Every unit has a Dwight. He’s overzealous, obsessed with regulations, quick to issue commands, and just paranoid enough to think the coffee pot is bugged. But unlike the Blue Falcons or barracks lawyers you try to avoid, the Dwights of the world bring something rare to a team: operational excellence buried beneath three layers of cringe.
In the universe of The Office, Dwight K. Schrute is a beet farmer, assistant (to the) regional manager, volunteer sheriff’s deputy and walking field manual. While his coworkers at Dunder Mifflin dismiss him as a weirdo with delusions of authority, service members might recognize something more familiar. Beneath the eccentricities is a competent squad leader who, for all his social dysfunction, gets the job done.
When executing the mission, Dwight doesn’t just show up. He arrives in full tactical gear, ahead of schedule, with a memorized copy of the SOP and a backup plan.
Dwight’s loyalty to the mission is absolute. Whether selling paper or managing a surprise birthday party, he approaches the task like a training exercise. He operates like someone who thinks the five-paragraph op order is light reading. The results may be unconventional, but his commitment to the objective never wavers.
Need the office secured overnight? Dwight camps out in the building. Need the fire alarm tested? He lights a trash can on fire. His judgment is questionable, but his work ethic is relentless. He’s always alert, always rehearsing, always planning for the worst.
In most real-world units, that kind of over-preparation earns you either a promotion or a nickname you don’t get to choose. Dwight would probably earn both.
Squad leaders need presence. Dwight has it, even if no one asked for it. He takes control of a room through sheer force of volume and confidence. Whether blowing a whistle or announcing new protocols with a clipboard in hand, Dwight assumes authority by default.
He is also obsessed with the chain of command. Michael Scott might be the worst commanding officer in office comedy history, but Dwight follows him with a loyalty that borders on tragic. When Michael stumbles, Dwight doesn’t disobey. He just quietly executes his plan and keeps the team moving.
In this way, he resembles the type of NCO who will enforce even the dumbest order, not because it makes sense, but because it came from higher. And when things fall apart, he already has the contingency plan laminated and color-coded.
Dwight isn’t popular. He’s awkward, humorless and once brought nunchucks to work. But he’s the guy you want leading the charge.
He conducts rehearsals, logs performance and builds redundant systems for basic tasks. He once constructed a functioning security system using string, tripwires and a bobblehead. That’s not insanity. That’s small-unit fieldcraft.
He would probably rub some people the wrong way in a real squad. But he would also be the one making sure you had water, ammo and a working red lens flashlight on the night land nav course.
Dwight’s obsession with gear is one of his defining traits. He inventories everything. He stores spares in his car, in his desk and in his barn. He runs mock inspections for fun. He probably keeps 550 cord in his wallet just in case.
He’d be the guy in an Army unit with perfect hand receipts and backup copies in a binder. His gear might smell like beets, but would be serviceable and accounted for.
The best example of Dwight’s leadership style comes in the episode titled “Stress Relief,” in which he orchestrates a fire drill that causes total panic. There is smoke, property damage and at least one heart attack.
But when the chaos clears, it’s Dwight who has the after-action report, collects feedback and insists the office is now more prepared than ever.
That is what field leadership looks like in its rawest form. Poor execution, but great intent. He’s the type of leader who’d make you hate the exercise before you realize it helped you.
If Dwight Schrute wore a uniform, he’d be mocked, avoided at social functions and saluted when no one else is watching. But his soldiers would be squared away. His timelines would be accurate. His OPORDs would be laminated.
He may get counseled for being “too intense,” but he would also be the guy who gets the call when everything goes sideways.
Dwight isn’t a bad leader. He’s just a weird one. But in the military, weird can mean prepared. And if there’s one thing every squad leader should be, it’s ready.
Observation Post is the Military Times one-stop shop for all things off-duty. Stories may reflect author observations.
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