Are you sure you don’t mean Fort Meade?†A couple other people were equally as ignorant about Fort Holabird. One person said, “I heard of Fort Meade, but I really don’t know anything about Fort Holabird. Once in Baltimore, I dragged my jam-packed duffel bag off the bus, and asked a few people where I could catch the bus to Fort Holabird. The tiny island of civilian life on the Greyhound bus gave me three hours to stare out the window and think about the past eight weeks, about my life prior to those eight weeks, and how strange it seemed that things I had nothing to do with and had no control over placed me on this bus headed south to some damned place no one seemed to know anything about. It had been easy to forget that the world did not stop at the Fort Dix gates, but rather it was humming along quite nicely. More importantly, however, the trip meant three hours alone – away from other soldiers and drill sergeants for the first time in more than eight weeks. I wonder if today I would find a seat on Greyhound bus quite as wonderful as it seemed then. Sitting on a bunk is just not the same as sitting in a real chair. True, one sits in training rooms and in the mess hall, but those chairs are built for function, not for comfort. In basic training, there are virtually no chairs. It had occurred to me that it was the first time in eight weeks that I actually was sitting in a relatively comfortable seat. The trip from Fort Dix to Baltimore lasted approximately three hours.
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