Lots of crazy, hilarious things happen to me at work. I'll be keeping it as anonymous as possible, so check out the "about" page for nautical definitions and abbreviations.
The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day at Historic Ships, and I was off watch. In fact, I was so thoroughly off watch that I had company from out of town- Carrie had consented to sleep on my floor and ignore the sounds of Cub Scouts running around the ship early in the morning.
Of course, if you’re around the ships that much and you have some free time, you mostly just bum around ships some more. So on my day off, with a friend visiting, we… sat on the deck barefoot talking to Amy. We didn’t even make it off the ship- just came up a ladder and sat down on deck. Greg was chief and already standing on deck, so we kept out of the visitors’ way and caught up.
“We had the creepiest guy here, earlier,” Amy mused. “He just followed me around- it was really weird. So I called Greg- I didn’t want to be alone with him.”
We agreed that he was weird, and we fell to telling sea stories about strange people we had met. And given how many people come through the ships, we had enough stories for all afternoon.
But while we were talking- who knows what about, by then- it finally occurred to somebody to say out loud what I had been thinking for a while. There were an awful lot of sirens coming past.
“I hope they’re not coming here,” I said, and I swear I was just joking.
“Marissa,” Greg pointed out, “is in the lighthouse today.”
“I hope you saluted.”
They assured me that they had, and ordinarily that would have been enough. It should have been enough. But the sirens kept coming- lots of them, right down the main street and around. We wondered whether the hotel was on fire, but there didn’t seem to be any smoke. So we kept lounging on deck, watching the engines pass by until one turned and came down the drive right in front of the CGC.
Greg stood up all of a sudden. “That’s my dad’s engine,” he said, sounding more than slightly confused. He might, too- I’d been by his father’s station and it was well across the harbor. But his dad’s crew had the ability to cope with a hazmat situation, so they might come over this far, if they were needed. What for, though? “I’m going to go over and see what’s going on,” Greg announced and headed down the gangway at speed.
When he returned, he had a look on his face like people do when they almost can’t wait to tell you the story. We sat up and got ready for a good one; Greg did not disappoint.
“You know who’s in the lighthouse?” he asked. Marissa. Everything happens to Marissa.
“So that guy that was here bugging Amy went over to the lighthouse.” Greg was grinning from ear to ear. “And he wandered around up there for a while, and then he… decided to try to get on one of the boats that’s tied up on the pier.”
That still didn’t explain the hazmat truck.
“One of the visitors saw him climbing onto a boat and told Marissa, and she called the police. So they police went over and saw this guy climbing on one of the boats, and he took his jacket off and spread it out over one of the seats- like he didn’t want it to get wet- and jumped in the harbor.”
“Was he going to swim away?” somebody asked. Greg shrugged.
“I dunno- but they just threw him a life preserver and waited for him to come back. He touched the harbor, though, that’s why they had to call the hazmat unit.”
That image stuck with us for a while, this guy leaping into the harbor in a bid for freedom and somebody else’s property, and trying to strike out across the water to get away from the cops- while they folded their arms and waited.
When Marissa came back, we made sure to salute properly this time.
Picture a guy who's too old for this shit leaping off a balcony. Not because he had to, mind you, but because he'd gotten locked out and anything- any fate at all- is better than admitting to your co-workers that you were the dumbass who forgot to wedge something in the door before it fell shut.
So this guy, who's too old for this shit and too proud to admit he needs a rescue, heads to the edge of the balcony and goes over the side. What happens next depends on how badly the storyteller wants a laugh- either he climbed carefully over and hung by his fingers and dropped, or he just vaulted like the Batman and thought he could land on his feet.
Either way, he didn't. Just dropped like a stone.
The co-workers found out then. So did the EMTs. And the lawyer. And HR.
And at his interview, so did Jeff, who was on the schedule to work with Paul on his first morning at the ships. He reported to Constellation at 9 in the morning, and banged on the door, as he had been instructed, and waited with great anticipation to meet the legendary Paul. "He can be... difficult," Brian had said, which is what he said to all of us, and Jeff more curious than anything else.
His first day wouldn't be too bad, he figured, because mostly they're not- Brian comes over to train the new kid, and you get led in circles around a ship, trying to remember which was is up and which is starboard, and trying not to let on how completely lost you are, in case you make yourself look like a bad hiring decision. But you go home tired and overwhelmed and that's not so bad.
And then Paul happened, and the first thing Jeff learned at this job was something most of us learn- that he didn't sweep the stairs correctly. Or maybe the real lesson was that it was only correct if Paul had already shown you, because the instructions he gave were identical to what Jeff had already been doing.
"Do it like this," Paul said, taking the broom out of Jeff's hands. "Sweep all the dust over to one side, and then down to the next stair. Then you can collect it all at the bottom." Jeff just nodded. There probably wasn't another good response.
"Work smarter, not harder," Paul called, as he went back up the stairs. "That's what I always say. People put more work into things, and they just need to do them the most efficient way."
Jeff nodded agreeably and finished the stairs, and then let Paul lead him around the ship, showing him where the covers went, how to turn on the lights, and how to check the amount of bilge water in the hold. He could have done without Paul breathing down his neck, maybe.
Things lightened up when Brian made his way over from the office, and Jeff spent the morning getting acquainted with the ships. More importantly, he got to know his shipmates. They weren't all Paul, and for the most part, they didn't seem to be particularly hardassed people at all.
Marissa and Greg were both working on Constellation that day, and while Paul had been showing Jeff around and barking orders, they had been getting the ship open and holding what sounded like a far better conversation.
Jeff first met Marissa as she hopped the ropes separating the deck from the bowsprit.
"Holy cow," he laughed as she walked up the bowsprit, onto the jib boom, and up to the mast to hang the naval jack.
"Morning!" she called back.
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"It's fun," she called back. I've never understood this, but Jeff figured the least he could do was give it a try.
When Marissa had landed back on the deck, she showed him how to fasten the safety harness in the most secure and least comfortable way possible. It was throttling.
"You won't fall, though," she assurred him. "Nobody but Stan ever has, and he pulled himself back up okay."
I've never found that comforting.
That afternoon, Jeff watched Greg wade through a sea of Cub Scouts to teach them how to brace the yards.
"Want to jump on a line and see how it's done?" Greg asked, and Jeff jumped at the chance. Wouldn't you? His ability to shout down a group of fidgety little boys was impressive. Despite their best efforts, Greg soon had them lined up port and starboard, taking commands and hauling on line in a manner that was at least organized enough not to break the ship.
Paul, of course, had some criticism to level. "Jeff!" he called across the deck, while Greg was in the middle of showing Jeff how to belay line.
"You better go," Greg sighed. "I'll finish up here."
"Now, there's a few things you should know about these presentations, okay?" Jeff nodded. "When I do them, I never bother telling the kids about tacking and wearing," Paul said. "That just confuses them, okay?" Another nod. "Just go through the commands, make sure they know the safety procedures, and keep them focused. Okay?"
"Sure."
"Good. When you're ready to give the presentation, I'll come watch you do it. When you do it like me, I'll know you're doing it right." Okay, then.
For the rest of the day, it seemed like all Jeff did was meet new people and have names and faces and dates and terms thrown at him. On the Torsk, he met Nat, who stopped awkwardly in the middle of saying hello to yell "Squirrel!" to Dan, who had shown up to wait for his overnight to start, and watch a group of young women walk down the pier. Jeff half expected him to lick his lips. Dan at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
On Chesapeake, Emily greeted Jeff with a big smile and a friendly handshake. By the time she was done welcoming him to the ship's crew and giving him a quick tour around, Jeff knew he was going to like her. He figured it would be impossible not to.
"We're just going by the lighthouse real quick," Brian had said, and it was a good goal, but Jeff ended up showing him around while Brian was cornered by Forrest at the front desk. There was a problem with the plumbing, it seemed, and by the time they went back to Taney for the last of Jeff's paperwork, Brian was rolling his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just sighed and decided not to.
The Taney was a madhouse. Dan had come over to meet me, Justin, and Candi for an overnight on the Constellation and the first thing Jeff heard when he came aboard was the phrase, "Chow down and get out! That's what Paul's boxers say."
I wanted to assure Jeff that the insanity was temporary, but I couldn't, in good conscience, tell a lie like that. I settled for shaking his hand and introducing myself instead.
"R.J., please don't squeeze my buns this week," Jeremy called, throwing some sandwish rolls onto the pile of food he and Aaron were taking to the Taney.
"R.J.'s gonna squeeze Paul's buns," Justin called back.
"Why is R.J. squeezing anyone's buns?" Ryan wanted to know. He was coming up from below holding a sword, and Jeff looked like he wanted to ask, probably a lot of things, but he also looked like maybe he didn't want to know.
"R.J.'s not," I tried, but I knew better than to think Justin would ever let it go.
"Is there a Taney overnight?" Aaron asked, and I breathed a sigh of temporary relief as the talk turned to where the Taney's overnight crew had gone- Andrew and Mike were scheduled, but they had both disappeared and the ovens were on- and when Brian finally called Jeff into the office to sign his last few forms, I figured maybe he'd enjoy the peace and quiet. It would be his turn, soon enough.
(Shipmates: Please be discreet. This project continues only as long as it is clandestine.)
So obviously, the updates have been few and very far between. But here at Historic Ships, we've been joking about what a great sitcom our job would make.
Well, now I've written it. If you've come here from the ships themselves, directed by clandestine text, you know the drill- and the entire cast of characters.
If you've been reading this blog because you know me from Cultures-Shocked, or real life, here's your chance to get to know the people from my posts as they really are. It won't take you long to guess who "That Guy" is (it's Paul) and names have not been changed, because I don't plan to be critical or cruel enough to put the innocent in need of protecting.
Some of these episodes are fact and some are fiction, but if you want to ask which, take to facebook.
Boy, do I wish that was a joke, or a pun, or anything but what it was... which was poop. How did I discover this? Well, some poor visitor nearly stepped in it and when he got on deck, said, "Hey, I think there's some dog poop inside."
Since we don't allow dogs on board, I was very confused. Did he mean out front of the door? But no, he meant on the tiled steps inside the building. Oh, dear.
Well, I went in and had a look and I don't think that was dog poop. For one thing, there have been no dogs on the ship. So, today, I cleaned up somebody else's poop.
I also talked to a nice lady who was interested and polite and then... brought up the possibility of powder monkeys being sexually molested by older sailors. Oh, god.
Now, I know there have been predators and pedophiles in every era, but since it doesn't show up in many records, and when it does it's being seriously punished, I have no idea how prevalent it is. I also really don't want to stand around and speculate like we're watching a train wreck.
Then she dug her grave entirely when she stopped back in to pick up her son's stroller, watched a bit of the video about the slave trade. Then she went, "You know who needs to watch this video? Black people. You know, some awful things were done, but they don't recognize the contributions-" and before I could just throw up at her, some other visitors walked in and, thank God, she left.
And lastly, a sad story: The city and state flags were at half mast today, because a county police officer was shot and killed in the line of duty yesterday. As we were bringing down the colors for the day, a man and his little boy were just leaving the ship, so I asked if they wanted to help and they said yes. When we were getting the flag secured, I explained- just very briefly- why the flags were at half mast.
The dad will be at that funeral tomorrow- the officer was a friend and teacher of his. RIP
My other favorite is when I say, "Hi! How are ya'll doing today?" (Yeah, sometime in college I picked up saying ya'll. I never sounded like a Southerner before...) And the visitors don't say *anything*.
I sometimes have luck just going on with my whole spiel, but occasionally they just stare at me like I have two heads. Inevitably, as soon as I start thinking, "Oh, well, maybe they don't speak much English" they turn away from me and start talking in English to each other.
Visitors who genuinely don't speak English, incidentally, are usually much politer about it than that.
Which reminds me of the nicest interaction I had with some visitors from- going by the tones in the language they spoke- China. I was on deck knitting and they were looking around the ship. I had said hello to them when they came on and we'd pretty well established that we didn't have a language in common, so whenever they passed I would just smile and they'd smile back and at least we all knew we were friendly.
When they got ready to leave, they were walking over to the gangway and I was knitting and they stopped and sort of gathered around and I guess somebody in the group was a knitter, because they were talking and looking at my project. They all reached down to feel the yarn (which I never mind, I love feeling projects with a nice yarn) and one of the men drew on what, thinking of my tētis, was probably his entire stock of English and gave me a big smile and a thumbs up and said, "Good! Good!"
I said, "Thank you!" and we had one last smile and wave.
My lovely friends on CS were promised the Saga of the Lock, and since I have a whole week off work while I'm at the beach with my family, I'm going to deliver.
This is how it all began: When I moved onto the CGC, my door locked from the outside but not the inside. Mostly, this was harmless. I'd be there long enough to sleep and leave the door locked when I went out.
And then I started spending more time there during the day- I'd get off work at 5, and the CGC would have people on board until 6:00, for example. Or I would be working at event at 4pm, meaning I spent nearly all day on board while visitors were there.
Now, I've developed a belief that can be summed up about this way: A person is smart and considerate. People are dumb as shit.
Evidence: Every son of a bitch (and probably plenty of people I would otherwise have liked) who walked by my room had to try and open the door. Never mind that it was closed, and that I barricaded myself in by stacking my belongings against the door. No, people will just view that as a challenge and push harder. I can't tell you how many people shoved their way on it and then would giggle when I yelled at them. Drove me crazy.
And then some dumbass walked in on me while I was just waking up. In my underwear. Took about 45 minutes for me to get an internal lock after that.
I arrived at work this evening (for an event on the Sloop) feeling very misanthropic.
A little boy waiting to use the heads asked his father, "Why can't we take drinks all over the ship?"
Enthusiastic Sailor R.J. would have though, "Ah! A Teachable Moment! This youngster is ready to learn about how we can all work together to protect the tangible aspects of our nation's history, as embodied in this fine vessel."
Sick Of People R.J. thought, "Because you don't always get to do what you want. Shut the &^$% up." At least Grouchy R.J. is too smart to say what's on their mind.
Incidentally, the event turned out fine, and I spent at least half of it sitting alone behind the desk playing games on my phone.
In the sitcom that is my job, today's crazy did not actually happen to me. I heard about it from D, who was chief over on the steel ships.
This morning, a guy (old, probably on drugs, definitely nuts) came up to the deck of the CGC and declared that he was a veteran of this particular CGC- a cook, he insisted.
"Very interesting," said D, who was already suspicious. "When was that?"
"In Vietnam," the guy said, "1979." (For non-Americans and those who weren't sure, Vietnam was not being fought in 1979, and our CGC was not in the Pacific at that time.)
He and D. argued for a while, and then the guy spent much of the afternoon trying to con our visitors into taking a tour with him. He was threatening violence when D. threw him off the ship for the last time, after closing.
I'm sitting in my stateroom and I can hear pounding that sounds like it's coming from up on deck. Expect a whopper of a blog entry if I have to deal with this guy myself.
Let's balance that out with a happy story. I was on the Sloop today and every evening we invite the public to help us lower the flags- the City, State, and US colors. The family that helped me out today was an Army family- Dad had done at least one tour in Iraq and he and his boys were really thrilled to get to help honor the colors on our ship.
Those make some of my favorite stories, when I get to see people doing something that is so meaningful to them, and I know it's going to be the kind of thing that sticks with them for a long time, that they brag to their friends about or reminisce about at the dinner table.
Several weeks ago, I had a couple little boys helping me take the colors down, and their mom was taking lots of pictures. They were attentive and taking the job seriously, but that's not totally unusual. Kids often have real respect for the privilege of handling the flag.
After they were done, the kids were off looking at something and their mom came to find me to thank me for letting the kids help. She was kind of choking up and she explained that their dad was in Afghanistan and she couldn't wait to send him the pictures of his sons helping to retire the colors- he was going to be so proud. It makes me choke up, too, thinking about it.
Full song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xs9qPWH7zy4
Last night was an overnight on board The Sloop with N, D, M and AY. As so often happens, we got talking about That Guy and how painful he is, so when we sat down to sing chanteys at night, we worked him into one of them. This is in the grand tradition of chanteys, where the chanteyman writes additional verses to suit the group, invoking injokes and experiences they've shared.
After That Guy opened up the museum this morning, insulting the crap out of me in the process, we sang our own version all the way back to stow our gear on the CGC. It was therapeutic.
Last night's group included two Cub Scout packs, a Boy Scout troop, and five members of the Young Marines program. (A friend made a request for pictures of their butts before I explained that it's a program for kids, and that I did not mean of-age members of the military.)
The Boy Scouts got there nice and early, in time to be waiting for us when we brought our own stuff over, and one of the moms saw M and I and went, "Ooooh, Girl Scouts!" I was very confused for a second and then said, "Nope, Overnight Leaders". She later apologized, which she didn't need to do, but it was pretty funny.
One of the Boy Scouts had a green cast that went from his elbow all the way to his fingertips, and we ended up calling him Lefty- I have no idea what his name was. We do an activity with nearly all our groups to help them learn the directions on a ship, and we call it Sailor Says. It's Simon Says with ship directions. They bow to the bow, turn to the stern, point to port and stomp to starboard. There are also commands for "arms aloft" where they stick their arms in the air, and "down on the deck" where they crouch down. When Chief N. called out "Point to port" this kid stuck out his whole hand- the one in the cast- and N teased him about not pointing. It was like MIcheal in The Novel.
Our Young Marines group was kind of weird- nice enough, and scrupulously polite, but never where we needed them to be. They "anticipated" directions that we were never going to give, and the leaders kept wandering off with their kids. Not off the ship, just... away from the group. We have no idea where to or why they did it.
It was not they who we had to go tell off at night, though. About 11:30, there was a pounding sound from the gun deck, which we could hear clearly enough, as we were sleeping in the midshipmen's cabin, and we thought somebody was screwing around with the guns. Turns out they had improvised a game of Spoons, and they were whacking the Captain's table. The first time, N. D and I all went up together to see what the heck, and we laughed with them about it. When they didn't take us seriously, I had to go back up and be more stern.
Hanging out in the Midshimen's cabin was fun, as it always is- with N and D, it's more like a sleepover than catching 40 winks before we have to work again. We invoked the usual jokes, harassed the heck out of each other, and sang chanteys for a good hour or so.
Yesterday, this visitor, an older white guy, sidled up to me cleaning the capstan and asked me where we kept the "n**ger heads". He meant capstan bars. I froze. He was wearing this awful, conspiratorial look which I read as "We're both good, un-pc white people, we can use that word. It's just history, right?"
I said "Shockingly, we don't call them that. They're over there." Boy, was I happy when he left.
That was the same day that a group of 8th graders got themselves banned from ringing the bell. Three groups of kids rang it at top volume, so I cut them all off and stood against it until their group left.
Monday, the visitors weren't remarkably anything, it just rained a lot. C. and I spent a good 45 minutes running around the deck trying to sweep water down the scuppers- until they overflowed, and then we gave in. Then we just punched at the awnings with our brooms to keep them from sagging under the weight of the rain. I got very, very wet.
In Which I Avoid Harming a Shipmate and Meet Some Interesting People
I'm still on the Sloop- the CGC has internet, as it turns out, but I'm not hooked up to it yet (gotta run a cord over the bulkhead of my stateroom to the router) so I'm getting my internet time in the museum.
It's my third day on the Sloop and I have one more to go. I tell you, the commute has been great- just three blocks from door to door, and today my chief is C. who lives in the next stateroom over.
I worked all weekend with... well, all the nicknames I can come up with are mean, but since every every office in the world has a person like this, let's call him That Guy. He's a condescending jerk, is the problem. He was in a good mood this weekend, but that's a relative thing- his good mood is like having a hurricane that only takes off the roof. You're grateful it didn't do more damage, but there are still repairs to make.
There are two visitors I remember most vividly. The first is a gentleman who is probably in his 60s- I believe he was here with his grandkids. When he first walked in, I thought he was a blue person (There is, in fact, a medical condition that causes your skin to turn blue. It's the result of all kinds of cousin marriage, usually through generations, and is actually treatable. You can be born blue and not grow up that way. Google it, it's fascinating.) Anyway, this guy wasn't blue, or not naturally. He was actually covered in tattoos- every visible inch of him, literally. It was a blue-black pattern, all swirls, and felt Celtic or Celtic-inspired to me. I think there were red accents around his collar. Weirdest thing was, he was dressed like a conservative, 60-something guy. Button down shirt tucked into khakis, a normal grandfatherly haircut... and full-body tattooing. He stopped and told me about his work as a city planner back when the museum was being built. I really wanted to take his picture.
The next memorable visitor actually kind of annoyed me. We have on repeat a documentary about an incident in which the Sloop chased down and caught a slave ship, returning over 700 people to freedom in Africa. It can be hard to watch in parts- there's a scene where the Africans are being branded and where a woman is eating sand off the beach; depending on the historian's interpretation, slaves who did this were either trying to carry some of Africa with them, or committing suicide. It's in no way pretty, although the part where the Sloop's crew chases the slave ship down and frees the people is really satisfying, but it's honest and needs to be learned.
Clearly, this woman disagreed. She got one look at the video and shrieked "Oh, my God, what is that?" and covered her kids' eyes. I explained- rather coldly, I think- what it was and she said something about "Don't watch that. Ugh." Well, sorry you don't like it, bitch. Lucky you you're a white American in the 21st century and you can afford to ignore that this happened, and still happens today.
Sorry, that pisses me off.
Anyway, today is proving to be much slower. C. and I opened the whole ship up- taking covers off the wheel, the capstan, the stern chaser and the bell- only to throw them right back on again when it started raining. Today has been one storm after another, and unlikely to stop. I see sunshine on one side of the museum and clouds on the other. wish me luck staying dry! And in just three short hours, I'll be back on the CGC making dinner and getting comfortable for the evening. I'm looking forward to it already.
In Which I Discover That Some Memes Are Ubiquitous
I'm writing to you today from the Sloop. The security desk in the museum, to be precise, where I just stamped the tickets of a group of six kids who are either liberal Amish or Old Order Mennonites. I didn't ask which, but they were speaking Pennsylvania Dutch. Except for one phrase- one of the girls, mid sentence, used the phrase "epic fail" and I did an epic double-take.
I had not guessed they would know that phrase. Then again, they're touring a sloop of war, so maybe they're not as conservative as their "coffee strainers*" suggest?
Other than that, I'm practicing my capstan tour, surviving my most difficult co-worker, and moved into a stateroom of my very own on the CGC yesterday. And tonight? Chinese food. It's a god day.
*This is not an original term for the caps Amish and Mennonite women wear. It's the term used by a family friend who is, herself, Mennonite.
In Which I Learn That I Am A Terrible Pool Player and Vow Not To Quit My Day Job
D. C. Carrie, and I went out for drinks this evening. To be precise, dinner and drinks, drinks at the bar across the street, and then another bar where Carrie and I didn't intend to drink (hour commute and the lightening of my wallet) but were bought shots, which we consumed willingly.
At this last place, D. and C. decided to play pool and after quite a good game, got Carrie and I to give it a shot. The sad truth is, we're both really bad at it. They kept saying, "You have a straight shot" or "You can't miss this one." Of course, we inevitably did.
The first time around, I could barely hit the ball. I tapped it and it went a humiliating three or four inches. That was when D. took my pool education in hand. "You have to hold it steady and take your time," he explained, "and you aim it just right, and then put a lot of force into it. It's like a rifle."
Thank God for Civil War reenactors. D. is a 1st Sergeant in his unit and knows what language I speak.
In Which I Am Witness to Heinous Flag T-shirts and Drink Something Strong In Honor of Our Veterans
Sadly, it wasn't grog. That would have been very appropriate, but instead Jem, C. and I went for Miller, in one of those large tube-y things.
Let me begin at the beginning: With the fact that it is Memorial Day, although our work schedule has the date clearly marked "Labor Day" and I was on the ship while my parents took my two best friends canoeing. Hmm, I thought that was spelled with two o's. Perhaps because I'm still on the tipsy end of things.
It could have been worse, though, because we get paid double on holidays and I get the added bonus of not having to drive back home tonight. My commute is easily over an hour, and with the holiday traffic, I think I'd be on the road a good deal longer than that. And I can only imagine what tomorrow morning would have looked like! As it is, I'll be spending the night on the CGC, and I can get up an hour before work starts and still have time to lie around.
I was so thoroughly on the ball today that I was at work almost half an hour early (the roads were freakishly empty) and we had the ship and museum set up entirely by 0945. Being able to chill and talk is a nice treat.
Well, it wasn't as busy a day as I had expected it to be, but we did well, and I was treated to quite an array of patriotic clothing in various stages of horrible. Red, white and blue ribbons in a little girl's hair are cute. So are little sundresses with red, with and blue accents. Wearing the American flag practically as a t-shirt, however... perhaps overkill. I'd say flag shorts are likely a mistake as well.
But people were nice, I had an actual group for my presentation on the naval diet, and I got to watch Jem give a really fun capstan presentation. We had a few people ask about ghosts on the ship, and I wish I could stop right here and regale you with a great ghost story, but there just aren't any. We made one up, and I'll have to come up with an appropriate pseudonym for the gentleman involved, because it's worth sharing in another post.
Notable visitors included the guy who tried to tell me that the Civil War was fought in the 1840s. I felt kind of bad for him, because he kept volunteering "facts" about the ship and American history that were entirely wrong. (He was American, or the story wouldn't be remarkable. I don't expect foreign visitors to know, necessarily. ) I'm not sure why he didn't just shut up. It was kind of embarrassing after a while, since he kept going "Right?" and being wrong. No, this ship was never a slaver. Yes, it's 160 years old. No, no engines. That kind of thing.
He was rivaled by the perfectly pleasant family who wanted audioguides, but didn't want to shut up and let me tell them how to use the things, and then asked me the same questions like four times.
I got off well before close, but since I like the crew and C., Jem and I had dinner plans, I stuck around and helped close up.
Since C. hasn't gone grocery shopping and she lives on the ship, she and Jem and I went up the street to a beer garden. Nice place, really. We ordered a tube of beer so high (110 ounces or so) that other customers made jokes about it and somebody on the street stopped to ask what it was and how he could get one. We swapped stories (okay, only one) about people driving into harbors, and chatted about notable fires in American history. (Mrs. O'Leary's cow was innocent!)
I'm just about totally sober by now, but I still think I'm going to sleep well tonight. I"m glad I don't have to drive back. I can see the CGC from my regular booth in Panera, and when they close up in half an hour, it'll be a nice easy walk back to my bunk.
Last night was my second overnight on the CGC. I had one way back in March, when I first started at the ships, but with the learning curve being what it is, I'd forgotten just about everything.
The kids showed up about 5- 20 Cub Scouts and 20 parents. Thank Goodness, they give us a 1-1 ratio for the little ones. Most parents are pretty good about corralling their children. This group was energetic as anything, like most little boys are, but good kids. They had their pleases and thank-you's on straight, which goes a long way toward making the cook (me) like you.
We popped pizzas in the oven, and I had the good sense to volunteer to go down and serve the boys. I don't like being stuck in the kitchen and not getting to know the scouts. Plus, nothing makes you popular faster than handing kids pizza.
After that, it was on to activities. I'd seen the Damage Control presentation before, and listening to the kids try to decide how to plug a hole in a ship is priceless. The following exchange took place:
Chief D.: So, what do you do if you have a hole in the side of your ship and the water is coming in?
Kid: Make another hole so the water can go back out!
No, but it was a cute idea. Sadly, when I told that story at home, Mom thought there was some way that could work. There isn't.
Speaking of Chief D., he tends to wear his Officer Face (tm) when he's instructing the kids. And then every once in a while, it slips...
Each of the kids is assigned a battle station while they're on board, and then a few times during the overnight we'll sound the alarm for General Quarters and they'll have to report to their station. One little boy came up to D. and said "Could I be a QM [quartermaster] so I can be with my brother?"
They were in the middle of an activity, so D. just said, "Maybe. Go sit down." But as soon as the kid walked away, he went over to the bucket of assignment badges and started sifting through it. When the kids were finished with their Plane Spotting activity, D. (still wearing his Officer Face) and crooked his finger- the "come here" signal. When the little boy walked over, he very solemnly handed him a new badge and sent him on his way. And then he turned around and grinned at me.
"And people say I'm not nice." I've never heard anybody say that.
This morning, the other cook and I were up at 0500 to boil bagged egg product and cook bacon. We also set out cereal for the kids- just enough sugar to make sure they don't sleep in the car on the way home- and coffee for the adults, to make sure they don't either. The bacon usually gets its own round of applause. D. called Reveille at 0600, which on a ship of this era meant that he got on the loudspeaker and said "Reveille! Reveille!" It works, I guess.
This morning, the kids got what they'd really been waiting for- a chance to look at the CGS's guns. They got to go inside the gun mount and pretend to shoot things and I guess they really caught the itch, because while we were going over paperwork with their parents, they were hanging over the side pretending to fight off the "enemy" in the guise of any passerby.
Most used phrases: "Both feet on the deck!" "Lock it up." [ie, shut up]
It was a good one. Stay tuned for further adventures.
