Years ago, I had the good fortune to work in the engine rooms aboard merchant cargo ships while in my early twenties. It proved to be a hard, dirty job. But it was a blessing to travel the world, seeing people and places I had only read about as a youngster and encountering a wide range of experiences. I mentioned some of them in my short story, “The Tale of a Wayward Mariner.” Not all of my “exploits” amounted to things I’d be willing to share around a church coffee pot. Those were days when I didn’t understand what God expected of or had planned for me. Nonetheless, I’ve been encouraged to put a few of the anecdotes on this website. So be it.
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At the time of this incident, I worked on a freighter loading cargo in various Gulf of America (nee Gulf of Mexico) ports and bound for Vietnam, which was raging with conflict. The ship was relatively new, as merchant ships go, so the bulk of the engine room tasks, beyond standing watches, comprised routine maintenance. Much of the upkeep had to be done with the engines shut down and the vessel moored at the dock.
My morning had been spent under the demanding supervision of the vessel’s chief engineer, the man responsible for the propulsion system and the mechanical aspects of our floating “home.” While a taskmaster, he was a good and fair person. After seven hours of arduous work on the high-pressure (HP) turbine, he decided we should go ashore for a late lunch to celebrate the successful conclusion of the job.
Not surprisingly for men who manned merchant ships, we ended up at a waterfront bar that happened also to serve sandwiches. The chief opted for a liquid lunch. At that time, the people who plied the seas worked hard and played just as hard. They probably still do. This engineering officer was no exception.
The place was nearly empty. Further along the counter from the chief, a kid from a maritime union school, and I sat an attractive, nicely dressed young lady in her late twenties. In retrospect, she may have been a b-girl, i.e., a woman who entertained bar patrons and encouraged them to spend freely, though she’d not tried to get our attention or inspire us to drink more. On the other hand, she might have been a secretary from one of the nearby businesses. Perhaps the girl was a steamship office or shipping company employee or the harbor master’s administrative assistant, simply trying to enjoy a quiet lunch. While there, she kept to herself.
Being a young buck and always on the make, I decided to try my luck with her. I quietly asked the chief engineer if I could have the rest of the day off if I picked her up. The man was very stingy with the time he allowed his subordinates away from work. So he surprised me when he reluctantly agreed, with the only condition that he might have the first crack at her. With due respect to the man, the guy was a wizened, older fellow. I didn’t imagine him enticing a much younger, alluring female. I went along with his stipulation.
Without hesitation, he leaned back from the counter and gazed her way. “Excuse me, miss.”
The girl looked in our direction and smiled sweetly. “Yes?”
“I’m curious. Beer makes me fart. What about you?”
A shocked expression crossed her face. She harrumphed loudly and coldly turned away from us.
The chief inclined toward me and whispered, “She’s all yours.”
Stunned, I glanced at her. Her demeanor told me at once there would be no way she was going to speak with or have anything to do with any of the lowlifes in our trio.
We returned to the ship, and I worked that afternoon under the constant smirk of a wily chief engineering officer. ©