Private Correspondences to Drill Sergeant Shanks

Tuesday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

Let me start by ensuring you how happy I am to have been assigned to your squadron for Basic Training. Other Privates I have spoken with assure me that you have a certain flair for sculpting the finest soldiers. (Your reputation precedes you, good Sir!) I do hope that mine is a clay suitable enough to be formed by your artist's hands. Granted, I may not turn out like David, but hopefully when it's all said and done I'll at least come close to The Burghers of Calais!

Overall, I feel very positive about today's meet-and-greet, but I did want to excuse myself yet again for mistaking a handshake as a suitable greeting between Private and Drill Sergeant. It was obviously an upsetting gesture for you, so much so that I couldn't fit in a response to any of your rapid-fire interrogations. (Please take note, I'm certainly not implying any rudeness on your part for this heated, one-sided exchange. For getting you so riled up, I scarcely deserved my own say in the matter.)

But vis-à-vis those aforementioned queries, let me assure you of the following:

There is certainly nothing wrong with my eyesight. Yes, I noticed that none of the other privates offered to shake your hand as you made your way through the column of new recruits. (I assumed they were all being rude.)

Your right hand was the only portion of your anatomy I had interest in grasping. (Admittedly, I'm still a bit perplexed as to how ready you were to interpret my politeness as a homosexual advance. Were you actually curious as to whether I had a desire to service you in front of the whole platoon? I'm not the type who gets these particular urges, Sir, and even if I were, I'm cognizant enough to recognize inappropriate timing.)

I hope this helps clear up any confusion or ill-will from this afternoon. And thank you for taking the time to read this. (I'm not even a confrontational person, believe it or not!)

Yours,
Private Witherspoon

Wednesday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

Hi again Drill Sergeant. It's Private Witherspoon. Listen, I feel terrible about earlier. Honest, I wasn't ignoring you. I just hadn't realized when you were trying to get my attention that your new nickname for me was "Maggot Face." Had you called out "Spooney" or "Spoonerism", I assure you I would have responded much quicker.

Somewhat related question: Am I going to get punished every time you come up with a nickname for me that I don't instantly recognize? This could get very confusing for me, and moreover, it could be very straining for us.

Also: Can your grandmother really do more than twenty-two pushups? If you were just saying that to make me feel bad, mission accomplished.

Sincerely,
Private "Spooney"

Thursday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

Sorry that I missed today's hand-to-hand combat session - last night's super-late K.P. punishment simply pooped me out! When's a good time to make up the lesson?

(Speaking of K.P., don't you think it's about time the platoon gets a dishwasher? Or at least a decent S.O.S. pad? That toothbrush makes the job last forever. The Army's all about efficiency, yes?)

Oh, and rest assured I've learned my lesson: Next time I'll get permission from you first before I go telling the other guys that you call me "Private Spooney."

Cheers,
Private "Dog Shit"

Friday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but some of the guys in the platoon are demonstrating textbook entry-level employee grousing. Some of the guys (I won't name names - unless it turns out that you later will want these names. In which case I'll gladly name names) are starting to complain about the routine and the food, and one soldier (OK, Private Bentley) referred to you as "Drill Sergeant Skanks."

I don't know about you, but I feel this is not building towards a cohesive work environment. It's especially difficult when a certain Sergeant-slandering private refers to one of his peers as "Private Without-poon."

I look forward to this issue being resolved promptly.

Best,
Private Witherspoon

Saturday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

I was sensing some real negative vibes from you today. Are you mad at me for something? I didn't even get a chance to say "Hi" before you were screaming in my face. And then you go and tell me "[I]'ll never amount to anything in [my] whole stinking life"? If something's the matter (with me, with us, with your personal life, etc.), let's talk about it. That'll get us a lot further than you just taking out your aggression on me.

Know this: I'm not mad; I'm concerned. Is there somewhere on base we can get a latte and hash things out?

Feel better,
Private Witherspoon

Monday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

Some of the other privates told me about The Green Berets. It sounds like quite an impressive group. They said I should ask you for information on getting in.

Warmly,
Private Witherspoon

P.S. Changed your mind about that latte yet?

Tuesday

Dear Sergeant Shanks,

Is it true that we're being trained in order to be sent to Iraq? I don't think I'll go: I get airsick pretty easily. (And pretty badly.)

Send me a postcard!

Fondly,
Private Witherspoon