I know the exact route I need to take to eventually make it to flight school. The path is clearly defined, and luckily, it has very little to do with my performance at the Academy. First, I need to become a commissioned officer. For me, that means I at least need to graduate from the Academy. Since the Academy only awards Bachelor of Science degrees, we all take the same high-level math, physics, chemistry, and basic engineering classes during our first two years. I am a management major because it is the easiest major and does not require as many difficult classes as the engineering majors, but the standard is the same, a 2.0 GPA, or C average. My motto is simple. Cs get degrees. I aim for the minimum standard.

I also have to pass the fitness test and make it through all the military requirements. Everyone who graduates from the Academy receives a degree, becomes a commissioned officer, and goes to sea on a Coast Guard cutter. Once I get to the cutter, I need to earn all of my various qualifications, demonstrate leadership potential, and prove I have a strong work ethic to be considered for flight training. After being on the cutter for a couple of years, I can apply to become a pilot. Selection is based on performance on the cutter, recommendations from the chain of command, and an interview. Since there is no direct path from the Academy to flight school, I view my time there as an obstacle I need to survive, not an opportunity to excel. I’ll save all my hard work for the cutter.

For my first semester, my plan works pretty well. I make it through with only minor conduct infractions, no restrictions, and a solid 2.2 GPA. I never had to apply myself in high school, and that yielded mostly As. Now, at the Coast Guard Academy, the effort I am used to giving corresponds to mostly Cs. The only thing lifting that C average is my mandatory fitness classes.

Instead of studying on the weekends, my friends and I are trying to do whatever we can to have a regular college experience. We sneak away, drink, and party. I am not on the right path.

I have a nice holiday break, but coming back to the Academy for the second semester is painful. Winter at the Academy is often referred to as the Dark Ages. The sun is only up while you are in class, it is cold, and everything is miserable. At the start of the new semester, we are assigned new rooms and roommates, and the whole company leadership changes. We have new company staff, and a new guidon. At the Academy, the guidon is the second-class cadet who holds the company flag during formation. More importantly, they are in charge of training the fourth-class cadets. 

Our new guidon is a tyrant.

During our first formation back, he rolls out a new accountability structure based on demerits. The Coast Guard Academy uses a system of demerits to track military infractions. If you break any rules, from talking in formation to chewing gum to walking on grass, you can get demerits. If you get enough demerits, you get restricted. There is also a maximum number of demerits you can receive per year, and exceeding that number could result in disenrollment. There is an online system for demerits, and you can randomly receive an email informing you that some upper-class cadet witnessed an infraction and awarded you demerits. It is a fantastic “leadership” tool. Our new guidon loves the demerit system so much that he adds even more offenses punishable by demerits.

Not knowing what the wardroom is serving for lunch tomorrow?

Demerits.

Shoes not shiny enough?

Demerits.

Improperly folded socks?

Demerits.

He goes around handing out demerits all day long, and I immediately become his number-one target.

“Fourth Class Matthews, what is the wardroom serving for lunch tomorrow?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

He seems irritated.

“That’s going to be some demerits. At the next formation, I am going to ask you again, and you better know all the meals being served.”

At the next formation, he tries again.

“Fourth Class Matthews, what is the wardroom serving for dinner tomorrow?”

“I still have no idea, sir.”

He is more irritated and gives me more demerits.

We play this game every week, and once I almost hit the weekly demerit limit that will result in restriction, I find an excuse to miss formation. At one point, he decides to restrict one of the most loved fourth-class cadets in our company, and I see her in tears after formation. I have had enough.

I decide I will start a coup.

We have an upcoming formal room and wing inspection, and these are a huge deal. Everyone spends all week preparing their rooms and uniforms for the inspection. Regimental staff and company officers inspect every room and common area in the company. Fourth-class cadets are responsible for cleaning all of the common areas, including the lounge, bathrooms, passageways, and ladderwells. It is unlike any other cleaning I have ever seen. It is normal to find fourth-class cadets crawling on bathroom floors to polish the metal pipes going into the toilets. Every single piece of metal is polished to a shine. A streak on a mirror would be seen as gross negligence. The inspecting party will run their fingers along the underside of anything in their path, looking for traces of dust or grime. The entire building smells like Simple Green, Brasso, and floor wax. If the common areas do not meet the expected standards, all of the fourth-class cadets get in trouble, but it also reflects poorly on the guidon. I see this as my opportunity to undermine his leadership and show all of his superiors that he is an incompetent leader.

My plan is to convince all of the fourth-class cadets not to clean as an act of rebellion. I hold secret meetings with my friends, and they are on board with this masterful plan. The movement grows in strength, and as the inspection gets closer, most of the fourth-class cadets seem to be convinced. My final piece of the plan is to send out a rousing email to all of the fourth-class cadets thanking them for their participation in this revolution. The guidon’s reign of terror will soon come to an end.

The next day, my first-class division officer finds me in a panic and says the Company Officer wants to meet with me ASAP. I have yet to receive any positive feedback at the Academy, so I assume I am in trouble. I march down to the Company Officer’s office, square to the threshold, and knock.

“Lieutenant, respectfully request permission to come aboard, sir.”

“Come aboard.”

He stands up and kicks the chairs out of the way. This is apparently not a sit-down talk. I brace hard at attention and stare straight ahead. He has a printed version of my manifesto email in his hand and begins by reading some of my finer points. Then he shouts.

“Fourth Class Matthews, I don’t know who the f**k you think you are, coming in here as a fourth-class cadet with this blatant insubordination. In case you haven’t realized this yet, you are in the military, and you will do what you are told. Your performance has been substandard since you got here. Now, if you don’t want to be here, that’s great. I will help you fill out your application for Conn College so you can hang out with all the civilians across the street. You had better straighten yourself out because I WILL NOT send you to another company next year so you can be their problem. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Someone forwarded my email to the guidon and thwarted my coup. I receive my first two-week restriction and secure my spot at the bottom of the class for military standing.

Restriction is miserable. My liberty is taken away, so I can’t leave the Academy for two weeks. I have to be in uniform from reveille to taps and attend additional restricted cadet formations, which can also be a surprise. I can’t watch movies, listen to music, or do anything remotely considered fun.

I am also given marching tours, where I have to don my parade dress uniform and march back and forth with my rifle for an hour at a time to reflect on my crime.

In addition to being an imprisoned revolutionary, my academics are also in steady decline. I am in Calculus II and have absolutely no clue what is going on. I fail the first test miserably and try to claw my way back to a passing grade, but I am nowhere close. I finish with a well-deserved F. My GPA second semester is a lackluster 1.64. The only grades above a C are an A in Personal Defense and a B in Physiology of Fitness.

At the end of the semester, we are also given “carry-on,” where we are finally allowed simple luxuries like being able to look at our food, not having to march everywhere, and not having to scream random information all day long. Having the grip finally loosen on the military requirements is a much-needed relief. I have survived my guidon’s reign of terror.

After this semester, I am close to the bottom of the class in both military standing and academics. My Academy highlight reel now includes quitting, restriction for insubordination, countless demerits for everything under the sun, and academic failure.

It is clear that I don’t belong, and despite my low standard of “Cs get degrees,” I fall short. I am still dreaming about becoming a pilot, but deep down, I start to believe I don’t have what it takes.