Never in a professional capacity. But for reasons that, well reasons, I did cross paths with people who'd been in that pipeline or career field and then reclassed. 1st was during a particularly painfull formation at an aircraft maint. tech school. One of the king goobers with stripes was taking out their frustrations on us (Lets just say that being an MTL on that base was not something that happened at the end of a winning streak. And they were severely outnumbered and most of us were over 21 at the time.) One of the guys with us had gotten through indoc for combat control and had started the next phase. Things were starting to look bad on TV with Iraq and all. Every phone call home was ending with his mom crying. He dropped and wound up in the aircraft maintenance pipeline. Talk about abrupt loss of status and standards of dignity. At any rate, as we all questioned the decisions that had gotten us into that formation, I could him mutter under his breath, "I have no problem watching someone's head turn into a red cloud of mist, but I just can't handle hearing my mom cry."
In a branch of service that views firearms the way a yuppie hover-mom would, the handful of airmen who had or very nearly had regular access to weapons were something akin to unicorns. For someone to get a taste or have on the regular that kind of juice and then loose it... made for an interesting study in psychology. Especially with the things that were going on down range at the time.
A few years later I was overseas (1st world overseas on a 2 year.) Myself and a fellow sophisticate had gotten inebriated on base. We both lived off base at the time (ahh sweet sweet Cost Of Living Allowance how I miss thee) and were in no condition to drive, so began a quest for a spot to sleep it off. My second had a brain wave, "Airman Smith! No No really, hes like a super lifer, you should see his room, the floor is like, immaculate. It'll be totally cool"
Upon presenting ourselves at his door on the 0300 AM, he brought us inside with great enthusiasm. Two of us in civies, dude man still in his BDU's from the day before. Like he'd got off work at close of business and, once in his room, taken off his BDU top to preserve the sleeve creases and commenced his own session of consumption. Dude man's uniform was shit hot, those BDU's must've had 3 cans of aquanet in 'em. By his stagger it appeared drinking was still in progress. 2 beers later, I got his origin story. He was a full on Combat Controller on the operational side but had broken a leg during a combat jump. By the time he was healed up, his quals had lapsed, and the Air Force was not going to pay more cash to the Army to requalify him. He got crossed over into services. In the Air Force, services people rotate between handing out basketballs at the gym (They don't wear the uniform when doing that, they get a polo shirt and blue pants) plopping slop on trays in the chow hall (BDUs) and working at temporary lodging (hotel for officers and for that dress blues.) He was on the chow hall rotation.
The Air Force tends not to take real good care of its people. True, well fed, well housed and generally well compensated, but think; officious, bureaucratic abuse and or neglect and complete and total lack of leadership. You're on your own. You have to be your own barracks lawyer and understand that no one will have your back. The instant your paperwork becomes inconvenient, you are persona non grata and its all your fault. A female, an exceptional fag, a 'stellar airman,' or one of the specials (aircrew or spec ops) will get taken care of. Until they become an inconvenience or fall under an arbitrary paper bus. Then they too become plebs. Some take it with more grace than others.
Dude man, after telling us his story of getting screwed kicked us out of his room (we'd all been bent over but his tale was a winner.) He was apologetic, we had done nothing wrong but he couldn't leave us alone in his room. He needed to report for work at 0400. He threw on his BDU top and staggered off to the chow hall. Always wondered what happened to him.
Buddy and I wound up sleeping it off in a coffee shop/movie room a missionary had set up in one of the old dorm buildings being used by, I think, the education office. It was intended as an alternative to the booze soaked, animal house dorms, the aircraft maintenance dorms being the worst. It had been locked up since midnight but we knew someone with a key. We got comfy on the couches and fell asleep watching Full Metal Jacket, with French audio (gotta change it up sometimes.) I learned three things that night. 1. when animal mother is missed by the sniper and he yells shit 4 times, the french have 4 different ways of saying shit apparently 2. A Drill Instructor yelling in French just doesn't work 3. That entire movie was filmed on location in England.