Check Your Gig Line

A few weeks ago, when we were down in San Antonio to see our boy graduate from Air Force basic training, I couldn't help but notice how spiffy all the new airmen looked, and how aware they seemed to be of the tradition involved in wearing their uniforms. They were so good about snatching their flight caps off their nearly-bald heads the moment they stepped foot indoors, tucking the end of the flat, Air Force-blue cap carefully inside the waist of their dress trousers. When they stepped outside again, quick as a flash the caps went back on their heads and they did what I surmised was a special salute. It didn't look like any salute I had ever seen before, yet as they walked around outside they all seemed to be doing it, so I figured it was a unique salute they'd been taught just to show respect for visiting parents! I finally asked my son what the special salute meant. HAHA, he said, Mom You Can't Be Serious. Well, YES, I said, I Am Totally Serious And Why Can't I Be?

Turns out the "salute" was really the easy way the trainees were taught to adjust their flight caps at exactly the correct angle, since they were snatching them on and off their heads all the time! They put their index and second finger just above the bridge of their nose and, if their middle finger touched the edge of the cap, they were wearing it correctly! Ingenious! After all, there is a specific way the cap is to be worn, because there is a certain way it is supposed to look. Here is a picture of Andrew doing the special "salute" (at my behest) as he talks on the phone to his girlfriend during graduation weekend:

See what I mean? It does look like a salute, doesn't it?

Another thing I noticed that the neophyte airmen were constantly doing was checking their "gig line." Now, the gig line, in military parlance, is the vertical visual continuity created by the edge of your shirt placket aligning perfectly with your belt buckle and the outside edge of your trouser fly, forming one long straight line. While wearing dress blues, my son is required to wear garters that pull his socks up tightly and his shirt down tightly, so that everything always looks very, very smooth and unwrinkled. The airmen constantly check that gig line, running their fingers down the shirt placket to the belt buckle, looking down simultaneously, to make sure it is as straight and tight as humanly possible. They get in trouble if it goes off-kilter, because that looks sloppy and the Air Force does not do sloppy. And although the mechanism for achieving this sparkling appearance is somewhat uncomfortable, it is effective. Attention to the gig line results in a look that is very impressive, let me tell you ... especially when multiplied by 600 and on display at the parade grounds. Most impressive indeed.

But the phrase "check your gig line" got me thinking about how often in life it is necessary to check ourselves. I like to talk. Alert the media! Breaking news, that. But the more you talk, the more you attempt to communicate, the greater the chance that, sometimes unintentionally, you may say something you really didn't mean to say, or that could easily be taken the "wrong" way and hurt someone's feelings! Or worse, say something about someone in front of someone you don't realize is connected somehow to the someone you said it about. I am, like, the poster child for this. I could be the postage STAMP for this, for crying out loud. When and if they decide to commemorate me and my ilk on a stamp, it will undoubtedly be rendered as a picture of a great big open mouth with a foot wedged inside. Probably not the one you'll pick for mailing wedding invitations.

But, I am happy to report I'm not all by me onesie when it comes to hopping around with one foot in my mouth. And it's always gratifying to know you're not the only one making a hash of things about half the time! I am reminded of the time, a little over ten years ago now, when our daughter Stephanie got her first official job. I mean, she had done some babysitting and what-not, but this was different. She was getting ready to start her senior year in high school and she hoped this job would see her all the way through college, and as it turned out, it did. It was at a brand new Winn-Dixie grocery store that opened up about five miles from our house. This is when we were living in East Tennessee. Stephanie went down to the store before it even opened and applied for the position of cashier, and was hired on the spot. It was late summer; she was 17 and a straight-A student who would graduate second in her class the following spring.

Stephanie began attending cashier orientation and training meetings as the store prepared for its grand opening. She brought home her teal-striped Winn-Dixie uniform smock and her brand new name tag. In the few weeks before opening day, she and the other cashiers were carefully trained on use of the computerized cash registers and scanners and related equipment, and were given detailed instructions on everything from greeting customers to processing their grocery orders. There was a lot to remember but Stephanie worked hard and applied herself. Eventually the big day came when she was to report bright and early at the store for the first day of business. I remember taking her to work and dropping her off with a promise to come back later and check on her. Surely that would be helpful!

I returned to the store at mid-morning. The parking lot was packed out! There were eager shoppers everywhere, taking advantage of the store's grand opening promotions. I cruised the aisles for about twenty minutes, put a few things in my cart, then headed for the front of the store and queued up in Stephanie's line. All the lines were backed up as the young, green cashiers struggled to remember everything they'd been taught ... but this time under the watchful eyes of real (and in some cases impatient) customers. From my vantage point in Stephanie's queue I could tell that she was a little nervous as she processed the orders, but she seemed to be holding her own. Still, her line was not moving all that quickly. I said a silent prayer for her as I hummed under my breath.

In due time I became aware of the elderly gentleman in line directly in front of me. Clutching a few purchases, he was getting antsy. Presently he turned, made eye contact with me, and muttered something I couldn't hear. "Pardon me?" I asked, leaning in towards him. I thought I knew what was coming. He looked me straight in the eye and said, disgruntled: "It seems to me they could have trained her a little better than that. She doesn't know what she's doing." He was talking about my brilliant, diligent, newly-employed 17-year-old daughter! I smiled at him; I wasn't angry. He didn't know I was her mother, after all ... so I decided to enlighten him. Gently.

"Well, you know," I began, "She happens to be a straight-A student." He blinked a few times and I could tell he was wondering how I was privy to that particular piece of information. I decided to enlighten him some more. "Actually," I continued, "She's been training for several weeks now, but it's her first day on a new job and she's only 17, and you know what that's like." He looked at the floor and then back up at me. I decided to clear it all up for him once and for all. "See, she's my daughter. As in, I'm that cashier's mother."

I wish you could have seen the look on his face. He was enough of a gentleman to be embarrassed. He didn't officially apologize (not that he needed to; I have been impatient with cashiers enough times not to hold his remarks against him), but he did say something to the effect of, "Well, I'm sure she's doing the best she can." Which she was, and after all, what more can we do? I mean, I think most of the time it's safe to assume that most people are doing just about the best they can. Notice I said most. I know that as I drive here and there, go wherever I'm sent to cover depos, come home and balance housework, family obligations, deadlines, and so forth, I'm doing just about the best I can. I'll bet you are too. It's all about giving one another the benefit of the doubt, as we all want others to give us.

It occurs to me that, as touching the sometimes thoughtless things we are quick to say, perhaps as we pass in and out of all the doors of our lives, we should pause as we go to put the index and second finger to our forehead, to make sure our flight caps are on at just the right angle. Make sure we wear the uniform of our humanity just so, in keeping with the time-honored tradition of extending kindness and forgiveness to our fellow man. Make a heroic effort to keep things aligned, sparkling, and smooth. Make it a point to often check our gig lines, as it were.