Jet Girl : My Life in War, Peace, and the Cockpit of the Navy's Most Lethal Aircraft, the FA-18 Super Hornet (9781250139306) by Johnson Caroline

Author:Johnson, Caroline
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan

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After I’d checked into the squadron, I went to the PR shop—short for parachute rigger’s, the shop that maintains our survival equipment. “Ma’am, that’s all we need from you right now,” the Sailor said after I turned over my bag of flight gear, much heavier than when I got it in Pensacola. “Is there any gear or anything you need from us?”

It was a relatively quiet afternoon, so I replied, “Actually, yes. I hate to ask about this, but I only have two green flight suits and I’ve been wearing them for the past three years of training, so they’re pretty worn.” I shifted my weight and continued, “I’m kind of in a weird place because they’re custom-made for me and I know they take a long time to order, so I was wondering if we can please possibly order some soon? So they’ll arrive before deployment?”

“Ma’am, we don’t do custom flight suits.”

“Actually,” I said, “I have had them made for me before. It takes a while and I need them for deployment.”

The older enlisted now joined the conversation. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, we don’t do custom flight suits. We can get you normal flight suits, but nothing special.”

“Okay,” I said, deciding that these guys were going to be a pain in the ass and that I’d figure it out another way.

A week later, three junior officers who were my rank but senior to me pulled me into one of the briefing rooms. They directed me to sit in a chair in the middle of the room. They stood and began circling me.

One of the JOs spoke first. “Who are you to think you can demand custom-made flight suits when you’ve been here since breakfast? Why are you already trying to outdo our old swag and buy new stuff? Why aren’t you like the other new guys, sitting in the skiff and studying with your mouth shut?”

“I’m sorry. I’d been instructed to get new gear. I need custom flight suits and they take a while to order.”

Another JO spoke. “Need or want? What makes you think you know it all? You have a bad attitude, Johnson. You’re cocky, and you better wise up if you want to make it in this squadron.”

After twenty minutes of this treatment, I understood that they just wanted the five basic responses I’d learned as a plebe at the Academy—Yes, sir. No, sir. Aye, aye, sir. No excuse, sir. I’ll find out, sir. Sir, sir, sir.

So I apologized and gave them what they wanted. I would try harder to be a better FNG and not cause waves.

When they released me what seemed like forty-five minutes later, I beelined out of the squadron, biting the inside of my lip so hard to keep from crying that it bled. I got in my car, slipped on my big, dark sunglasses and let the tears flow. I’d been working my ass off to fit in, to do the job I’d been assigned, to be a good WSO. I’d been meek and submissive and good at my job, but clearly that wasn’t enough.

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