I thought the boot camp in Orlando was for Waves only. Am I correct?
Bootcamp Blues: The Co-Ed Chronicles
by someone who survived it
In ninety-one, the Navy said,
“Let’s mix the genders!” Brave, not bad.
But bootcamp’s halls soon rang with cries—
From tired men with bloodshot eyes.
Two companies, side by side,
One full of dudes with wounded pride.
The other? Led by fierce command,
A woman with a whistle in hand.
She barked like thunder, marched like war,
Her PMS? A weekly chore.
“Her friend’s in town,” the men would groan,
“Again?!” they muttered, monotone.
The male commander, poor old chap,
Looked like he’d aged a decade—zap!
He’d glare across the training field,
As tampons flew like swords and shields.
“Why’s she yelling?” “Why so loud?”
“Why’s her mood a thundercloud?”
He’d sip his coffee, sigh, and say,
“She’s on day three… again today.”
Push-ups, drills, and midnight runs,
While she declared, “This builds your lungs!”
The guys just prayed for peace and sleep,
But got more squats and boots to sweep.
Still, through the sweat and drama storm,
They learned to march, salute, conform.
And though the rage was monthly timed,
Her company? Always sharply primed.
So here’s to bootcamp’s wild old days,
Of co-ed chaos, mood swings, haze.
Where men grew tough, and women led—
Even if their tempers bled.