was a year or so before I pulled the pin and retired.
I very seldom got very angry at work. In 33 years as a merchie I probably got truly pissed off less than a half-dozen times, although I was constantly being annoyed.
You had to truly work to piss me off.
A couple of years before I went to the west coast some idiot from Virginia pulled into a fuel dock Chelsea Creek flying the Stars and Bars on the barge flagpole.
Seeing that Boston was a hotbed of the Abolishinist movement pre-Civil War, it was along the lines as wearing a swastika to a crowded Bar Mitzvah. Not a very good idea.
The company almost lost a contract over that one and punishments were doled out. It was an outright stupid thing to do. Much to their credit, the other guys cleaned up their act. Actually it didn't take much. I suppose a couple of T-shirts got ditched and that was about it. It didn't take much.
Later on the west coast I figured it was going to be more politically correct and to an extent it was. Most of the guys didn't need to be told. My rules were to have our guys run vanilla. Yup. Vanlla. We were there to make money and not to push a cause.
Enter Joe California. The resident deckhand idiot. Everything Joe said or did had to be rebelliously cool.
One day as we were getting ready to dock Joe came over wearing an Antifa/Anarchist/whatever hoodie and I told him to go back to the tug an get rid of it. He promptly said to me that I could not tell him what to do. I agreed. I could not tell him what to do. However, I pointed out that I could make him damned sorry if he didn't ditch the shirt and ordered him back to the tug.
Instantly the tug mate wanted to know what was going on and I told him to have the deckhand ditch the shirt. He started to protest and I told him I'd send in an incident report if he returned with the shirt on.
He said "So what?"
That's when I said I wasn't going to send it to the idiot Port Captain that would ignore it. I'd send it straight to the fleet manager at company headquarters. I would use terms like gross negligence, failure to heed repeated warnings, carelessness and total irresponsiblity. I told him that while he probably didn't know about the Chelsea Creek incident, I sure the hell did.
Joe California returned sans his Antifa hoodie. When he returned I made it clear to him to watch his mouth with the customers. We tied up and he returned to the tug. We loaded without incident.
Joe was on watch when I was finished loading. His relief came aboard early and per unofficial SOP they ducked into the house landing as the inspector and I took the proper ullage soundings to enable us to figure out how much cargo I had loaded.
We took the ullages and told the inspector to 'meet me down below' which meant meet me in the galley/office in the house. He headed that way and I closed some tank tops and ullage tubes and a few minutes later followed him in.
The inspector was below sitting at the table as I entered the house standing on the landing although I couldn't see him from the top of the landing. I had to go downstairs to see anyone.
California Joe and the other deckhand were standing in the landing waiting for me to figure out how much cargo was on board. The rules were hat they could stand and wait there to keep out of the weather so long as they did nothing to get in the way of things.
Much to my anger they were discussing the details of some transgender, a controversial subject and the inspector was within earshot. Then again, I knew the inspector, a slight Asian man and knew nothing would come of it. I could have murdered the pair of them and he would probably never say anything about it. The inspector was Old School.
Still, the idea of it all really angered me. He very well could have been the customer.
They were arguing over what a 'real' woman is and that's when I exploded. Joe was somehow involved with a TG woman. He probably didn't give a damn about her. He was probably just sitting on some kind of bandwagon.
"Two t**s and a c**t and I don't care if they are factory OEM, Chinese aftermarket knock-off bolt-on or spin-ons, or army surplus if you can get the goddam cosmoline off them. I don't care where the came from, either! They could have come from K-Mart, Amazon, Walmart, the Salvation Army Thrift Store or the Old Grouch Surplus store in Clyde, North Carolina! You two go outside....NOW!"
Joe looked at me and said, "You can't tell me what to do." That was a mistake. Actually I had the authority to do just that.
"No, but I can make you damned sorry if you don't!" I shot back and reached up under his hard hat that flew off as I grabbed his ear and shoved him to the hatch. The hatchway had an 8 inch threshold and Joe got a foot over it and outside as I gave him a shove. He staggered outside but didn't fall.
His partner picked up Joe's hard hat and followed him outside. On the way out I snatched Joe's hard hat from him and threw it over the side. Joe looked crestfallen. He had decorated it with all sorts of buffoonery.
"You don't have to do what I tell you," I said. He pouted."I'll just make you sorry you didn't"
I bounded down the stairs, looked at the galley table and instead of one person, I saw two. In addition to the inspector there was a company representative. I looked at her and turned a bit red.
I said to her, "I didn't mean to offend but I simply had to take the trash out."
Her reply was nothing less than gracious. "I understand entirely," she said. "Now does that army surplus place really sell woman's parts? I'm getting along in years and wouldn't mind getting a rebuild."
With that I think I visibly relaxed. I had just won the lottery.
"They probably do, they sell everything else," I replied. "You'll probably have to soak them in diesel first to get the cosmoline off of them. Gas works better but it's dangerous."
She chuckled and I said, "Let's get it done."
Two women worked on the docks. This one was Helen and she was in her late 50s and getting close to retirement. She had at one time been a say at home mother until her husband died in an accident. With a couple of kids to raise she got a job there long before quotas and that. She applied simply because she needed a decent paying job. She was nothing more or less than a simple woman working in a traditional man's workplace and was a respected part of the team.
The other was an incompetent braided armpit idiot and a real troublemaker. She was detested by almost everyone and was constantly playing the "chick card". She had the knack of creating problems where they were none. Helen, on the other hand, had a knack of making problems go away.
The young one hated me in particular because one time she demanded I fill out some paperwork before getting started. I refused and when she used the "My supervisor said" line I told her to get him and went back the the galley and returned carrying the Code of Federal Regulations (COFR).
When I walked into the dock shack I put my phone on the table and said that I had the Coast Guard on speed dial and next to it I put the COFR and opened it to the appropriate page.
Her supervisor immediately tore her a new one and she was gunning for me thereafter. Had the rant happened with her in the galley instead of Helen I probably would have been in very deep $hit.
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I made this post because months ago I posted about going into a post retirement depression and climbing into a Evan Williams bottle.
After an incident where I alienated a friend I immediately called someone I know and got some help. Getting the drinking under control was the easy part. The rest has been a slog. I'm a lot better but have my days.
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