The best career advice I’ve ever received came in 1988 from Drill Sergeant Tuitosi, an absolutely hulking figure who scared the ever-loving shit out of our entire platoon. Six foot five, probably 250 pounds, with the disposition of a man who was constantly annoyed that you existed.
This one time? At boot camp? We were standing in formation, getting ready to leave the rifle range, and the drill sergeants were inspecting our ammo pouches for unused ammunition. Sgt. Tuitosi opens Patterson’s ammo pouch, pulls out the roll of toilet paper he always kept in there (Patterson had shit issues) (shitssues!) and holds it up in front of the kid’s face like he’s holding a dead rat. Before he can lay into Patterson, however, Baby Huey (army nicknames can be cruel) lets fly with a snicker bordering on a guffaw. Sgt. Tuitosi’s predatory brain immediately loses interest in Patterson and focuses on Baby Huey. He leans wayyy down into the kid’s face and in the most menacing whisper-growl I’ve ever heard come from someone who wasn’t a movie villain says, “How about you and I take a walk down in those woods? And we’re NOT going to be picking goddamned flowers.”
See, I don’t even know if I’m accurately conveying the MENACE he displayed in that situation. Like, if you were Baby Huey’s mom watching this scene you’d have cried and written your Congressman.
But anyway, to the point of this piece — the best career advice I ever got — Sgt. Tuitosi would, once a week, reduce his Scare Factor from an 11 to a six and gather us together in the barracks for a thirty-minute “Ask Me Anything” session where we recruits could pepper him with questions about why we needed to train on certain things, when we would find out our permanent assignments, or ask him about his experiences or opinions about anything Army-related. Inevitably, some poor bastard would take the opportunity to complain about some injustice — real or imagined. (But this was the Army, so it was usually real.) Sgt. Tuitosi’s reply was always the same when it came to complaints, and I remember the first one that elicited it. Private Self (Italian kid who was a bit of a bully and, if I’m being really honest, extraordinarily handsome) raised his hand and complained that his recruiter had promised him that he would be guaranteed to go to Ranger School once he finished Basic and Advanced Infantry Training, but that his orders still hadn’t come through for that.
Sgt. Tuitosi, without a moment’s hesitation, bellowed, “Self!! Listen to me very carefully, son: YOU. GOT. FUCKED!”
Oh, how we laughed! And then we waited for the actual answer. But that was it. Private Self got fucked. That’s it. And any time any of us complained about anything — we didn’t get our turn on the phone to call home, the mess hall ran out of eggs before we got there, our turn to lead PT was skipped — Sgt Tuitosi’s reply was the same. “YOU. GOT. FUCKED!”
It got to the hilarious point where whenever anyone complained, Sgt. Tuitosi would simply turn to the platoon and yell, “Gentlemen! Private Gomez doesn’t think it’s fair that he got blamed for something he didn’t do. What do you want to tell him!?” And right on cue, the 50 of us would scream, “YOUUUU GOT FUUUUUUCKED!”
And that’s it! That’s amazing advice! Life is an unfair, often cruel, place and sometimes, brother, you just get fucked. It’s easier to let it go and move on with your life than try to right every wrong or get satisfaction for every injustice.
Your manager gave the promotion to Becky — and you are WAY better than Becky?? Well, you got fucked. Move on.
The CEO mentioned everyone’s name but yours at the all-hands when he thanked your team for killing it with that project you worked so hard on? Sister, you got fucked. Let it go.
The police in your small town framed your uncle for murder and coerced you into confessing to being an accomplice? Maaaaan, you got fucked. You’re missing Wrestlemania, kid.
Of course, I’m not saying that we should always roll over and take it — that last example was a hilarious joke. But as a somewhat “early entrant into the job market” who works with more and more youngsters who seem to find outrage and injustice around every corner, I sometimes wish that the next time a coworker complains that they didn’t get their fair share of (whatever), I can take them aside and counsel them that work — like life — isn’t fair, and they shouldn’t always expect to get as much as everyone else, every time — that sometimes they’ll get more, and sometimes they’ll get less, and that, indeed, in this particular instance, they got fucked.