Another tale of shopping for a boat

A couple of people the other day commented on my post about rude people I met while shopping for the boat. There is also another side to this.

Most people do not shop for two or three weeks at a time, as they simply have the ability to run down to the nearest store when they feel like it. The crew of a work boat doesn't really have that option because it is quite a chore to strap a couple of canoes to your feet and walk down the coast to the nearest 7-Eleven.

When someone shops for a boat they generally have one opportunity to get every single thing they will need for the entire tour unless they luck out and get tied up somewhere near a store of some sort. While this happens from time to time, it is something that can not be relied on.

Every little thing has to be remembered and one oversight can spin the entire boat and crew into chaos. Picture seven men on a boat with no bathroom tissue and a marine sanitation device that can not break down paper towels. I've seen it happen once, it ain't pretty. (Looking back on it, it really does make for a pretty good sea story)

Anyway, most landsmen do not have a clue and it generally draws a lot of attention when people see one or two guys with several carts stuffed chock-a-block in a supermarket. More ofthen than not it either draws comments or questions.

Most men that ask about why so much grub generally ask if it is for a logging camp or a construction site. When I tell them it is for a work boat, they generally nod and understand. They might ask how long we plan on being out for. When I tell them they generally nod and either shuffle off or maybe they'll make a fairly pertinant comment about how how keeping a crew well fed is a herculean task.

Although there are a few men here and there that don't seem to get it, the majority of the dumber questions come from women as many of them do not seem to understand thing like this unless you spell it out.

Of course, this is a golden opportunity to have a little fun.

The most frequent comment I get from women is, "My goodness! You must have a large family!"

Rather then explain things I often decide to have a little fun.

"Yes, Ma'am. I have seventeen children. I come here every week."

"Seventeen!? How did you have seventeen chilldren!?" is the general reply.

"Didn't your mother ever have a talk with you and tell you where babies come from?" I reply.

They sometimes turn beet red and run off like the devil himself is after her to impregnate them, but not always. One peppery old woman looked at me and snapped, "Yes, I know where babies come from, but seventeen of them is insane! Your poor wife! You know, it's OK to do it for fun every once in a while!"

I'll admit, I laughed. I like people like her. She was a fiesty old broad.

Then I quietly explained to her that I was shopping for a boat and told her that telling women I had a big family saved me a lot of lengthy explainations. She gave me a thoughtful look. "You're probably right," she laughed. "It saves you a lot of time."

Sometimes if I am in the mood I'll play with some of these people a little bit. Some of the women will ask me questions about what it is like to raise 17 children. "After the first ten or twelve or so, you get used to it. After I get the groceries loaded I have to go to the school and defend my sixteen year old 110 pound daughter."

A comment like this is bait. Generally a nosy woman will take it.

"Why? What did she do?"

"She just beat the captain of the football team senseless for putting Ben-Gay in her kid brother's jock strap. I guess he's in the hospital now and is going to miss a few games. Oh, well. My kids stick together pretty much, and that little girl of mine can take real good care of herself. This isn't the first time she's gotten me dragged into the principal's office, and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last."

"What's going to happen to her?" They will inevitably ask in a shocked voice.

"Probably nothing. She warned football player after the first two times he picked on her kid brother. The schools don't police the football team like they should and let them get away with murder," I explained. "I'll just go in and tell them if they don't police the football team they can expect another lawsuit. After I cleaned up pretty good on the last one, they pay attention. Besides, there isn't a football player on the planet that would go to court and have to admit that he got his jaw broken in three places by a little hundred pound girl in a leotard and ballet slippers. I won't have any problems."

Another woman that took the bait once asked me indignantly where a little girl learned to fight like that.

"She took a couple years of ballet," I replied.

"Ballet?" the woman looked confused.

"Yeah, four, five years of ballet and about four or five months of martial arts. You'd be surprised at how easy it is for a tiny little ballerina to kick a big man in the jaw." I replied. "That's generally what Sissy does when she gets her dander up. She's really a dainty little feminine thing but when someone picks on one of her siblings all bets are off. She's really quite maternal with the way she looks after the younger kids. She's going to be a wonderful mother when she meets Mr. Right, assuming she doesn't beat him up too bad until after they tie the knot."

Sometimes they ask me about my wife.

"Oh, Christy? She's SUCH a sweet young thing! I met her when I was about 35 and giving driving lessons. The first time I saw her I knew she was the girl for me! The day she turned sixteen we eloped to Tennessee and got married by a Justice of the Peace and we've been making beautiful babies ever since! Hey, she's pregnant again! We're gonna have number eighteen!

That's a pretty good shocker. Most guys that happen to hear this watch the look of shock on the woman's face and do their damnedest not to bust out laughing and ruin it for me. For some reason guys know what I am doing, although one guy that overheard actually believed what he heard, interrupted me and called me a few choice names.

"You're just jealous," I shot back. "Because my little Christy still looks hot and your wife has gotten old and hasn't given you any in the past ten years and I'm gettin' it every night!"

I thought the guy was going to turn purple on me. My shipmate, standing several feet away and looking like he didn't know me had to run down a grocery aisle to keep from busting up and ruining everything. That one went through the fleet when we got back to the boat.

Another question is how I afford so many children.

Answers here generally range between criminal and sheer luck. I told one woman I had won the lottery early on, another one I remember telling I had won a huge lawsuit. Shortly after the financial balloon burst a few years back, I told another woman I had made a killing making sub-prime bank loans to people to buy homes.

The latter got her pretty upset and she chewed me out for being irresponsible in lending money and responsible for Fanny Mae going down. I shrugged. "A man with seventeen kids has to do something," I muttered."What do you want me to do? Rob a bank? How about the bank YOU keep YOUR money in?"

My favorite of all time is when I told a woman I smuggled back a bunch of gold and antiquities back from Kuwait after Desert Storm and as soon as I heard Clinton was putting 100,000 more cops on the street I invested the money I made selling the antiquities to private collectors into doughnut futures which quadrupled overnight. The best part is she actually believed me. (Apologies to good police officers here.)

I have to admit that shipmates enjoy going shopping with me. They tell me I turn a miserable task into a lot of fun. Why not? It's a whole lot better to be happy and have fun when you have to do a miserable job like shopping for a boat.
==================================
===================================

I ought to take a Craigslist ad out. Picture this.

Wanted: Woman, mid-thirties to go shopping with me. Every month I shop for a tugboat crew of seven and people keep asking me if I have a large family. I generally tell the nosy people that ask me why I am buying so much food that I have seventeen children.

Your job would be to play along as my wife and talk about 'our children' to get the neb$hits off of my back.

Must be able to walk in cold weather barefoot and dress a bit raggedy. Pregnant a BIG plus.









my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/