And then you get in. I came out of combat training a PFC with commendations, albeit a Hollywood Marine. Know... They aren't hitting you because the trash can

And then you get in. I came out of combat training a PFC with commendations, albeit a Hollywood Marine. Know... They aren't hitting you because the trash can bounced off the bed you were next to. If they don't like you they'll make you exercise yourself until you break your hip. You aren't violating the Geneva convention if you accidentally hit the person with that weapon that is not approved for use against people if you were targeting the equipment you were standing next to. Honor, courage, and commitment you say? I made the mistake of saying. After two weeks of painting curbs and cutting the lawn with hedge trimmers, I found myself moving from Monterey to the Mojave in my dress blues. There I found myself in a Catch-22 style administrative black hole where I couldn't get orders until I was assigned to a school and couldn't be assigned to a school until I had orders. There were some incredible people but it was a very mixed bag.