Brownie Points

I racked up some major brownie points with one of the skippers, Lee, in the last few days that I don't think any deckhand could ever beat. It all started with sleeping through the alarm. That is a major no-no for this job, because on-time departures are a must. Because of that rushed morning, the morning coffee took effect while we were under way (another major no-no for using marine heads). But what was I to do? Sometimes you just gotta' go. Lee had just spent three hours the previous night fixing the finicky toilet, so I figured I had a safe shot. Not so, as I held down the flusher, for 5, then 20, then 60 seconds. The sweat started to bead on my brow and my heart race as I imagined whispering to Lee with a boat full of passengers all within earshot, "Uh Lee, if you weren't already going to kill me for being late, you're really gonna' love me now." After a few more minutes of desperate plunging and flushing, I gathered strength to face the storm and clambered up to the wheel. After muttering the dreaded words I watched horror rise then fade in Lee's face. "Alright, go grab a bucket, tape down the seat, and have fun telling all the passengers they'll have to use a honey bucket," he ordered with forced calm. When we finally returned to the slip after a long day on the water, we faced three more hours of toilet slimed fun. Our other crew across the harbor yelled to us, "Hey, how'd your day go?" We both looked at each other and grimaced. Then Lee decided to declare the truth,"Fine, except the head's messed up, AGAIN!" "What happened? Did someone leave a big old turd in the toilet?" asked Katrina. He just smiled pointed to me, as I attempted to strangle him.

The next day both the boss and Lee agreed it wasn't really me that broke the head. It was bound to happen any moment and it was my lucky day. The only reconciliation I have is in knowing that I saved a passenger grave embarrassment. Yeah, I'm a hero, I guess.

But I didn't stop earning brownie points there. The next day I worked with Lee was full of loading and unloading kayakers in rainy, cold weather. The wind picked up like usual coming back to the harbor. The starboard side was loaded with kayaks and I could barely get the lines on. Pulling up to the ramp, I hopped off with the stern line and made a wrap around the cleat like usual, but for some reason (i.e. the wind), the stern wasn't getting any closer like normal. Then the bow drifted further and further out. I couldn't see Lee's hand signals through the glare of the glass, and before I knew it, the line on the boat slipped off the cleat. There I was, standing on the deck alone with line in hand, watching the boat glide away. This scene happened not once, not twice, but THREE times. With each attempt an amused audrience grew, both on the boat and the ramp. Since I've become so good at dealing with embarrassment, it was a pleasure to walk back to the boat, greeting all the passengers as they walked off, while trying to make funny cracks; "Did he say he was going to kill me yet?" "Hey, long time no see." "I missed you guys!" That night, we used our measly $20 in tip money to chug some beer to wash down that bitter aftertaste.

Note: Things are looking up for the future of Laurel as a deckhand. She need not resign quite yet, as today she was trusted to drive fifty miles through five foot swells and over an infamous terminal moraine to the above, Northwestern Fjord for five day kayak drop-off. The previous day, she was also trusted to practice maneuvering the boat in the harbor and docking at the slip. All is not lost.