Back at sea.

Late yesterday afternoon, my relief called me and tolld me he'd already had enough fun for one tour and wanted off a day early.

When he called, I figured that everything was covered through the office, and that the chain of command had been used properly.

It hadn't and I was politely informed that I wouldn't be paid the 'early day back' pay. When I heard this, I was already on the road. I was told to work it out with him, which is OK because geerally in these deals, everything comes out in the wash.

I was mildly annoyed, which is par golf. I am annoyed out here constantly, as it is in the Manual for Seamen, Piccolo version.

I actually don't mind being annoyed at all. Please feel free to annoy me with petty little situations that need (or quite often DON'T need) to be rectified.

Just don't piss me off. There's one hell of a difference.

So with the marvel of the age, the cell phone, I called my relief and told him that the office had told us to settle it. I also made it clear I was NOT going to reverse my course, as I had been driving for some time.

It's settled, and fairly, too.

Both sides are happy, which makes this a win/win deal.

I love win/win deals. Both parties come out ahead.

My relief got what he wanted, I got what I wanted.

Cool!

More about this later.


-------------------------------------------------------------------

It's hot here. And what am I doing in this handbasket?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I forgot to send Kudos to Neighbor Bob for what he did for me the other day.

There's always some dope that doesn't get the word...

I met some older woman that knows me, but for the life of me, I can't remember who the hell she is. She asked me how my mother in law was.

She died almost 2 years ago and is very sorely missed. The woman was the best mother-in-law a guy could ask for. She went to bat for me the whole time she was alive. The woman was as close to a saint as anyone I have ever met. Seriously.

Softly, I explained that she was no longer of the living.

Of course, this idiotic, crass, gossippy woman asked me the question that I hate.

"What did she die from?"

Think about it. The woman was well into her 90s. A person that age has a right to a demise without everyone asking stupid questions. She simply died of too many birthdays and some imbicile wants an explaination.

Bob saw my mouth purse up like a salmon seine, and knew I was going to give this woman a civil answer because he knew that if I said what I should have said, it would get back to Mrs Piccolo and there would be hell to pay.

He interrupted me. 'She got in a knife fight the Pink Flamingo club," said Bob.

"What?" was the shocked reply.

"Yeah, she had just won the wet T-shirt contest and the jealous little bitch that took second place pulled a knife on her. The old woman put up a pretty good fight and the little bitch died, but the poor old woman bled out before the paras got there," continued Bob.

Aghast look from the woman, totally shocked.

"Think about it," said Bob. "The woman was in her 90s. She's intitled to die with a little dignity. It's none of your damned business of what she died of."

She looked at me, hoping for support. She got none. I didn't have to say a word, my look said it all, and she quickly left.

Talk about jumping on a grenade for me. I didn't have to get off the hook because I never got ON the hook in the first place.

Thanks, Bob.