A few days later, I enrolled in welding school. I figured I'd be getting kicked out of the Army soon and I needed a back-up plan since I probably would not be able to get another Arabic job. My first meeting with the school owner was funny. Since I had said I was burned out on paperwork, he gave me a very quick orientation. It went something like this:
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If you have a complaint, call this number. They will listen patiently and tell you I'm right. If you get a spark in your eye, tell us right away or you'll need to get it drilled out at the hospital. Ready to get started?
***
So I had my first night of welding. It was fun and gave me hope that I could make a living after the Army. The next day, I got $10,000 in cash from the bank and paid off the welding school fees in a lump sum. It was pretty cool to have a stack of cash like that. I still have happy memories from breaking the band that had '$10,000' printed on it.
Before I left to pay off welding school, I posted this message in the group chat.
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I apologize for not being my normal cheerful self. You see, since August, I have been threatened with demotion once and an other than honorable discharge 3 times, as well as having a bar to re-enlistment in the works. Oh yeah, and then having to go to the 13th floor twice to prove that I'm not insane. One of the threats of an other than honorable discharge came from questioning the need to fill out a deliberate risk assessment form to pedal a stationary exercise bike. But the icing on the cake was when [my squad leader] said my SIGINT work is 90% meaningless. It was really great to hear that and then go off to my shift, whereby I walked past that big "PEOPLE ARE THE MISSION" banner. It was a real boost to my morale, let me tell you. And all the better since at the same time I've also been booze free for 90+ days after a decade long struggle against alcoholism. But it's OK. In the end, I am victorious.
Well, I'm off to pay $10,000 in cash for my welding course. Good thing I've been frugal all these years. The way I see it, I've already won. If I get kicked out, I'm a free man. If I don't get kicked out, I keep getting paid, not that I even need a job at this point. Folks, this is called being clever. Is it bad that my fondest memory of the Army is relentlessly mocking the stupidity of my interrogators while dressed as an ISIS member? Merry Xmas and God bless us, everyone.
***
Upon my return, I posted some more all the while getting bombarded with text messages and phone calls to make sure I was OK. Later that day I posted a message asking my squad leader to tell the story of the time he found the dead body of a soldier you killed himself. He didn't respond, quickly left the chat, and I was banned shortly thereafter. Two sergeants came to my room and asked to talk with me. I said I just wanted to be left alone. I texted this message to a few people:
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Despite it all, I'm glad I joined the Army and I'm proud of the work I did for my country. The key to happiness is freedom and the key to freedom is courage.
***
I admit that a few drops of testosterone leaked out of my eyes when I wrote those words. My Army adventure was coming to an inglorious end and soon I would have to start over somewhere else again.
Eventually, they came in my room and told me I had to go the hospital for a mandatory psychiatric evaluation. I figured I was going to get stuck there for a while, so I packed an overnight bag. To bolster my morale, I took a copy of Paradise Lost, an epic poem about the triumph of hope over despair.
Well, after I repeatedly denied being suicidal, I was coaxed into a hospital bed and agreed to stay overnight. About an hour later, I was told to get in a wheelchair so I could go upstairs and talk with a psychiatrist. When I went through the entrance of the psychiatric ward and the heavy doors were locked behind me, it became clear I would be there for a long time.
So everything I came in with was taken from me. I was told to strip to my underwear and then given some grey pajamas that made me look like a prisoner of war. It was particularly depressing to have my copy of Paradise Lost confiscated. Fun fact: hardcover books are banned in such places because they can be used as weapons.
That first night was a very long one. I spent many hours pacing and thinking a bare room with plastic furniture. I referred to my room as the Epstein Suite. When I was too tired to walk anymore, I tried to sleep, which is difficult when a guy checks on you every 15 minutes. I would give a quick thumbs up whenever I heard him enter.
The morning after, I had conference call with a psychiatrist. I was impressed that they were able to dig up a psychiatrist from my home state on such short notice. He seemed well-informed about me. We had an exchange that went something like this:
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Me: I want to get the fuck out of this hospital and the fuck out of the Army!
Him: Harty, listen to me [he cups his hands to his mouth]. These. People. Are. Morons!
But they're not going to let you out until you nod, smile, and color inside the lines, OK?
Me: [thinking: wow, finally somebody is talking some goddamn sense for once!]
***
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