No one likes quitters or sunshine patriots, especially a certain chap by the name of Thomas Paine. That guy cannot possibly be one of my advocates. If he was still alive, he probably wouldn't even shake my hand but I digress.
Shit happened and the extended civilian shore tour has commenced. It feels weird to have started a real job for the first time; we can safely say that the endless parade of 9 to 5s has begun. Gone are the housing allowances, the subsistence pay, the showing up for muster and bouncing in 5 minutes, and all of the loose, southern women just chasing khaki and gold bars.
In are the taxes, the lack of benefits, the dingy 2nd floor office, and surprisingly, the productivity. I will readily admit that the Navy was bad for a guy like me who drinks too many beers on Friday after work. The whole business of simply showing up and doing the minimum but still getting paid what the hard-chargers were earning was bad for my head. I will concede the fact that I'm fat kid who wears a B&R piece. In short, I want more cake and I'm willing to sweat & bleed for some extra cake.
I know what some of you are saying. Who is this schmuck? He doesn't know what it means to pay the price. This kid is fucking out. And maybe you're right.
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