This Ain't No Sh*t !

IN THE BEGINNING

Well, let's start the story at age 18.  My father was the executive vice president of a shipping union.  Through my father's union, they set up a program that was referred to as "Summerfun.”  The owners of a company called Sealand, would, in order to recruit employees at a later date, allow high school kids age 16 and 17, to  ride their ships during summer school break, for a period of about three months. 

These were deep-sea container ships which traveled all over the world on different runs. Their crew rotations were three months on, and three months off.  So, there I was 16 years old, full of “piss and vinegar,” on one of these 1,000 foot monsters.  Her name was the "Sealand Portland," and her 28-day run was to be from Puerto Rico to New Jersey.  My position on board the ship was going to be that of   “Wiper” (a wiper is the lowest fish in the pond of the engine room staff.)  My hours of work, or as it's called on board a ship, my "watch" would be 8:00 to 12:00, meaning I started 8:00 in the morning, and ended 12:00 in the afternoon. Then I worked from 8:00 at night until midnight.  Somebody sure gave the right name to that job description, "Wiper," for that's all I basically did for the whole three months.  Ahhh, like Dad said, "What else were you planning to do with your school break; have fun?"  Well, anyway, I got to BE A MAN and see Puerto Rico in the process.

My watch partner, Fernando, turned out to be a nice guy.  He showed me “the sights” on our time off, and tried to teach me the “Drink of the Island,” 151-proof Bacardi Rum.  Fernando's mother owned a bar in a little town called Santusay, and we would, from time to time, stop in to say hello to her.  One night while doing so, I ended up breaking one of Fernando's Golden Rules.  I was never to speak a word of Spanish. Although he used to get a kick out of hearing me try to speak it on the ship, using it ashore could turn out to be deadly. This particular evening, I was about to find that out.

So, there I was, sitting and drinking my rum and coke, gazing at this beautiful barmaid, and watching Fernando talk amongst his friends. The 151 was beginning  to kick in.   On the barstool sitting next to me was a guy who looked (given a black cape and black hat) like Zorro. A little to my right, in ear-shot, behind the bar, was the barmaid.  Being a bit bored, I tried to strike up a conversation with her and spoke out, "EHHHH, SeniorEEETA."  She just smiled and nodded.  Now, thinking I've got her attention, I say again, (In what I think is Spanish) "EHHHH, SeniorEEETA, you are a beautiful woman."  Next thing I know, WAM!  My little butt is lying on the floor, and there's Zorro with a damn knife at my throat spewing Spanish words a mile a minute out of his face. He was not a happy camper.  I can only thank the love of God that Fernando didn't have to answer “a call of nature” at that precise moment in time.  He was there in a heartbeat saving my stupid butt from a certain death.  About this time, they both started to laugh. Fernando then picked me up, whispering in my ear to buy the man a drink and to start stuffing quarters in the jukebox. I began playing all of the Tom Jones songs I could find.  It seems Zorro loved Tom Jones and so did “SeniorEETA,” HIS WIFE! Apparently, there are different dialects in Spanish, and they change from town to town, none ever being taught in the States.  It turns out, the word that I had chosen for "Beautiful" was a word they actually use for "crap.”  Once translated, I had actually told the woman her face looked like crap!  Thank God for Fernando and Tom Jones.  Sorry, Seniorita. I meant you only a compliment!