So here we are with part 6 of this journey. This one is going to be tough to write about because it was during this time that my life would forever change. Now, let's go to Jacksonville, FL.
There are three types of stateside Sailors; Norfolk, Jacksonville, and San Diego. They all have their loyalists for the life of me, I'll never understand the draw to Jacksonville. The summers are humid and disgusting, and it rains the whole damn season. The highway system is hot garbage, and the people are kind of a**holes, however, I have met some folks that for some reason love Jacksonville, they're some of the greatest souls I've ever met. To answer your question, why did I take orders to Jacksonville if I don't like it there. Easy, I've never lived in that part of FL, and everyone up to this point has ranted and raved about Jacksonville; these folks have the distinct "honor" of being referred to as the Jax Mafia.
After I got everything situated and back to Naval standards (see part 5), I decided to take orders to become a recruiter. This was met with both positive and negative feedback from colleagues. The negative aspect could be broken into two different categories. The first category would be from past recruiters; as the job is the ultimate definition of a love/hate relationship. The second category would be from folks who didn't think I could do it. This would range from "leadership" to coworkers. It's always great getting your paperwork signed by someone, and they tell you "you're probably won't make it through recruiting school." Well, 5 weeks later, and orders to Naval Recruiting District Jacksonville, the naysayers can f*ck off. I was a recruiter and I proved them wrong.
Recruiting is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't type of job. It's 36 one-month tours; you can be a hero in March but a disappointment in April. I've always thought everyone should be a recruiter once in their military career. I think if more people would take a peek at the "business side" of the military, they would have a better understanding of how it operates and the reality that soldiers and sailors are numbers and nothing more. Now, some folks, I'm sure will have different takes on this, but when your instructor who's a career recruiter (aka rate change (changed jobs)) can't say "Recruits are more than numbers" with a straight face, it kind of makes the argument pretty solid. Luckily for me, I fully embraced that every single soldier, sailor, and airmen is nothing more than a number. Numbers that are easily replaceable and categorized by race, gender, and age. Some days MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station) will only accept females of color. On other days it may be white males only, some days it's based solely on ASVAB scores. Numbers. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't fault the military for operating their recruiting efforts like this, all corporations do. My gripe is: why try and pass it off as something it's not. Own it!
We've all heard stories about recruiters doing evil things, and my time in Jacksonville was no exception. While I was there, every case of assault, thievery, etc meant more "death by Powerpoint" training with leadership hoping it doesn't come to their district. There's nothing like hearing the first presenter start their suicide awareness training by saying: "We're here today so that none of you suck start a nine millimeter." Unfortunately, the leadership that actually means well, more often than not will always get drowned out by the "good ol' boys" club, which is ever present in the community. Same with the recruiters in the field.
I enjoyed my time recruiting to an extent. It opened my eyes to a side of the military that I wasn't too familiar with, and I learned a lot about the Navy and myself. I made great connections and friends and was able to get promoted. My wife was able to have life-saving surgery; there were some fun times we had. They had/have some rad comic shops and dope hole-in-the-wall concert venues (shout out to Jack Rabbits!). I get the draw to the area, but it's not for me, especially in this day and age. But I digress. It's 2010, and my time in Jacksonville has come to an end. I was going overseas, but the universe had other plans.
I remember my detailer calling me and saying she was canceling my orders to Africa and keeping me stateside, but I had to go back to sea. Looking back, I wasn't ready to go back to sea and deploy. Even now, as I'm writing this, I'm overcome with emotion. But I gotta talk about it. His memory deserves it. He deserves it.
I live that night over and over and over. My hands shake, my chest tightens up, and I tear up every time I think about it. The sounds, the conversations; you never get over the pain; you become accustomed to it. It's been 13 years, and it still hurts.
I knew that I wasn't ready for ship life, but I'd been running from my mental health for thirty-plus years. Surely I can pack this with everything else and continue on. Right? Little did I know that my journey into hell was just beginning. These next two years would prove to be some of my worst.
Thanks for reading.
