Navy:
Wake up with a splitting headache from drinking a fifth of Wild Turkey the night before (~4 hrs ago). Scrape face, throw on least-smelliest utilities and haul-@$$ to morning muster. get on board 17 passenger van with broken heater/ac and wait for 2 hours because the torpedomen lost their guns again.
Get to range around 9 am (sorry, 0900, it's been 3 years). Raid vending machine for anything with carbohydrates to soak out the poisons brewing in your gut.
Bust thumbs for half hour loading magazines with weak metric European cartridge suitable for putting down small dogs, the French, and any other neighbors Germany might have, then unloading them when the Senior Chief torpedoman figures out you loaded too many. Reload the magazines you shouldn't have unloaded after all.
Toss cookies from hyperglycemic shock due to a cruel mixture of twinkies and bourbon and the indoor range temperature being either 87 or 42 degrees Fahrenheit.
Make it out to the range, where you will be yelled at by a fat man in brown pants and shirt who drinks coffee all day. Piss off the local range bosses by insisting that yes, Weaver really is ok and you can shoot just fine with it.
Wonder at the cooks as they shoot sideways ala TV-gangsters and hit both targets to either side, but not their own. Get yelled at by the fat man in brown clothes for shooting a smiley face in your target's head. Rationalize it by pointing out that target is only 25 yards away. Suffer guffaws of unbelief from city slickers in unit.
Hang another target because fat man in brown clothes threatens to perform anatomically impossible feats with your head and neck while making you clean the darkest bilge on the boat. Shoot CoM of this target. Retrieve target, score target (240). Regurgitate remaining twinkies after scoring target.
180+ is marksman, 204+ is sharpshooter, 228+ is expert.