Chair force

We spent a few weeks last year in Ft. Polk, LA for training at the Joint Readiness Center. The training was pretty good, and some of it we actually used on our rotation. In an October post, I talked about the Observer/Controllers (OCs). I have been reflecting on that experience lately; one of the lead OCs was to come over here to see if what they taught us was what we needed.

I found the OCs to be kind of funny. Some of them were prima donnas. Their job is to “observe” and “control” our training event, and they tell us what we did wrong (per their playbook) and how to improve. Being the expert just naturally leads one to take on airs, I think.

Although the Army requires you to remove head gear in almost every case, the OCs kept their hats on in doors. I asked one why, and he said it was to set them apart, so we know who the OCs are. It would seem easy to tell us from them because we wore tan uniforms, they wore green. They had radios and cell phones, we were forbidden them. (Reason; must train like we fight, and there are no cell phones in Iraq. Wrong. It seems that every Iraqi has a cell phone, better than ones I’ve seen in the states, and there are some areas our radios don’t work but cell phones do. So we have them.) You could also tell the OCs because part of their uniform was a chair.

A stool, to be precise. One of the folding stools made from metal tubes. Two rectangles, hinged in the middle of the long leg, with a swath of fabric between one of the short ends and feet on the other. The type of stool favored in athletic pursuits such as fishing or camping. Folds up and packs small, and deploys with a flick of the wrist.

The OCs, expressing their originality, wore their chairs in various fashions. Some liked the over the shoulder look, and would stand and talk with their thumb hooked on the tube. Some hung it from their canteen, and some used a D-ring. Some wore it on the right side, for a quick slap, draw, flick, sit. Others liked to do a cross draw, reaching across the body. They’d sit on the low stool, elbows on knees, eavesdropping while pretending to be listening to the radio ear plug, and scowling.

I got to wondering about those chairs. A friend suggested that they were awarded upon graduation from OC school: “Upon your successful competition of the OC course, I now bestow upon you, this chair….”

Do they wax the stools? Oil the hinge? Did they have quick draw contests? Grab, open, sit; two seconds. I suppose the rookies and klutzes would get flustered and deploy the stool upside down, sit on the wrong spot and stick one of the little feet where the sun don’t shine, then fall over. All the other OCs would laugh at them; “Ha ha, you looked really stupid sitting on that stool.”

Probably some of the OCs let the habit bleed over into civilian life. “I’m ready to go shoe shopping with you dear, I’ve got my Leatherman and my chair.” His wife would ask “Are you going to wear that?” The OC could sit and clean his nails and scowl at passersby for hours, while his wife tries on shoes. Both would be happy. In church: “I see my favorite pew is occupied, good thing I’ve got my chair. Wonder where the wife will sit?”