Camp Zester Usa

Camp Zester, USA

Copyright April 2024 by Fit529 Dotcom (started 1/2015)

Disclaimers

All persons are over age 18

All names have been randomized so if yours matches it's not my fault

Prelude

After graduating mid-year from University of Colorado with my second M.S., this one in geology (magna cum laude), I cast about for a job. The career/placement center put me through 20 interviews with different companies, each of which was hugely interested in me, which fed my ego (of course).

The trouble was, all of them were petrochemical companies, looking for people to find oil and natural gas wells.

I have always been a green treehugger, and didn't like that much, so I had to look elsewhere.

I should mention here that I was a bit younger than the average graduate, being only 20. Getting a second master's degree at 20 sounds like I must have been smart enough to make it easy. I'm more peculiar than smart. But, I was having fun, and when you love your subject, you can spend as much time as there is going after it.

A very, very important thing to know about me is how odd my brain is.

I have a very rare condition known as Ocular Eidetic-Phonetic Transcriptional Affect, OEPTA, "Etta". Etta means that when I intend to, I can look at something - a glance or a few seconds - and then remember it forever. To say it's rare is an understatement - even light cases affect only 2 in 100,000 people, but mine is even more 'severe' than most.

My mental recall was matched (as a teen) by only 14 others in the world. Many with Etta suffer debilitating side effects like Asperger's social symptoms, uncontrollable reveries that approximate seizures, panic attacks, debilitating OCD, bipolar disorders, etc. Almost all of us are plainly oddballs, though my social skills can reasonably approximate normalcy, if normal is in the super-geeky range.

So, yes, I might be an oddball at times, but most people seem to regard me as acting mostly-normally. It did take me forever to figure that out.

Etta doesn't make me smarter. It just means I can remember most things I want to remember. Skills are not memory, nor are they intelligence, they're fitting info into patterns. I still have to work at applying what I've read. Granted, I can visualize the textbook's examples, but it can make me lazy, and it takes WAY too much time to use on tests.

More than just being normally lazy, if I slack off and depend on memory instead of applying it to real problems, that skill-development deficit magnifies the learning curve of each passing successive skill. In school, skills usually build on ones before, and learning is about developing skills as much as knowing base facts.

Growing up, I had it worse than other kids because I would overly-depend on my memory of events instead of generalizing rules about the way the world works. That led to a lot of social problems, and I saw counselors every week for most of my childhood - just working through day to day problems and building a better me along the way.

I needed help interpreting social situations.

With the help and diligent analysis and effort, I got hugely, vastly better as I got older. I even had a few long-term girlfriends who could see my inner-caring nature instead of a confused deer-in-headlights guy.

Either due to this quirk of biology, or perhaps because I just latched onto something that gave me joy, I became a geologist. It meant I was not constrained by sitting and reading all the time, soaking up words from pages. Sure, reading is great fun, and I've always been a huge reader. Geologists, though, have to visualize what's only partially revealed in a landform and in rock samples. They put together clues from many small observations into a grand scheme that explains How Things Are, and How They Came To Be That Way.

But, I digress.

I finished writing my thesis in mid-July, and defended (a question/answer session with some faculty) in mid-August. This meant I could finish the last of my officially required courses in the fall semester in a more relaxed way.

Graduating in December meant a start to student loan payments.

Since I'd started college at age 14, and changed schools several times as I tried to decide what to do with my life, I had huge student loan debt.

Besides changing schools, I'd taken loans to go on academic field expeditions, exploring many odd locales across the USA, Canada, Mexico, Greenland, Peru, Japan, and even the Swiss Alps. I got my GSL statement that August (thank God it was after my thesis defense, or I'd have been distracted), and it showed I owed over $400k. My worries over finding a job that would let me pay it back mounted, and I worried I'd have to take a well-paying but boring desk job in the financial industry (they always needed polymath and memorization nerds).

And here we get to the event that changed my life.

I walked past the Math department bulletin board and saw a flier for a paid internship.

The flyer said it was academic and would therefore defer student loan repayment, it had 'very generous pay and benefits stipends', which was code in the math dept. for a possible financial industry gig that pretended to be academic. Per the rumor mill, stock options on those payed HUGE.

The requirements were a very high GPA, at least one completed degree, being physically fit, passing basic med checks, and that a US Government security clearance would be required. I read the page with interest, and, standing there, called the number.

The phone conversation was somewhat short. An older-sounding lady answered and said, "Department 251, can I help you?"

I replied that I was looking at a poster about an internship, and she said, yes, can I have your name and address, and we'll have someone get back to you. I told them to her and we hung up.

The next day I got an overnight-delivery package with a bunch of forms to fill out and instructions for having blood drawn at a local medical clinic. This I did quickly, on the theory that there might be limited slots available for this internship and I wanted to be first in line. I knew I wasn't the only one applying because the brochure was gone the next day. Someone else had obviously decided to prevent competition.

The forms were mostly simple permission forms so they could pull my medical records, school transcripts, and financial or credit check records. I didn't mind those at all; I'd been pretty careful to pay my bills on time, except a couple of times when I was out of the country and forgot I had car payments to make. All that stuff I had done quickly. The one that was hard was the SF-86.

An SF-86 Security Questionnaire wants you to list everywhere you've ever lived (including street addresses, phone numbers, and dates you were there). This would have been impossible had I not had a trick memory, especially because I'd visited so many countries. I also had to list anytime I'd ever even talked with someone from a 'designated country or region' (to North Korea, Syria, China, Iran, Russia, Venezuela, Turkey, Kurdistan, and a couple of others).

Even for someone with my memory, listing all the conversations I'd had? That was Hard!

Really, they didn't probably expect completeness, and I knew that. I did try, though, listing out some of my undergrad students that I suspected of being from 'designated countries'.

I couldn't really know the national origins of most of my students, or even of some of my acquaintances, that wasn't listed and we weren't supposed to ask.

Writing it down is a pain, and they probably didn't want to know what I had for dinner the night I met the Venezuelan guy in the hostel in Kyoto who tried to convince me (a geologist, natch) that the world was only 5000 years old.

OPSEC

Attached to the front of the packet of doctors' information was another sheet of paper:

OPSEC is the military practice of keeping operational secrets. This means avoiding talk unless you independently know the other person's clearance level.

Limit your talk to your immediate task subjects. If asked, pull on a mask of being an idiot who does idiotic things, you don't know or suspect anything. If someone tries to tell you classified info, stop them and walk away if necessary. Ask no questions. Prevent overhearing things.

Keep all personal info secret to protect against blackmail. You may talk with old friends, but only about utterly unrelated topics.

Keeping OPSEC is sometimes hard. Failure can mean loss of National Assets or the death or torture of large groups of people or even yourself.

Say Nothing, to anyone. Even spouses, children, parents, friends, deny knowing anything, confirm nothing, share nothing. Even admitting you have a clearance is to be avoided.

Trust No One.

Your friends/relatives/co-workers will be interviewed and observed. People highly trained in detecting lies will evaluate them, and thus you. Telling anyone anything can put them in jail. Trust no one, Keep Your Mouth Shut.

Read this page 3 times, slowly, start to finish and destroy it completely.

Medical

Getting the initial blood tests took longer than I thought it would, mostly because it required them to get 11 different vials of blood, as well as hair samples, and a 'direct witness urine sample'. This translated to my having a very dour-looking older Black woman actually stare at my penis while I peed into a cup. I laughed to break the tension, but she didn't.

Peeing while being watched was hard, but eventually I got it to work by closing my eyes and pretending she wasn't there. Not describing the hilarity of the situation to my friends was hard, too, but the paperwork had promised the internship paid a 'significant compensation' and I decided to keep this one to myself.

A week after FedEx'ing back the paperwork, I got another Fedex and it had more doctor's orders. Over the next couple of days, there was more blood work while fasting, a stress test on a treadmill at a cardiologist's office, and a whole set of specialists. The allergy specialist found I was mildly allergic to oak and cottonwood tree pollen, which I already knew.

The endocrinologist wanted me to spit, got snot from my nose, stuck a whole slew of Q-Tips in my ears, nose, throat, slightly into my urethra, and up my butt. They even wanted a stool sample.

Interestingly, the doctor said they even needed a sperm sample. After all the other samples, I wasn't all that surprised. They had a small room and a computer already opened to a big porn site, stroke lube on the desk, and a small cup to collect my sample. It didn't take that long; my girlfriend and I had split about 6 months before that, and I had sworn off relationships until I could get some stability into my life.

A physical therapist had me stretch in all sorts of directions and measured how far I could move, then put me on weight machines and tested how much I could bench press, leg press, etc. I was exhausted after that one.

The Ear-Nose-Throat specialist x-ray'd my head and asked me lots of questions about how often I'd had sinus infections as a kid (not often at all, really).

The podiatrist looked at my feet, got under-toenail samples and moved my feet in all different directions and asked me if it hurt. When he twisted too hard, I said so.

At the end, the podiatrist muttered, "Crazy referrals. They say, get all this info, document everything carefully, pay me 4 times my normal billing rate, and tell me to not ask you any questions whatsoever. I'm not asking you anything. But, I'll tell you, whoever is paying for this, it makes no sense. Your feet are perfectly normal and healthy. Get going."

I had a sleep study, which meant going into a combination hotel-room/hospital-room and trying to go to sleep while having lots of electrodes all over, including stuck into my hair with a funny hat to hold it all in place. Again, no comments from staff, just "Thank you, you're done. Doctor will read the charts, we don't know anything. Goodbye."

Lastly, I had to go to 3 different tuxedo shops to get measured, and Fedex the cards back to them.

The Base Visit

About 2 weeks after I finished going to all the specialists (a month after first calling the bulletin board number), I got another FedEx. Great, I thought, more tests. Instead, it was instructions to come down to Fort Carson, in Colorado Springs (I was living in Boulder, about 2 hours away). I was to wear clothes they would send to me in separate packages, and continue OPSEC (talking to no one). I would be there for 3 days, it said.

The clothes arrived and were a complete set of US Army fatigues, even with a stupid-looking wallet with a funny looking ID badge with no picture.

For travel money, they'd enclosed $300 in $20's. There was no rank insignia or nameplate on the clothing, just a velcro patch where a nameplate could be attached but none was. The clothing looked used but clean.

A separate Fedex arrived the next day with the attachable name badge. It said "Johnson". Along with it was a set of papers titled, "ORDERS" that directed the base commander and all who saw it to permit me to go to BOQ #47-A11. My orders also specified that I'd be picked up at 7 am sharp and that MRE's would be in my room at the BOQ, or I could bring my own food, but I was not allowed to leave my room at the BOQ during my stay except as escorted.

The next paragraph stated that no questions were to be asked of me, and any inquiries should be addressed to Dept. 186 with a "DOD phone number ____". I didn't know the DOD had its own phone network, but I guessed that made some sense.

The name at the top of the orders was, "Lieutenant General Craig Barstow, Ft. Meade, MD"

I knew what that meant. Fort Meade was where the NSA was headquartered.

Tests

The BOQ turned out to be 'bachelor officer's quarters", a concrete-block building with no windows, a front door, a guard desk, and about 6 other rooms in it. Each, I presumed, was like mine, a tiny 'hotel' room with a single twin bunk bed, a TV with over-the-air reception (10 channels), and enough room to stand up but that's about it.

Did I mention the lack of cell reception and wifi? It was a dead zone in there. Ug.

Business-wise, all 3 days at Ft. Carson were spent taking written and speaking tests.

I was watched by 3 small cameras on tripods and serious-looking older-looking military police with sunglasses on. One MP would pull a sealed FedEx package out of a bigger box and hand it to me. I had to take it back to my desk, open it, do the test inside, put the results in the included fedex return envelope, seal it, and hand it back to him. The tests were timed; the MP wrote the time on the package when he got it back, before putting it into an outgoing big box and handing me the next one.

The tests themselves were sometimes stupid, like, "read the following list aloud, then read it again adding 12 to every number." Obviously, those were for the benefit of the cameras. The math wasn't hard, mostly. Some of the tests said they were time-limited, so I had to finish them quickly, which of course I did.

I'd seen one of the tests before. It was the MMPI, the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. It was designed to find out if you were crazy. I'd taken it when I was an undergrad and in counseling from my Etta memory "problem".

That first time, I'd found one question giggle-inspiring. It was "True/False: I am fascinated by fire." Again, I answered yes, because who doesn't like watching a candle flame, really? If that made me a pyro, I guessed that was their problem.

Some of the tests were general intelligence tests, some were obviously final exams for classes I'd taken already, like partial differential equations, western civilization, statics, dynamics, traffic theory, astrophysical methods, etc. They even had me translate some French text that said it was from Votaire's "Dictionnaire Philosophique", but I hadn't ever read that work. If I had, I could have cheated, because I could have just quoted wholesale from the English translation. Being able to remember most every printed page I've ever seen has its advantages.

I finished on Sunday about noon, and was given the option of staying overnight again or driving home. I elected to drive home right away; the BOQ wasn't a vacation spot.

Second Base Visit

On my second weekend, a couple of weeks later, I was just there for about 3 hours and then was sent home. In that short time, though, I got a massive jolt about what it was I was actually applying to do.

When they finally called me in from the waiting room (in a small but otherwise unoccupied office building), the door buzzed, and the intercom said, "Please Go In." The room was wild looking -- floor, walls, and even the Ceiling!! were all covered in thick shag carpeting.

There were no windows.

Even the two doors, both the one I came in and another, were also covered in carpeting. The center of the room had a plastic folding table, with 2 plastic folding chairs, one for myself and the other, facing me, occupied by a serious-looking older lady who frankly looked pale and sickly. I would have sworn she was a cancer patient and not a military person.

I came in, shut the door behind me, and sat down. She turned on a somewhat loud sounding white-noise machine and said, "Okay, here's your situation."

I took a breath. I figured I might be out of it because of failing some test or another.

"You have been conditionally admitted to the program. Read this, silently. No questions until the end." She handed me a folder with red candy-stripes around the outside border. On the front, it said, 'TOP SECRET'. I opened it by breaking a seal with a number written on it. Inside, there were two pieces of paper. The first piece said the following:

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You are going to a US Army location. It is nowhere near any kind of a war zone. It is a rough and rugged environment, requiring a lot of moving around, manual labor, thoughtful analysis, and situational awareness. There will not be much privacy. Facilities will require men and women to be in close proximity. Rules will apply for good behavior, including prohibiting fraternization, sexual harassment, that hold everyone to the highest standards.

Persons breaking these rules will be sent home and/or prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Meals will not be complex, but will meet basic nutritional needs. There will be no vegetarian/kosher/halal meals. You will have no cell phone coverage. There will be regular, armed, US Army personnel at this location. You are not to interact with anyone during your trip to and from the location since those you travel near may, or may not, have clearance.

Strict OPSEC will be observed during your preparations and departure. Again, this includes speaking in ANY way with ANY persons you meet who are traveling near you, who are fellow interns, etc., as they may not be going to the same destination as you, and may not have the same arrangements being made with them.

The second sheet of paper in this envelope contains physical fitness training information and goals. Pay close attention to the directions. Re-read this paper 3 times, slowly, carefully, to ensure you have read and understood all the instructions it contains. You will hand back this paper so you must remember it.

The third piece of paper contains a code. This code is your personal identification number. It will appear on all further correspondence sent to you. Memorize this number. It will be important later.

The fourth sheet of paper shows how much you will be paid. This is not a joke. Do not communicate any of this information to the person handing you this document, or to ANY OTHER PERSON WHATSOEVER. Do not express surprise beyond a simple smile or frown. If you feel the amount is unfair to you, please call the number you were originally given to set up an exit from this agreement and a proper close-down of your security clearances.