begging my family, Ellen's family, I'm even seriously considering asking homeless guy on the corner for spare change.

Every week, more or less, I call the CFRC for an update.  Every week, same response:  "we're waiting to get your file back from Borden."  Turns out that the part-time Reservists are all processed at the same time (because they have to do their Basic training in the summer, because, you know, why would anyone other than high-school students join the military) and their files have clogged the system.

Finally, finally, near the end of June they tell me my file is back, and I'm just waiting for an Offer of Employment.  Unfortunately, that committee met four days ago.  No, they don't know when it's meeting again.  We'll call you, but it could be any day now.

At the end of June Ellen and I get the opportunity to go camping.  We both love camping, and haven't had a chance to (living in the city without a car) for years.  It's a cheap vacation, so we go.

 
July 2004:

I decide, first week of July, that if they don't call this week I'm giving up on the whole thing and just getting another dead-end job.  Then I get pneumonia.  It got kind of cold on that camping trip.  Since it takes me some time to  decide I do, in fact, have something wrong with me (though the raging fever should have been a clue) and see a doctor, it takes me two weeks to recover.

They still haven't called.

I go into the CFRC.  They still tell me the same thing.  I'm waiting for an offer.  Could be any time.  Don't worry, though.  We'll give you enough warning so that you can tell give employer two weeks notice.  Thanks.

Thing is, all the junk jobs have now been taken by school kids out for the summer.

 
But it could be any day now...

Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.     
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,     
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,     
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,        
So-oldier OF the Queen!