I didn’t sleep that night. The alarm was set for 4:30 a.m. I kept waking up, checking the clock and trying to fall asleep again. Finally at 4:28, I got out of bed. After showering, getting dressed, and making a pot of coffee I stepped out into the cold dark morning.

The Military Entrance Processing Station is across the street. A quick walk brought me to the front doors. Still locked. I was early. Early for a 5:30 a.m. appointment. Not bad. A man dressed in dress pants and a polo shirt with the MEPS logo unlocked the door and let me in. The friendly Sergeant asked if my purse contained any weapons then told me to have a seat. I waited, drank my coffee and watched ESPN on a big screen TV.

Someone yelled, “The bus is here! Are we ready?” Young people carrying backpacks and duffel bags filed into the building. The man who greeted me, met them with a metal detector and carefully searched their bags.

One by one, the applicants stowed away their bags and sat down in one of the many chairs lined up in front of the TV and podium. Most of them looked 18. Big foot ball player types, skinny stylish girls, a tall handsome guy with shoulder length brown hair.

Only one white girl. She looked a little out of place among the other applicants getting off the bus. Out of all of the empty seats, she chose the one by me. I thought that was funny. I wondered if she sat by me just because I was the only other white female in the room. Are people usually more comfortable with strangers that look like themselves?

Sergeant M. introduced himself and began the orientation. Lunch at 11. “Don’t smoke in my building.” No sleeping. No music video channels on the TV in the game room. From BET to CMT… they’re not allowed… emergency exits in case of fire… bomb threat… If something is stolen the MPs will be called. If you don’t have underwear on, tell your service leader. They have new male and female underwear available. Hehe. New? The military spares no expense!

Sergeant M. seemed like a really nice guy. The light glistening off the brass knuckles on his right hand kept catching my eye. Note to self, “Don’t mess with the friendly looking, polo shirt wearing Sergeant.”

Somehow I ended up in the back of the line going into the Army office. I got my name tag and was sent back to the Control Desk. The guy there had to make a folder for me. Wait wait wait. Follow the red line up stairs.

Dressed in a white coat, Mr. B greeted me at the end of the red line. He sorted through my folder several times. He looked confused. He asked me questions I didn’t know the answer to. He told me to wait while he went downstairs.

I waited.

I talked to a few future Marines and a young man from Mexico. Because he’s still applying for US citizenship, they won’t let him have any of the good jobs in the military. He’s a college graduate but they want to give him the lowest job. I can tell he deserves better. A year ago he married a beautiful girl from Kazakhstan. He proudly shows her photo to the two guys next to him.

The young men are called away and I’m left alone. Waiting. The intercom breaks the silence, “Amy Maxwell report to the Control Desk.” I run down the stairs. Go here. Go there. Run back up stairs. Mr. B puts together my folders and tells me to go into the next room and place the folders a certain way on the table.

I walk in and put the folders down wrong. A row of slightly scared applicants quickly and quietly correct me. Apparently I also chose the wrong seat. A rough voice directs me to the back of the room. I’m careful to perfectly place my paperwork on the table in front of me.

I need to get my hearing checked. Go to that room on the other side of the lobby. Go go go! Walk quickly. I hand the woman my paper. She tells me I’m number 7. “Don’t forget your number.” I sit by a skinny, bald young man. We wait. A group of applicants leaves the hearing test room. [box?] We go in. Find our seats, put on our headphones, and wait for the beeps. I’m supposed to push a button every time I hear a beep. It’s hard to hear the beeps over the pounding of my own heart.

Run back to the class room. Quickly! Sit in that chair. Get blood pressure and pulse checked. Heart pounding. The nurse puts a sticky note on my chart. Sticky notes can’t be a good thing. Back to my seat. Mr. A yells at us for a while. We have a lot of paperwork to complete. “Do not write anything. I will tell you what to write!” Somehow people don’t understand these simple instructions. They try to get ahead. He yells. I smile. Eventually he notices that I am using my own pen instead of the one he passed out. He barks a few complaints and I get the proper pen. I smile.

More simple instructions ignored by inattentive 17 year olds. More yelling. Finally we get to a section in the form where you check enlisted or commissioned. He asks if any of us are being commissioned. I raise my hand. So does the young man beside me. This is a very good thing. I’m no longer lower than a Private. I’m an officer.

Breathalyzer test. I’m first. One test I don’t have to worry about. At least I know I’m not drunk.

I have to get my pulse checked again. It was too high before. It’s higher now. Mr. B tells me to have a seat. The girl who sat by me earlier is also getting her pulse rechecked. She’s nervous. I talk to her a bit trying to calm her nerves. On Wednesday, this 17 year old decided to go into the Navy. Three days later she was at MEPS. Before going home she would sign papers agreeing to go to boot camp in Chicago. She leaves in December.

Finally my heart rate is down to 90. I graduate to the eye test. Mr. A and Mr. B are waiting for me. We joke and talk about my plans to become a chaplain. Mr. B isn’t nearly as scary when he knows you’re going to be an officer.

Next is the drug and pregnancy test. That’s right… the dreaded urinalysis. Peeing in a cup is bad enough. But doing it with a grumpy military lady watching and barking orders is beyond me. The girl in the stall beside me got yelled at. It freaked me out and I um… couldn’t go anymore. There was only enough in that cup for one test… GREAT! That meant I would have to go again. I had to pee in front of someone AGAIN. Sheesh. [Can you believe I'm writing this? There's more. It's funny. I'm not going to blog it though.]

Ah… now they want my blood. She looks at this vein… she looks at that vein… she looks a little nervous. I thought I was the one who’s supposed to look nervous. I ask her how she’s doing and try to pretend I think she’s competent. She did a great job.

Hold this cotton ball. Sit there. Wait.

I sit by Mexico. I ask about his wife. He looks a little sick. I’m worried. I ask if he thinks he’s going to be OK. He’s not sure. Are you sick? Nervous? Finally he admits the truth. He really really has to go to the bathroom! He’s waiting in the urinalysis line and he can wait no more! The person in charge tells him he’s just going to have to wait his turn. A grown man looks like he’s going to cry because he has to go potty. It’s funny… and kind of sad. We lobby for him. Finally Mr. B comes to the rescue. Mexico runs into the bathroom!

I’m supposed to be drinking water so that I can do the urinalysis again. I walk toward to the water fountain. I get yelled at. Apparently, I can’t drink water because I have… a cotton ball.

Friendly lady saves us from the cotton-ball row. We get to wait in a different room. I get permission to go to the water fountain. “Wait there. I’ll come get you.” I drink water. I wait. Two other girls join me at the water fountain. We talk about the ASVAB test, fried chicken, and the lady who yells at everyone during the urinalysis. I tell the girls that she’s probably just grumpy cause she has such a horrible job. Who wants to spend a Saturday morning watching people pee in cups? She yells at us for talking too much. I smile. We drink water and talk a little more.

Time for me to talk to the doctor. He’s a nice retired man who does this job on the weekends so he can get out of his house. He thinks I’m an “interesting one.” What’s so unusual about a 29 year old stay-at-home mom joining the Army as a chaplain? He laughs about my eyesight and assures me that I’ll “never be a sniper.”

Oh joy. It’s once again time for supervised peeing in the cup. This time friendly lady is watching instead of grumpy lady. Nobody yells at me. That helps.

Time to go in The Room. I’m not sure what’s behind that door. But I assume it’s not the cafeteria.

I walk in and see all of my new friends sitting on benches with paper gowns wrapped around them. Steve’s wife [I never caught her name] tells me to take off everything but panties and bra. I joke, “What I don’t get a fancy paper towel?” First I get my height and weight checked. Steve’s wife makes me take off my socks. What… but the socks, they’re part of my plan! They make me taller! No socks.

I weigh exactly what my drivers license says. [To all of my friends who worried about my rapid weight loss when our restaurant closed... worry no more. I found it.] Height… the moment we’ve all been waiting for. I have no idea how tall I am. Stretch! Only 5′ 3/4″!? NOOOO! Am I really that short? It doesn’t matter. I made weight. I may be short. But I’m not too fat.

OH now I get the fancy paper towel. Take everything off and wrap up in this. There are curtains I can use to hide behind while changing. I pull them around on the track. The curtains are a joke. There’s always a gap. You just have to choose who you want to hide from.

Wearing nothing but paper gowns, we wait on benches and talk to Steve’s wife. They lived in Biloxi, Mississippi. Katrina destroyed their home. They found out by watching the news. They stayed in a shelter until it was announced that a woman there had been raped. The family spent the next three nights in their car. Finally the military came in and they were able to live in a tent city. Steve’s wife bought a washer, a drier, a generator and more essentials with her 2,000 dollars from FEMA. She watched others spend their emergency money on beer and lingerie.

Waiting for insurance money to pay for their destroyed house. The family charged 40 thousand on credit cards. Now they’re using Dave Ramsey’s system to get out of debt.

My turn to see the doctor. Friendly lady and friendly doctor. Talk to me about my kids and being a chaplain while they look at me with no clothes on… um.. yeh. I had to promise that I’ve never had heart problems.

Out of the exam room, I find four young ladies walking like ducks in nothing but their underwear. “Oh did I miss all the fun?” I get to put my underwear back on and watch people make fools of themselves. Soon it will be my turn.

I talk to “Navy” a little more. She’s still wrapped in paper. She looks nervous.

Finally it’s our turn to do the exercises. Arms up, arms down. Legs up, kick this way. Kick that way. Rotate your foot… Walk like a duck. Walk on your knees, on your toes.. on your heels… It’s a lot easier than the first girls made it look.

Go to the main waiting room. Wait. Give papers to Mr. A. Papers are messed up. He gives them to a different Doc. She fixes them. Mr. A shows me his very cool pen that the Air Force gave him years ago. I talk to him about my pen that he yelled at me for using earlier. He sends me to the medical control desk. They call me Mam. I like this much better than getting yelled at.

Get copies made by Mr.B The machine eats my very important paper. Mr. B does delicate surgery and saves it. Go to the downstairs control desk, they send me to the Army office. Get more copies made. Go back to the control desk and check out.

It’s 10:30. Lunch doesn’t start until 11. Everyone else still has hours of waiting, counseling and paperwork. Sergeant M. says I’m free to go. I ask if I can stay for lunch. He thinks I’m crazy to stay at MEPS any longer than I have to. What’s crazy is giving up a free lunch!

I talked to a couple of ladies for a while. They were worried about their drug tests. We went to lunch. I stayed long enough to eat with all of the girls I’d met during the day.

Navy is 17. She’s from Ohio. At age 15 she had to raise her younger siblings. Her mom spent two years in the hospital. She almost died. Thanks to God, she didn’t. Navy’s Mom is 40 and divorced. She’s getting sick again and doesn’t have medical insurance. Navy is joining the military so that she can take care of her mom. She plans on sending two or three hundred dollars a month home to her family. While she’s in boot camp, she’ll give her mom access to her account. Mom can take any money she needs and doesn’t need to worry about paying it back.

Navy has a boyfriend she lived with before moving in with her dad. He has proposed twice and will probably propose again on her birthday. She’ll say no. She doesn’t want to go to boot camp engaged. She can see herself marrying him someday though.

After signing up for five years of military service, she called her mom. Mom cried. Boyfriend isn’t going to be happy either. He might cry too.

Lunch was over too soon. Navy had to go wait in another line. She said good bye. “See you later!” Of course we both knew how silly that was. I don’t even know her name.

But I will remember her and the other young applicants forever. These kids are amazing. They know we’re fighting a war and they sign up for boot camp. It’s kids like this that get killed in Iraq everyday. No way in the world would I enlist and go to basic training.

Besides the continual flashbacks of Miss Grumpy yelling at me in the bathroom, [and losing my Bullet Space Pen] Saturday was a great day.

The process of becoming a chaplain overwhelmed me last week. Covered in paperwork, I began to doubt the sanity of my ‘career choice.’ A few hours spent with future Soldiers renewed my passion. I love these people! I can’t wait to be their chaplain.