hotei
Jr. Member
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I always knew I wasn't military material, I don't know how I knew it, or why I thought it, but that is a thought that has danced between my ears for years (and considering there ain't much between my ears -- you can be sure that is a thought that stood out).
When I first had the spark of interest, way back in 2003, I was a chubby lad of 17 and I got to tour the HMCS Summerside (and, on a side note, the HMS Bounty -- tres cool!) in, of all places: Summerside, PEI. I had the glossy brochure in hand, and while the jobs sounded exciting and certainly interesting, the physical portion stood out like an old, hand-forged rusty nail.
Nineteen push-ups? Impossible!
Nineteen sit-ups? Unthinkable!
2.4km run in ANY amount of time? Buh-bye, see ya later, au revoir mon ami.
I thought to myself: "self, I can't do that."
But I tried.... and failed.... miserably. I couldn't do a single push up, my sit-ups numbered less then ten (not to mention they were sloppier than a pig in a mud bath), and as for my running. Let's just say I think a dead, flayed, and smoked tortoise ran faster. I had washed out before I even began.
Even though I figured I hadn't a hope in Hell, I felt that my physical capabilities were, shall we say lacking (others might actually call it laughable...). So, I figured, perhaps I ought to work on that (all the while my body was contemplating killing me just to stop its pain).
Fast forward to February 2009. I am now running 10k every second day, I am able to do a hundred sit-ups at a time (the last forty are a pain no man can describe), and fifty push-ups besides. But for whatever reason, my mind still keeps telling me:
"You're not military material."
"Why not?" I ask myself honestly.
"F*** if I know. I am your subconscious, not your freakin' psychiatrist."
"Oh. sorry."
(Apparently my subconscious also has an attitude problem.)
So, I decide it can't hurt to put my file in. Despite getting a bit of a run around with the initial recruitment phase, I finally made it to my CFAT test. I thought to myself, what the heck, if nothing else I made $60 bucks in travel pay (best lunch I have had in a while!).
I sat down for the test, and once all the rigamarole with the drug-sheets was completed, then the waiting game began. The lady at the CFRC said: everyone just wait in this room and a career counsellor will be with you shortly. Of the 8 people in the room, five got called out. The last three of us in the room all looked around at one another with furtive glances. Thirty minutes went by. Then forty. The last three of us were by this point wondering what happened.
Were we the condemned? The ones who had simply not made the grade, and the counsellors were just outside drawing straws to see who got to break us the news? The tension, I must admit, was pretty high.
Then the lady returned. This is it. Here it comes. She opened her mouth:
"Okay you guys all qualified for your trades, we'll be giving you a call next week to schedule your physicals and interviews."
The sound of the last three of us letting out our breaths was hilarious.
The physical was a piece of cake. I sat down with the medical fellow who poked, proded and nudged me. I peed in the cup ("You must love your job," I said as I handed the fellow his souvenir of my visit). Off I went to the interview.
The captain I spoke with was a nice fellow. Very up front, very frank, and seemed to know how to handle the paper work. I will add, for all those reading (yeah, all two of you), that the interview prep form isn't worth your time. Most of the questions can be answered johnny-on-the-spot. All I will say is make sure you know the general duties that are listed on the website.
Anyway, the captain said that he worked with a lot of rubbernecks (291, 000120, otherwise known as Communications Research Operator) and said that I seemed to have the aptitude, personality and sense of humour that would fit right in with them (I am still not sure is that was a compliment...) and that I would really enjoy my time there. So, he convinced me that I ought to drop my other two choices, and just focus on that one. Fine by me, I said.
He finished up the conversation by saying that my BackCheck should be completed before the end of the week, and that I should be merit listed by same. Sometime after that, I should get the call, and he said you could be off as soon as May.
This past week has been full of anxiousness. I kept my cell phone by me, but I tried as best as I could to keep the thought out of my head.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.
Nothing.
So around noon on Friday, I thought to myself perhaps I should give the good captain a quick call. Can't hurt. Right?
Well, after nearly 20 minutes, I had the answer I had expected. "Your file is still in processing."
"Ah, okay," I said. "Should I call back in two weeks time then?"
"Oh, i am pretty sure you will hear something before then."
I hung up the phone, and went about my day (a couple of my family were under the weather, so I was playing nursemaid). Admist the hack, wheezing and calls for soup I heard the house phone ring. I thought nothing of it because the CFRC always called my cell phone first, then the house phone.
I picked up the phone, only to find out that I had a job offer. Communications Research Operator (Army). I was shocked, excited, and trying desperately to keep my voice down so that I didn't wake anyone. I accepted on the spot.
I get sworn in on the 7th, and I leave on the 19th by carpool to get to St. Jean for sometime around noon. My course starts on the 20th.
Perhaps the best line, however came at the end of the conversation with my file manager, after he welcomed me to the position.
"You know, your file was refreshingly boring."
Never thought my boring personality would come in so handy.
heh.
Well, that is that. I have a feeling the "your-thank-you-speech-is-taking-too-long" music came on a long time ago, so I guess I will just say: see, if I can do it, anyone can! >
When I first had the spark of interest, way back in 2003, I was a chubby lad of 17 and I got to tour the HMCS Summerside (and, on a side note, the HMS Bounty -- tres cool!) in, of all places: Summerside, PEI. I had the glossy brochure in hand, and while the jobs sounded exciting and certainly interesting, the physical portion stood out like an old, hand-forged rusty nail.
Nineteen push-ups? Impossible!
Nineteen sit-ups? Unthinkable!
2.4km run in ANY amount of time? Buh-bye, see ya later, au revoir mon ami.
I thought to myself: "self, I can't do that."
But I tried.... and failed.... miserably. I couldn't do a single push up, my sit-ups numbered less then ten (not to mention they were sloppier than a pig in a mud bath), and as for my running. Let's just say I think a dead, flayed, and smoked tortoise ran faster. I had washed out before I even began.
Even though I figured I hadn't a hope in Hell, I felt that my physical capabilities were, shall we say lacking (others might actually call it laughable...). So, I figured, perhaps I ought to work on that (all the while my body was contemplating killing me just to stop its pain).
Fast forward to February 2009. I am now running 10k every second day, I am able to do a hundred sit-ups at a time (the last forty are a pain no man can describe), and fifty push-ups besides. But for whatever reason, my mind still keeps telling me:
"You're not military material."
"Why not?" I ask myself honestly.
"F*** if I know. I am your subconscious, not your freakin' psychiatrist."
"Oh. sorry."
(Apparently my subconscious also has an attitude problem.)
So, I decide it can't hurt to put my file in. Despite getting a bit of a run around with the initial recruitment phase, I finally made it to my CFAT test. I thought to myself, what the heck, if nothing else I made $60 bucks in travel pay (best lunch I have had in a while!).
I sat down for the test, and once all the rigamarole with the drug-sheets was completed, then the waiting game began. The lady at the CFRC said: everyone just wait in this room and a career counsellor will be with you shortly. Of the 8 people in the room, five got called out. The last three of us in the room all looked around at one another with furtive glances. Thirty minutes went by. Then forty. The last three of us were by this point wondering what happened.
Were we the condemned? The ones who had simply not made the grade, and the counsellors were just outside drawing straws to see who got to break us the news? The tension, I must admit, was pretty high.
Then the lady returned. This is it. Here it comes. She opened her mouth:
"Okay you guys all qualified for your trades, we'll be giving you a call next week to schedule your physicals and interviews."
The sound of the last three of us letting out our breaths was hilarious.
The physical was a piece of cake. I sat down with the medical fellow who poked, proded and nudged me. I peed in the cup ("You must love your job," I said as I handed the fellow his souvenir of my visit). Off I went to the interview.
The captain I spoke with was a nice fellow. Very up front, very frank, and seemed to know how to handle the paper work. I will add, for all those reading (yeah, all two of you), that the interview prep form isn't worth your time. Most of the questions can be answered johnny-on-the-spot. All I will say is make sure you know the general duties that are listed on the website.
Anyway, the captain said that he worked with a lot of rubbernecks (291, 000120, otherwise known as Communications Research Operator) and said that I seemed to have the aptitude, personality and sense of humour that would fit right in with them (I am still not sure is that was a compliment...) and that I would really enjoy my time there. So, he convinced me that I ought to drop my other two choices, and just focus on that one. Fine by me, I said.
He finished up the conversation by saying that my BackCheck should be completed before the end of the week, and that I should be merit listed by same. Sometime after that, I should get the call, and he said you could be off as soon as May.
This past week has been full of anxiousness. I kept my cell phone by me, but I tried as best as I could to keep the thought out of my head.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.
Nothing.
So around noon on Friday, I thought to myself perhaps I should give the good captain a quick call. Can't hurt. Right?
Well, after nearly 20 minutes, I had the answer I had expected. "Your file is still in processing."
"Ah, okay," I said. "Should I call back in two weeks time then?"
"Oh, i am pretty sure you will hear something before then."
I hung up the phone, and went about my day (a couple of my family were under the weather, so I was playing nursemaid). Admist the hack, wheezing and calls for soup I heard the house phone ring. I thought nothing of it because the CFRC always called my cell phone first, then the house phone.
I picked up the phone, only to find out that I had a job offer. Communications Research Operator (Army). I was shocked, excited, and trying desperately to keep my voice down so that I didn't wake anyone. I accepted on the spot.
I get sworn in on the 7th, and I leave on the 19th by carpool to get to St. Jean for sometime around noon. My course starts on the 20th.
Perhaps the best line, however came at the end of the conversation with my file manager, after he welcomed me to the position.
"You know, your file was refreshingly boring."
Never thought my boring personality would come in so handy.
heh.
Well, that is that. I have a feeling the "your-thank-you-speech-is-taking-too-long" music came on a long time ago, so I guess I will just say: see, if I can do it, anyone can! >
