All Maintainers go to heaven – it’s perfectly suited for them Published July 11, 2007 By Greg Allen 27th Fighter Wing Public Affairs CANNON AIR FORCE BASE, N.M. -- "You need help," I intoned ominously. "Perhaps you should increase your medication." "I can't help it," came the reply. "I used to be a maintainer." My concern was not about my fellow worker, but rather, his desk. Neat didn't describe it. Pristine didn't work, either. It looked almost like, well, a toolbox. The stapler occupied its part of the universe exactly two inches from one corner of the desk. A tape dispenser provided balance at the other end, exactly two inches from that corner. A picture cube with family photos occupied the center. His phone and a few pieces of neatly stacked paper completed the symmetry of his Public Affairs "toolbox." This observation opened my eyes to another subculture of the military - that of the Air Force maintainer. Most civilians think of the military only as a separate culture, but those of us who wear or have worn the uniform know better. Rather than a melting pot, the military is a stew. There are the different services, of course, each with its own philosophy. Within each service are subcultures as well. "Oh, you're a Hollywood Marine," is a pejorative term used by those who went to "PI" (Parris Island) and refers to San Diego, one of two boot camp locations. Soldiers glance at other Soldiers' uniforms to see if they are airborne or wear a Ranger tab. Sailors look at each other's shoulder to see the name of the ship the other is serving. Nowhere in the other services, however, are there more subcultures than the Air Force. There are the pilots, of course, who fly, and the logistics Airmen who keep the parts ready so the plane can fly. There also are the bomb loaders, firefighters and special operations Airmen, just to name a few more. However, after looking at Staff Sgt. Craig Seals' desk, it was the maintainer mindset that intrigued me. He explained that in a maintainers' world, perfection doesn't get you an award, it merely allows you to stay out of trouble and lets you keep the day job. Part of that perfection includes the toolbox and the tools in it. They can't just be anywhere, they have to be in a specific place and they have to be accounted for at all times. He told me of the hours he spent with others looking for a small part or tool a numbed set of fingers dropped in the snow at Minot Air Force Base, N.D. They would look, look some more and then look again until it was found. He also told me of the consequences when things weren't done by the book. They were sometimes fatal, something that is never acceptable. He carried that mindset into public affairs, another military subculture better known for its packrat philosophy rather than clean desks. I've managed to learn a new trick from the young staff sergeant. My desk is cleaner now than it has been in years, perhaps decades. Things seem to be so much easier to find now. Go figure. One last thing. Sergeant Seals, that photo we sent you of your trashed out desk was just a joke. When you return from Afghanistan, it will be just as "purty" as you left it. Now stop sending those threatening e-mails. Maintain, you old maintainer, maintain.