Well the Hastings clan has finally landed safely in Stockholm. It has been a long strange trip.
Anyone in the military has been through a PCS move and it always has it's challenges and frustrations, but this one has gone through the roof with nothing but miscues and frustrations.
First of all, a cherry assignment like two years accomapanied in Sweden is probably the best and luckiest assignment of all times. However, that does not change the fact that it has made me want to give plenty of high fives, with a chair, in the face. Since no one has ever made a PCS to Sweden from the Army before, the first thing that was brought to my attention at every agency I visited was that they had never heard of anyone being sent to Sweden, was I sure that was correct?! Now, I didn't make CW4 by being a fucktard, so YES I am positive that I am being assigned to Sweden. This was always followed with the question of "How did you get so lucky?" As this continued, I quickly ran out of patience and loudly and proudly let the enquistior know that luck had absolutely nothing to do with the assignment. I got this job because I kicked some serious ass for Army Aviation for the last 16 years and I was selected for this job because I know how to build a UH60M unit in a short amount of time and take them to a combat zone. In fact, I can get them through the year long tour with no problems and bring them back to refit and retool.
My patience has worn thin with mainly civilian workers in Army posts unwilling or unable to do their job properly. My family has acted like troopers and hit all of our required tasks in order to get on a plan in mid January and move to Sweden. This included finding new homes for our chickens, rabbits, horses, moving all of our worldly possesions into categories of, going to Sweden, or going to storage. We even found great people to rent our beloved little farm that we call the Flying H. Friends, school mates and great neighbors were prepared to be left behind with a thin promise that we will return in two short years to pick up where we left off.
All tasks whether menial or huge were completed like a well oiled military mission. Yet those support personnel in position to assist us in this huge endeavor could hardly be bothered to stroke a mouse and bang on a keyboard to make sure that our shipments left in the appropriate time and sent ot the appropriate continent.
Now I sit in a very nice, expensive, yet tiny hotel room in Stockholm, Sweden blogging in a very bad mood. This even after hitting a 7.2% alcohol beer that I can not pronounce. Apparently after the nine months of preparation done by the Hastings faithful, no one bothered to let the Minister of Foreign Affairs (MFA)know that three families were arriving to assist the Swedish military build their UH60M capability. I would suggest a much different meaning to the acronym MFA at this point. Without the approval from this Mother fing ahole, we are unable to inprocess into the country. This means that our Visas and more importantly Swedish Personal Numbers can not be obtained. Without these numbers, nothing can be accomplished, like purchase cell phones, obtain bank accounts, enroll children in school, or as my hot wife spewed out in a rage, take a dump without these damn numbers. Ultimately all of this will be smoothed out and we will be moving south to our new home in Linkoping and I will get to start working with the Swedes at Malmen Airforce Base.
The most interesting thing is that the Swedish people are much more willing to work with us than are the Americans. I guess that I should not be suprised that the red tape of the American machine is causing frustration. In a few days we will be in our amazing home and all of this will be in the past. Then I suppose I will have some sort of blogger guilt about writing while pissed and maybe even experience some stress about the fact that I might even excperience some troubles for the things I have written on this day. Oh well, fuck it!
First of all, a cherry assignment like two years accomapanied in Sweden is probably the best and luckiest assignment of all times. However, that does not change the fact that it has made me want to give plenty of high fives, with a chair, in the face. Since no one has ever made a PCS to Sweden from the Army before, the first thing that was brought to my attention at every agency I visited was that they had never heard of anyone being sent to Sweden, was I sure that was correct?! Now, I didn't make CW4 by being a fucktard, so YES I am positive that I am being assigned to Sweden. This was always followed with the question of "How did you get so lucky?" As this continued, I quickly ran out of patience and loudly and proudly let the enquistior know that luck had absolutely nothing to do with the assignment. I got this job because I kicked some serious ass for Army Aviation for the last 16 years and I was selected for this job because I know how to build a UH60M unit in a short amount of time and take them to a combat zone. In fact, I can get them through the year long tour with no problems and bring them back to refit and retool.
My patience has worn thin with mainly civilian workers in Army posts unwilling or unable to do their job properly. My family has acted like troopers and hit all of our required tasks in order to get on a plan in mid January and move to Sweden. This included finding new homes for our chickens, rabbits, horses, moving all of our worldly possesions into categories of, going to Sweden, or going to storage. We even found great people to rent our beloved little farm that we call the Flying H. Friends, school mates and great neighbors were prepared to be left behind with a thin promise that we will return in two short years to pick up where we left off.
All tasks whether menial or huge were completed like a well oiled military mission. Yet those support personnel in position to assist us in this huge endeavor could hardly be bothered to stroke a mouse and bang on a keyboard to make sure that our shipments left in the appropriate time and sent ot the appropriate continent.
Now I sit in a very nice, expensive, yet tiny hotel room in Stockholm, Sweden blogging in a very bad mood. This even after hitting a 7.2% alcohol beer that I can not pronounce. Apparently after the nine months of preparation done by the Hastings faithful, no one bothered to let the Minister of Foreign Affairs (MFA)know that three families were arriving to assist the Swedish military build their UH60M capability. I would suggest a much different meaning to the acronym MFA at this point. Without the approval from this Mother fing ahole, we are unable to inprocess into the country. This means that our Visas and more importantly Swedish Personal Numbers can not be obtained. Without these numbers, nothing can be accomplished, like purchase cell phones, obtain bank accounts, enroll children in school, or as my hot wife spewed out in a rage, take a dump without these damn numbers. Ultimately all of this will be smoothed out and we will be moving south to our new home in Linkoping and I will get to start working with the Swedes at Malmen Airforce Base.
The most interesting thing is that the Swedish people are much more willing to work with us than are the Americans. I guess that I should not be suprised that the red tape of the American machine is causing frustration. In a few days we will be in our amazing home and all of this will be in the past. Then I suppose I will have some sort of blogger guilt about writing while pissed and maybe even experience some stress about the fact that I might even excperience some troubles for the things I have written on this day. Oh well, fuck it!
Matt...all i can say is...this too shall pass, everyone is healthy and no one is dying...i wish i could kick someone for you...xo xo xo meme
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