Grounded

I spent a little more than three years in the Navy. It really helped me decide what I didn't want to do for the rest of my life -- be in the Navy -- and introduced me to some ideas of what I might be able to do -- go to college to become a journalist.

So the other day as I pulled into a store parking lot and encountered a flock of grounded seagulls I was temporarily transported back to sea.

I did my time in the enlisted ranks, working in maintenance administration of an F4 fighter squadron. Mostly I talked to the pilots to find out if the jets had any problems and then I told someone who cared. I suppose there were lower forms of enlisted life, but low I was.

You always had at least one guy who tried to stand out, never quite appreciating that the Navy hierarchy was as rigid as a steel bulkhead and just a permeable. What other branch of the service invests as much manpower in serving officers their meals? At the time I was in the Navy, the guys serving in the officer's mess were still mostly Filipinos.

The officers -- they were always above.

I watched the machinations, the maneuvering, always appreciating that, to paraphrase Gatsby, officers "are different from you and me."

And the flag-rank officers? Gods. Immortals.

Day 47 of 365