written September 28, 2006
While bobbing around the Gold Coast in 200 tons of tin, four months out to sea…
What shall become of man when perpetually bored, and how far are we away from breaking off into our rival tribes? The answer may surprise you. These ship walls may be steel and not padded, but perhaps someone should look into a little modification (for aesthetics sake, of course). For what does the eternally idle to do when faced with endless nothing? About a week ago the answer would have been a knife-throwing game, in which a notebook was positioned at the far side the room with a target drawn on, with everyone taking turns flinging the blade until the first was able to successfully impale it. Often it would deflect away on impact to various parts of the room, but I think surprise was part and parcel of the game’s allure.
Not to be outdone, a few days later the division made a better game: sneaking up on people and stapling a person’s coveralls to their calves. Not that it hurt too much, I guess. It came something an initiation thing, to be part of the blood club. What shall be thought of, when all other entertainment has been exhausted… Answer: take a Cosmo quiz, silly! Musgrove proctored an “An you a Drama Queen?” exam to Brown and I, and I turn surprisingly turn out to by a Blahsay Babe, but I was one mere point away from being a Level-headed Honey. I was advised to take more of an active role in office politics (read: water cooler gossip), and take a larger role in girlfriends’ men-issues.
Tonight was a calmer event, merely the watching of Jeopardy! in the berthing lounge. I got the final question: “For what two events, spanning 125 years, is the 19th Century termed as “The Long Century.” The answer was… The French Revolution and the commencement of WWI. Oh, Ginty didn’t know what hit him! Take that, Mr. McFall who gave me a B+ in World History my sophomore hear of high school (Although I was taking it with seniors)!
Weird but most likely true: I have found out I have to take a Physical Readiness Assessment (the absurdly simple push-ups, sit-ups, and 1 ½ mile run that everyone is always freaking out on), on December 11th, the very day I am supposed to go on Terminal Leave. The “Spring” one we just took in August- surprising?- and they want to turn right back around and make us do it outside on the cold of winter, just like last year. Not like it’s a problem per se, but come on, seriously! I’m in not really a bad mood today, but feeling strung out. I don’t know if it’s all this medication we all have to be on, like it or not, regardless of the side effects they didn’t tell us about.
All day I’ve been doing paperwork and getting signatures and listening to “training” from other sailors (“Look dog, the motha-fucker works right like this her’…”) from people at this point I probably wouldn’t let wash my car, let alone tell me the proper way to save my life, all for watches and qualifications I’ll never use nor stand.
I’m probably as grating now too, and we continue to bob along in the blue.