| General Fiction posted September 8, 2020 | Chapters: |
...18 19 -20- 21... 
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Maryland
A chapter in the book Attack of the Fifty States
Attack of the 50 States:Maryland
by Bill Schott
When thinking of Maryland, I recall three instances when I had to go there. Once was intentional and the others because I was on my way to somewhere else.
I entered the Marines as a ballistic meteorologist. Part of that job requires launching balloon-borne radiosondes which measure temperature, pressure, and humidity in the atmosphere. This data and the wind directions aloft are used to plot artillery firing information for first-round effect on enemy targets.
The equipment we used in the seventies was developed in the fifties. It was tube-driven, heavy, and out of date with the times. So, in the eighties, it was finally replaced. The manual, written by the electronics company in Maryland, needed to be adjusted and verified for non-engineers to use on the job. I was sent to Baltimore to review, revise, and verify the manual for this new equipment.
That was when I discovered the reason for beltway highways around cities. The drive from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina to Baltimore was doubled because of the time it took to get past Washington, DC. Thirty-five miles an hour for a hundred miles is maddening.
A few years later, seeking a position on the Marine Corps Institute correspondence course writing staff, I had to drive to Marine Barracks Washington, DC to interview. That drive straight through to DC was crazy slow. Like a parking lot being towed by a giant snail, the traffic dragged along.
Talking to Marines who lived there already, they said they came to work two hours early every morning to avoid the soul-killing morning commute. DC lies at the top of Virginia, but they had all bought houses in Maryland. It was twice as far to drive, the taxes were much higher, but the drive to work less stressful than if they lived in Virginia.
I didn't take that job, as the writing aspect at MCI would be second to the daily practices for the weekly public parades. I didn't see myself doing those highly coordinated rifle spinning drills.
The third time I passed through Maryland was to visit my oldest brother who lived in Delaware. Coming from Michigan, I had to pass through Maryland for about thirty minutes. That was enough time to miss the same toll both going east and then going back west. So, the state snapped a picture of my license plate and sent a bill for the toll through the mail. They assumed I had tried to avoid the toll, so I was charged the toll and a fine. Bless them.
I realize I haven't expounded on the state of Maryland much, but, well, they dunned me on that toll, so, back at you, Maryland.
When thinking of Maryland, I recall three instances when I had to go there. Once was intentional and the others because I was on my way to somewhere else.
I entered the Marines as a ballistic meteorologist. Part of that job requires launching balloon-borne radiosondes which measure temperature, pressure, and humidity in the atmosphere. This data and the wind directions aloft are used to plot artillery firing information for first-round effect on enemy targets.
The equipment we used in the seventies was developed in the fifties. It was tube-driven, heavy, and out of date with the times. So, in the eighties, it was finally replaced. The manual, written by the electronics company in Maryland, needed to be adjusted and verified for non-engineers to use on the job. I was sent to Baltimore to review, revise, and verify the manual for this new equipment.
That was when I discovered the reason for beltway highways around cities. The drive from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina to Baltimore was doubled because of the time it took to get past Washington, DC. Thirty-five miles an hour for a hundred miles is maddening.
A few years later, seeking a position on the Marine Corps Institute correspondence course writing staff, I had to drive to Marine Barracks Washington, DC to interview. That drive straight through to DC was crazy slow. Like a parking lot being towed by a giant snail, the traffic dragged along.
Talking to Marines who lived there already, they said they came to work two hours early every morning to avoid the soul-killing morning commute. DC lies at the top of Virginia, but they had all bought houses in Maryland. It was twice as far to drive, the taxes were much higher, but the drive to work less stressful than if they lived in Virginia.
I didn't take that job, as the writing aspect at MCI would be second to the daily practices for the weekly public parades. I didn't see myself doing those highly coordinated rifle spinning drills.
The third time I passed through Maryland was to visit my oldest brother who lived in Delaware. Coming from Michigan, I had to pass through Maryland for about thirty minutes. That was enough time to miss the same toll both going east and then going back west. So, the state snapped a picture of my license plate and sent a bill for the toll through the mail. They assumed I had tried to avoid the toll, so I was charged the toll and a fine. Bless them.
I realize I haven't expounded on the state of Maryland much, but, well, they dunned me on that toll, so, back at you, Maryland.
I entered the Marines as a ballistic meteorologist. Part of that job requires launching balloon-borne radiosondes which measure temperature, pressure, and humidity in the atmosphere. This data and the wind directions aloft are used to plot artillery firing information for first-round effect on enemy targets.
The equipment we used in the seventies was developed in the fifties. It was tube-driven, heavy, and out of date with the times. So, in the eighties, it was finally replaced. The manual, written by the electronics company in Maryland, needed to be adjusted and verified for non-engineers to use on the job. I was sent to Baltimore to review, revise, and verify the manual for this new equipment.
That was when I discovered the reason for beltway highways around cities. The drive from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina to Baltimore was doubled because of the time it took to get past Washington, DC. Thirty-five miles an hour for a hundred miles is maddening.
A few years later, seeking a position on the Marine Corps Institute correspondence course writing staff, I had to drive to Marine Barracks Washington, DC to interview. That drive straight through to DC was crazy slow. Like a parking lot being towed by a giant snail, the traffic dragged along.
Talking to Marines who lived there already, they said they came to work two hours early every morning to avoid the soul-killing morning commute. DC lies at the top of Virginia, but they had all bought houses in Maryland. It was twice as far to drive, the taxes were much higher, but the drive to work less stressful than if they lived in Virginia.
I didn't take that job, as the writing aspect at MCI would be second to the daily practices for the weekly public parades. I didn't see myself doing those highly coordinated rifle spinning drills.
The third time I passed through Maryland was to visit my oldest brother who lived in Delaware. Coming from Michigan, I had to pass through Maryland for about thirty minutes. That was enough time to miss the same toll both going east and then going back west. So, the state snapped a picture of my license plate and sent a bill for the toll through the mail. They assumed I had tried to avoid the toll, so I was charged the toll and a fine. Bless them.
I realize I haven't expounded on the state of Maryland much, but, well, they dunned me on that toll, so, back at you, Maryland.
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