Caitlin: Can You Be Court Marshaled if You're a Civilian

My cousin Cody (Who has recently changed his name, legally, to Nicola Tesla. Not kidding) was graduating from marine basic training last week. In an effort to show what my father calls "Basic social skills" I accepted my aunt's invitation to drive down to San Diego to see them during family day. 

I would like it known that while I was not prepared for what I experienced that day I did manage to remember not to take my Night Vale tote and I took off my "Sons of Anarchy" necklace, so things could have been much worse. 

I should have realized I had made this trip in error when I pulled up to the base and had to turn down my punk music in order to talk to the soldier at the front gate to the base. Or I thought it was the front gate. The app on my phone that I downloaded specifically because you could have it give you directions in a British accent had told me that this was the way onto the military base. The man standing in front of me in full camo with a gun strapped to his side told me something different.

"This is not a civilian entrance!"* He barked. "You need to turn your vehicle around immediately and exit the base."

He looked like this. But angrier

"But my cousin is graduating into being... a... real marine... or something. Where do I got for family day stuff?" I asked, doing my best impression of a stupid civilian girl and thanking whatever God allowed me enough presence of mind to remove my studded leather arm cuff off before I left the house. 

"This is not a civilian entrance! You need to turn your vehicle around immediately and exit the base." He repeated. I could sense that his patience was nearing an end, and I'm fully aware how long I would last in any sort of detention situation.** I turned my car around and drove to (I'm not making this up) the porn video store across the street. Where a nice man with a reasonable tone of voice explained how to get to the right gate. I find I much prefer porn store owners to soldiers in directional matters.***

Anyway, I got on to the base, parked and was maybe three feet from my car before I fucked up again. "Do not walk on the grass!" A random passing soldier bellowed at me. I got off the grass and looked around, expecting to see some sort of sign. There was no sign. Apparently you are supposed to just know not to walk on military grade grass. Or maybe that specific patch is where they do their "find the land mine" practice. Who knows. The whole graduation was like this with rules about when to shout like you're at a football game and when you will be shot for making any noise whatsoever. I have some social anxiety when I'm not constantly breaking rules that I don't know exist. By the time I found my aunt and uncle I needed a Xanax and a hug.

Lunch was another test that I did not do well on. I followed the rest of my family through a buffet style set up getting rolls and mashed potatoes. Then we got to the front and the man asked me if I wanted chicken or roast beef. I told him I was a vegetarian and he put a piece of chicken on my plate. With a great deal of effort I suppressed the urge to clarify what vegetarian meant. I can only be yelled at so many times in a day... We got to the table, and sensing my vague amounts of personal trauma, my aunt swapped my chicken for a cookie and said "These people really drank the koolaide, huh?" Because my aunt is a no good hippie writer like me. She's just learned how to blend in with the military families like an undercover on a long assignment. 

Anyway, it all turned out fine. My cousin is very happy being a machine with little to no individuality and his happiness is what counts here. I was glad I got to see my aunt and uncle, and I waited until I was safely on the highway back to my preferred insanity in Los Angeles before I put the punk music back on my stereo. Just in case...

Little C

*I use bold type here, because while he wasn't screaming at me, he wasn't using what I would call a non-threatening tone either. 

**maybe 10 minutes before I made things worse by quoting A Few Good Men

***There's a sentence my mother would be proud I've typed.