Bye, Bye

Part of the spirit and the culture of the U.S. military is the creed that you don’t leave anyone behind.

On tugboats, not so much.

Don’t get me wrong. Should the unthinkable emergency happen, everyone on my crew is highly trained and motivated to do everything they can to try to save one another. 

But, when it comes to crew change, we will leave your ass behind in the blink of an eye.

As of late, I am the one being left behind.  Waving goodbye from the stern of the boat as my crew mates  happily depart on their two week reprieve away from the boat. 

See 'ya later, suckers!

However, on this crew change, I was the one thinking “sucks to be them” as the launch boat pulled away leaving not one, but two of our crew behind.

Mongo/Superman/Witness Protection got to stay behind because his relief had decided that tugboating wasn’t the job for him. His relief had only made it one hitch before he quit. Not really a big loss. I didn’t even learn the guy’s name. So our deckhand gets to stay and work with the opposite crew. He then gets to stay and work our hitch with us before he goes home. Six weeks on a tugboat isn’t much fun. We still laughed at him.

JM also got left behind. His relief was stuck in Cleveland (what the hell is the deal with getting stuck in Cleveland?). At least he doesn’t have to work 6 weeks straight. It still sucks nonetheless. Especially, after he paid for his flight home. We laughed at him too.

We are hoping for better luck next time.

Our fearless leader will be back after leaving us with TPWSNBN while he was at home fighting off some nasty infection. Which we suspect he caught while visiting some shady New Jersey highway rest stop.

Mongo will be on the downhill slop of a six week hitch.  

And I might actually have a steady relief.  The third different one in a year.

Fingers crossed.

It smells like...Victory

That face is staring at me

“An army marches on its stomach”--- Napoleon Bonaparte

So does a tugboat.

A chief engineer I once worked with, not quite as eloquent as Napoleon, once said, “This ain’t no F@#king camping trip.” 

Grub, and grub shopping, are an integral part of a happy crew.

We usually try to go shopping just before we crew change to get on the boat. However, our fearless leader decided he was going to get an eye infection on his time off, so he couldn’t come back to work. Which leads to a whole host of issues. 

Just get the essentials

First and foremost, it means we get to work with TPWSNBN.

Yay! <sarcasm>

But it also means that all of the money we have to spend on grub is at his house with him and not with us.

Not to be caught without a fresh supply of milk and eggs on the boat we did a quick and inexpensive grub shop in record time. Needless to say, we didn’t get everything we wanted/needed the first time around. So we went grub shopping a few days into the hitch to refill our coffers and refresh our supply.

With seven different guys on the boat (eight this time), we all have our own little specialty items that we like to get for grub.

I happen to like 1% milk.

The 2^nd mate likes Feta cheese.

The engineer wanted Jell-o because he just got his wisdom teeth pulled out.

And we all have decided that Walmart makes a pretty good pre-made pizza.

Good to go for another week

Because we don’t want to forget anything,we have a grub list on the computer that we print out every time we go shopping. To this, we can add (sudden craving for Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough?) or subtract anything that we have too much of (think Ricotta cheese).

Since TPWSNBN was working over for our fallen leader he had a need to resupply his body wash. So on the list it went. 

Now, when dealing with anything that involves men, the Devil is in the details. You just can’t write down “body wash” no more than you can just write down “screws”.

Is it Phillips head screws? 

#8 or #6? 

Self-tapping?

Wood or sheet metal?

What length?

“Body wash” just isn’t going to cut the mustard? We need details, damn it!

So the deckhand, being the good deckhand he is, called the boat from the grub store to make sure he was going to get the correct body wash.

I now present you with a transcript of the voicemail message that he left:

Hey Cap, it’s (name redacted to protect the mentally insane)

… aaahhh… 

What type of, I guess, flavor of Olay body wash do you want?

Very manly

Luscious Orchid?  

Silky Berry?

Soothing Cucumber? 

Nectarine?   

Avocado oil?

 … aaahhh…

Ultra Moisture with Shea Butter?

…aaahhh…

I don’t know. There’s a lot.

 Uhmmm…

Sunflower oil?

Uhmmm…

Give me a call.  Bye.

Subtle advertising for a different gender?

Clearly, there was a break down in communication.

First of all, It’s a tugboat! We get dirty. We get sweaty. We smell like diesel oil.

My wife refers to the particular aroma as, “You smell like boat.”

Which I take as a compliment.

Secondly, we use soap!

We don’t use body wash.

And we definitely don’t use Olay body wash that smells like a meadow of flowers after a fresh spring rainfall.

It makes the boat smell like a French whore house. And not in a good way.

On the plus side, it’s “hump day”. Halfway through the hitch. The boat is, once again, back to a seven man crew. It can only get better from here. I hope.

Size Matters

The tiny ship was tossed

Tugboats are small.

Well, not really. They just seem that way compared to some of the ships that tugboats are always pictured next to.

In reality, tugboats are quite large. 

For example, the boat I currently work on is essentially a 7-bedroom, 2-bathroom, condo with a full sized kitchen, laundry room, full basement, and a balcony (wheelhouse) with stunning ocean views from 50 feet in the air. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Most of the time it is (minus the days you are out in stormy weather getting your brains beat out of your head).

We're gonna need a bigger boat

But if you want to make that expansive floating townhouse seem small, just add one extra guy to the crew.

So, my relief is going to a different boat.
Again.

In the year and a half since I transferred from the other crew, onto this crew, this is going to be my third different relief. It would seem that no one wants to work with TPWSNBN. Who knew?

Because my new relief is also new to the company, he has to get three different Captains to verify that he is capable of running his own watch. Since he can’t run his own watch before being verified that he can run his own watch, he gets to ride along with us. This makes him the magical 8^th guy on the boat that makes the boat seem that much smaller.

As mentioned before, it’s a 7-bedroom boat. Add one more guy to a seven man crew and you become short one bedroom. Luckily (?), we have bunk beds in two of the rooms. So if you ever want to revert back to your childhood and are craving a chance to sleep in bunk beds again, maybe a job on a tug is for you. Unfortunately, this also means that someone from the regular crew gets displaced from their own room. This is so that the new guy can get up and lay down whenever he has to so that he can show the Captain that he knows what he is doing. In theory. My kids LOVE their bunk bed. My crew, not so much. 

Seriously? A slide?

Now there are 3 things you do on a tugboat.

Eat, sleep, and stand a watch.

We have determined that the sleeping situation is less than optimal. What about eating?

Yeah, that too is screwed up.

The galley is only so big. Essentially, it is big enough for you to get in, eat, and get out. Guys going on-watch want to be able to eat and then get to work. Guys coming off-watch, want to be able to eat and then go to bed.  All it takes is that one extra guy to mess up the balance of people coming and going to create a traffic jam around meal time. It’s like that one car on a two lane road that is going just fast enough so you can’t pass him, but just slow enough to back up everyone behind him. It’s like that. But with food.

This leaves watch standing.

We all have our own job descriptions. The tankermen do their tankerman thing. The wheelhouse guys do the steering the boat thing. And the engineer makes sure the TV works.

Throw that one extra guy into the mix, who doesn’t really have a job description, but is trying to do the job so he can have a job description, but is really just getting in the way and disrupting the normal work load, and you have the trifecta of a BIG boat seeming just way too small.

Seems about right

Hopefully, next hitch it will all be back to normal. Everyone will have their own room. The galley will be back to its normal flow of traffic. And the wheelhouse won’t be as cramped with people tripping over each other. 

Then we can get back to the real issues concerning crew change and the day to day operations of our floating condo.

Early indications lead me to believe that there will be no lack of content for the blog.

The Ricotta Saga

Traveling sucks. Sometimes. Most of the time. 

Between having to deal with TSA, other travelers who have never seen the inside of an airplane before, and the inevitable weather delays it can get pretty tedious.

As mentioned before, we have a bit of a warped sense of humor out here on the water. So how do we make travel more fun (at least for some of us)? We try to get our shipmates arrested. Sort of.

Last hitch, we had a completely insane number of cartons of Ricotta cheese in the galley (maritime speak for kitchen. Although, technically, it was in the refrigerator [reefer], which is in the galley, so we’re good). There was no way we were ever going to use it all before it expired.

Although we tried.

The deckhand, who doubles as our chef extraordinaire, made enough stuffed manicotti to feed ¾ of the population of Europe. It was good. We finished it all. Suck it Europe. You can starve.

Alas, we still had some Ricotta cheese left over.

But, on crew change day, all of the cheese was miraculously gone.

Somehow, one of the leftover cartons of cheese made it into the Redneck’s bag. 

Anyone who has flown lately knows what a pain it is to fly. TSA has more rules than they know what to do with. For example, TSA has recently decided to allow people to carry pocket knives with blades less than 2.36-inches long on board airplanes (2.37” and you’re screwed). Now, take into consideration that it is still illegal to carry a bottle of Poland Spring water onto a plane. It completely boggles the mind and shows you how ridiculous airport security has become.

Now if bottled water is still out, imagine how a container of Ricotta cheese will go over?

I also submit into evidence a recording at Houston’s airport.

And I quote, “any inappropriate remarks or jokes concerning security may result in your arrest.”

I wish I was kidding. But that is a 100% truthful statement. I even have it recorded on my phone.

And so, there it is folks. If I am ever to be arrested, this is what it will be for.

It won’t be for running cocaine out of Columbia, robbing a 7-11, or stealing a Bugatti Veyron. It will be for making fun of the people at TSA. Honestly, they make it too easy NOT to make fun of them. Annoying blueberries.

When we arrived at the airport the Redneck (and his Ricotta cheese) went his separate way and we went ours.  At any moment we fully expected to hear over the Public Address system, “Security, report to checkpoint Bravo for a suspicious person”

Apparently, this is how it went down…

My Precious?

“Sir, do you have something in your bag you want to declare?”

“No.”

“Did you forget to take something out?”

“No.”

“Do you have a container in your bag that contains some type of liquid?”

“No.”

“How did this container of Ricotta cheese get into your bag, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

“Weren’t you in control of your bag at all times before arriving at the airport?”

“Yes.”

“Well then how did this container get into your bag without your knowledge?”

“Because I work with six assholes!”

“You work on a tugboat?”

I made that part up. But only because it’s true.

Because after explaining that he worked on a tugboat, and that his shipmates are a bunch of five year-olds, he was allowed to continue on his journey home. Sans Ricotta cheese, of course.

So, if you ever get stopped by TSA for having a container of Ricotta cheese (expired or not) in your carry-on bag, working on a tugboat is a perfectly acceptable excuse.

I wonder what would happen if it were Mozzarella or Parmesan cheese?

Maybe next time.