I never really saw the appeal of running around and shooting other people with paint while avoiding the same fate. While I've seen many people get obsessed with the sport (if it can be called such) I simply never saw the appeal.
Now, having both shot and been shot by paintballs I can say that, though fun, I still don't get all the hub-bub.
We met at the recruiter's office at 8:00 in the morning. While we waited for various other poolees to arrive and sort out money difficulties our recruiter had us all do a max set of pull-ups or max seconds on the flexed-arm hang for us gals.
It was freezing cold, windy, rainy and a generally yucky day to be doing anything and I was happy to have had the foresight to add an extra layer of thigh-high socks, a long-sleeve shirt under a t-shirt with a sweat-shirt over top. It also seemed to help quite a bit upon getting shot.
We arrived at the paintball place, payed and within minutes we were out on the course doing our first match.
I was on the blue team and playing against the reds and I couldn't help but think the entire time of the infamous Red vs Blue parody of the popular video game Halo. The entire time I was on the field I kept wanting to scream out, "SUCK IT, REDS!" But I didn't.
The first game was a version of capture the flag and I held back just watching what it was everyone was doing and getting a hang of the etiquette of this thing called paintball.
The match was over rather quickly as our team decimated the opposing Reds.
Eager to try my hand at this new thing I quickly dived into the next game by rushing into the field and even low crawling through mud and muck toward cover while attempting to lay down my own suppressing fire.
The gal behind me would later comment and tell me that I had "game." Whatever that was supposed to mean.
The Blues continued to triumph until a second, rather large group of poolees arrived, nearly twice the size of our group.
Our group, having been split in two to form the Red and Blue teams was now joined into one large Yellow team and all of the arriving poolees were made into the Green team.
They kicked our butts.
We retaliated with a vengeance.
Some of the more eager poolees arrived with paintball sniper rifles and full-auto guns and reloaders that could lay down a steady stream of paintballs. It's an odd sensation to hear someone scream, "SNIPER FIRE!" in regards to paintball but it happened. The rest of us had rental gear that was spotty, though I'm happy to say I got myself a pretty good gun.
My most memorable hit was to the back of my head. It was unfortunate and rather painful but livable. I had turned around to accept a refill of paintballs from someone else and got hit. Silly me.
As people started running out of paint we started trickling to the side and getting ready to leave. Because I have an over-developed trigger finger I found myself on the side lines for almost three whole games. I didn't mind. It was fun to watch the two teams battle it out.
In the midst of one game I lost interest and started milling around picking up other poolees trash and throwing it in the trash cans. It had started with just my table and the trash of poolees with us but as it progressed I went on to pick up trash from the ground and other surrounding tables.
One of the Staff Sergeants called my name and said, "If I could, I would recommend you for a NAM." That is, Navy Achievement Medal, for those who don't know.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"That's what I'm talking about," he said, rather loudly. "You see that, everyone," he gestured around to the other poolees standing about, "That is what you need to succeed in the United States Marine Corps: Initiative. Outstanding."
I smiled, "I just don't like mess."
I wasn't trying to be recognized or do anything to curry a favor. I just wanted to clean up the area and to get moving so I wouldn't freeze. It did feel good to be noticed for something good, however.
I will admit that I don't really fit with the other poolees. All of them are in high school or maybe their first year of college. Young, relatively care-free, their lives don't fit with my own. They could care less about kids and spouses, mortgages, health insurance, pediatricians, day cares, spousal work issues and utilities bills. They talk mostly of sports, grades, graduation parties and dates, things that haven't been a concern of mine for almost seven years. An attempt on my part to "fit in" with them would be juvenile and awkward and portray me as something I most certainly am not: desperate for their approval and acceptance. They are who they are. I am who I am. There needs to be no meeting in the middle.
No, I'm not better than them in any way, shape or form. Once at Boot Camp I'm sure that we will all be on that same level and find that equal camaraderie that binds us as a team, but in the mean time I am in a world very different than their own and they are in a world very different from mine.
Instead, I took a quick glance in my recruiters' directions for a sort of fit but decided against that course of action.
Because I have always found myself so comfortable around the Marine Corps and having a working knowledge of the Corps I have never had an issue connecting and talking to Marines. I can usually hold a good conversation with any Marine about Companies, Battalions, MOSs, bases, even deployments and weaponry. This time, however, I'm finding silence to be golden.
Just today I witnessed innocent flirting amongst the female poolees and the male poolees and even the recruiters. The image of a flirtatious female is one that I cannot afford and do not desire to create. I am a married woman of a few more years than my fellow female poolees. Many of the recruiters in charge of us are single men of the same or only a few more years than I. In another time and place I could be dating any one of them and no one would think anything of it.
Their returning the innocent flirts of a couple of seventeen and eighteen year-olds looks teasing and almost cute. Often times it just makes the girls look immature and silly. Everyone knows, however, there's nothing to it. However, even perceived interest in me looks like.. well.. interest.
In the interest of being professional and keeping themselves above question they tend to not banter with me, though I must say that I do not give them a chance to do such. While other gals may tease and coax a dialog out of the recruiters via provocation of one sort or another, I answer my questions as briskly as possible and seek no personal information. I am courteous but try to view them as professional Marine recruiters and not my friends. They, in turn, treat me with a detached sort of professionalism that I am grateful for.
I have noticed that a majority of the recruiters leave me be. I return the favor by not appearing to eager to get to know them. Other than the question or two about duty stations and MOSs, I keep my distance from them and let them do their job. They are polite but professionally distant from me and that's exactly as I would prefer it to be.
No blurring of lines. No room for false pretenses or assumptions. Straight business. I'm all for it.
I am rather alone in the world of Marine Corps poolee functions but I am not lonely. I am satisfied that this is right where I need to be.
Therefore, for one of the recruiters to point me out in any fashion was a bit of a surprise but a good one.
When we were done with the paintball stuff we went back to the office, did more pull-ups and flexed-arm hangs and I rushed off to get baby wipes and groceries and head home to a hungry baby and husband to feed.
This life is getting more interesting with every step I take.
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