Because I was like 15' from the podium... not by choice, mind you. Back story:
Had jump last night. Got released from work around 2300, after turning in weapons and NODs. Was personally promised a 0900 work call today by my company's 1SG, so I stayed up until like 0200 drinking whiskey, talking to friends, and generally de-stressing after the jump - it's kind of a ritual that I like to do after each successful jump, just a little "Hey! I'm still alive!" celebration. Anyway.
Fast forward to 0530 this morning, when my phone starts ringing off the hook. IGNORE. IGNORE. IGNORE. Finally I get completely fucking fed up and answer, knowing full well what awaits me: "Dude. Get in ACUs and get down to the company as fast as you can."
FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKK.
I throw on the uniform I jumped in last night (which is dirtier than my mind), slap a beret on my head, and half-assedly brush my teeth. No time to shave, hell with it. I'm still quite hammered, barely conscious, and every bit as pissed off as you can imagine. A great way to start the day.
...Several hours later, we go through security after marching a fucking mile across the runway (side note; I forgot my Leatherman was still attached to my belt, but I left it next to a dumpster outside and came back for it later... ain't no security guy gettin' MY goddamn multitool for free). We file in, dressed right, looking pretty for all of about 10 minutes before our rank-and-file disintegrates into my favorite formation, the Gagglefuck. I was about three rows back by the time it was all sorted out.
We stood there for another three hours, waiting to be blessed with his awesome presence. THREE HOURS. That's as much sleep as I got last night, for those of you who aren't mathematicians. No bathroom breaks, no tobacco, no food, no water, no chairs... this less than twelve hours after a combat jump? Are these people high? My back still feels like I got trampled by a herd of abnormally angry buffalo. Not stoked. It doesn't help that I was standing there sweating pure bourbon the entire time - I heard people three rows away wondering "What the hell, who smells like a distillery right now? What a douche." My NCOIC could not be reached for comment regarding this situation.
Eventually the CIC decided us lowly paratroopers were worthy of his Jesus-like teleprompter reading skills (we actually had a false start, by which he embarrassed the hell out of a Two Star) and came out and campaigned for an hour. I really don't see what the big fucking deal is. Seriously, the guy reads off his two teleprompters the whole time - I'd wager that the longest he ever looked away from the screens was eight seconds, at most. Whatever happened to the days of giving a heartfelt speech from memory? Shit, stage actors do it, you'd think the leader of the free world could at least get that part right.
The best (read: absolute fucking worst, which is saying a lot) part of this whole dog and pony show was his highly dedicated group of absolutely insane fans. It was absolutely sickening to watch these people and their behavior. That is as far as I want to discuss that, mostly so I don't have a goddamn aneurism two days before block leave.
As you can tell, I'm still not in the greatest of moods. I needed to vent. Rant off.
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