Chapter Five: You're In The Army Now!

“Army Community Services, Sondra speaking,” said the friendly voice over the phone.
“Yes, hello,” I said.
“Hello. How can I help you?” Sondra responded.
“Is this the A-C-S?” I inquired.
“Yes, this is ACS. How can I help you?” Sondra once again asked.
“I was calling to talk to someone about the SNO (Stuttgart Newcomers Orientation) class? We just arrived in the country last week and were told by my husband’s supervisor that we are registered for the class.” I answered.
“Name, please?” Sondra asked.
“Cory Isakson. I mean Cory and Angela Isakson.”
“Yes. I have you both registered for the SNO class for week of October 30th. Anything else?” inquired the friendly voice over the phone.
“Well, I was actually wondering if I could sign my two older kids up for the class as well.” I asked.
“What ages are your children, Ma’am?” she quizzed.
“They are ten and thirteen.” I responded.
“Well, your kids are old enough, but the space in the class is limited and so we want to keep the remaining spots open for other adults who are also new to the area. If there is still room by the end of the week, then we can let your kids into the class,” she explained.
“Okay. That makes sense. So, can I ask you about child care for during the class because I have two other younger children as well,” I queried.
“Yes, there is child care offered through the CDC,” Sondra once again responded.
“And what is the C-D-C?” I inquired.
“CDC is Child Development Center, Ma’am,”
“Okay, can I have the number for that?”
“Yes, it is DSN-4564.”
“O--kay and what is a D-S-N?” I posed.

I could tell I was really beginning to test her patience but I really did not know this stuff. I had been in this country all of one week and my husband had never been enlisted in any branch of the military and suddenly people, even Americans, were speaking a foreign language that consisted entirely of acronyms! I wasn’t trying to pester her; I just really needed some answers; that and someone who once again spoke plain English.

“DNS is the direct number service. It is what you call if you are on base,” she answered a bit testily.
“Oh, okay, so how would I dial that when I’m not on base?” I queried.
“You use the local prefix ma’am,” Sondra responded not so patiently now.
“And what would the local prefix be?” I asked sounding now like the most stupid person on the planet to her.
“7-6-1,” she retorted.
“Okay,” I responded slowly, “And I just call the C-D-C and tell them my husband and I are in the SNO class and need child care services that week?”
“Ma’am, you have to have your kids registered with CYS and then you can be reimbursed for child care at the CDC during the SNO class.” Sondra’s cheerful friendliness had evaporated from her voice and she was clearly frustrated.

I took a deep breath and proceeded slowly. “Okay,” I paused and then ever so tentatively and slowly continued, “and what is C-Y-S?” I asked cringing now.

“CYS is Child Youth Services, Ma’am. Ma’am, all this information is in the In-processing binder,” she responded like this was the intro-to-the-army-for-dummies-class and I was the first flunkee.
“The In-processing binder,” I repeated unhurriedly like it would miraculously make everything crystal clear.
“Yes, madam, the In-processing binder,” she rejoined.
Oh, I give up, I thought but I said, “And where would I go about getting an In-processing binder?”
“At In-processing, ma’am!” she quipped. It was official. I was a complete dunce in her mind I’m sure. “Ma’am, your husband would have learned to do all this at In-processing. “ She finally lost it. Her patience was gone and she was clearly flustered.
And I, throwing all reason to the wind, I just asked,”Umm, and what exactly is In-processing?”
“Ma’am, it’s In-Processing! It is the first thing everyone does the first week they arrive. Everyone does In-processing!” she answered exasperated.
“Well, I’m sorry to say, but my husband didn’t do In-processing,” I told her.
“Yes, he did. Who is his commander?” she demanded.
“You mean his supervisor? He doesn’t have a commander because he’s not enlisted. He’s a contractor,” I explained.
“It doesn’t matter. EVERYONE does In-processing!” Sondra yelled incensed.
“Well, we flew into the country last Friday morning and my husband is working at the office this week. I know, for a fact, that he did NOT do In-processing,” I clarified.

This was just one example of the many, many frustrating conversations whether in person or over the telephone that I experienced those first days and weeks in a new country with the good ‘ol US of A helping me along in fine form. Suddenly I was a stupid person who knew nothing and could do nothing right. It was quite an experience. I noted to my family back in the states that we were adjusting to two new sets of languages and cultures; one was German and the other--the US military; probably the largest bureaucracy in the world.

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