In the galley (the kitchen) we wear paper hats -- the little white ones you see in old movie soda shops. I don't know exactly what the point is, I doubt it actually keeps any hair from falling (and as females, our hair is pulled and pinned back anyway). But to make things more interesting, a lot of the cranks like to decorate them with designs or motivational quotes. I've been doing portraits.
It sounds a bit excessive, but it's not as much as it seems. I don't do a full shaded, pristine life-like portrait on a disposable hat. It's a sketch based on a picture I take of the person. It typically comes out looking quite a bit like them (in a comic booky way, because that's just my style, Bro). And lately I've been getting requests (one of the Chief's Mess cranks still wears the one I drew of him last week). One of the Fire Controlmen (FC) asked me to draw one of him, and he posed all silly-like for the picture.
I took a full 5 minutes to sketch out his likeness on my hat. I had one girl (who does nothing other than sit on the mess decks and watch movies ALL DAY LONG) critiquing me as I went.
"You should show his dimples mo'e," she'd say in her Jamaican accent. "His eyes should be biggah."
I got encouragement from the other side of the table.
"Wow, that's really good," my fellow crank would say. "It really looks like him."
Then, when dinner was called, I skipped away into the galley to start throwing slop on some trays (really, it was Chicken Cordon Blue or Roast Beef). That's when the critics rolled through.
"He looks evil," one guy said.
"It does kinda look like him. But it looks more like _____," another said.
"Why does he look black?"
Then LS3 F came up. He squinted at the picture, cocked his head to the side. F and I are friends in a not-hanging-out-at-work sort of way. We tease each other. We harass each other. Normal navy friendly relationship. And he's dating the girl who sleeps below me, who is also a crank.
I don't even remember what he said, but it just tipped me over the edge. I glared at him as icily as I could. He laughed, took his meal, and wandered off. One glance over his shoulder to narrow his eyes at me, chuckle, and continue on.
He passed by once more, to taunt me, to see that I had removed the hat and put on a clean, unmarked one. He chuckled again, threw another tease at me, and left. Down the passageway, down the ladder, to his space. My heart when icy. I was so mad. I had also burnt myself just a few moments prior, and everyone asking where all the chicken was was getting on my nerves.
No more happy-go-lucky Nosek on the line.
F's girlfriend came up to the line to replace our bowls for soup. I told her what had happened, eyes rimmed red, trying to hold myself together. It wasn't even that big of a deal. It wasn't anything more abnormal than our usual banter. I hadn't spent any significant time on the picture. I was hardly even friends with the dude. I didn't know why I was upset, just that I was.
Flaw in my system.
But then, this morning we had drills. We're both involved in the medical training evolutions. We're both stretcher bearers. They called away a quick fire drill.
"Exercise exercise exercise," the Captain calls out over the 1MC after breakfast. "Quick draw, quick draw, quick draw!"
All the gunner drop what they're doing. My friend, fellow crank, and fellow ET runs topside. They have to man all the weapons, all the guns, and now. They have 4 minutes. GO!
Not long after we get word of casualties. The gunners have been shot. Two down on the forecastle.
"stretcher bearers lay to main medical!" they call out.
I drop what I'm doing and hurry to medical. It's my first time acting as stretcher bearer. My qualification was only just routed, I'm pumped. Medical is packed. The yeoman (secretary) is manning the net (phone network used to communicate with the controlling station). They're closing valves and getting ready for the casualties that will inevitably arrive. And then, no one does anything.
The corpsman sits on her computer, browsing her email, as more casualties are called.
The stretcher bearers are glancing nervously at each other. No one is giving directions. Murmurs go around about whether or not a team has been sent. No answer is given.
I rock on the balls of my feet. I glance over and F is there. Sitting on the bench, waiting for direction just like me. Our eyes meet, only briefly, then we both look away.
"Actual medical emergency, port midships. Send stretcher bearers most direct route," comes over the 1MC.
We jump to action. Me, F, and two other guys hurry to the nearest stretcher. We don't need direction for this. We aren't going to wait for the corpsman to tell us what to do. This isn't a drill. This is real life.
We grab it and go. Running down the passageway, aft towards the easiest airlock.
"Make a hole!" F yells, those not involved jump out of the way.
The sun assaults us as we hit the flight deck. Warm salty air, a light breeze. The gun fire has ceased.
We make a quick U-Turn, run up a flight of stairs, and dance around some gunners, cleaning their mounts. We've got lives to save (or, more realistically, someone twisted their ankle during the drill). We come up to the port break, ET3, my friend and fellow crank, lays unconscious on the ground. We drop the stretcher and hurry to the victims.
I shake him. "Tay! Tay!"
He doesn't respond.
He's breathing, no signs of blood, he has a pulse. Then, a sudden thought hits me, a memory from when I was in CNA school...I lift his arm up over his head and drop it. It lands safely several inches from his head, magically diverting its course.
 |
| Me dropping his hand to check if he was actually unconscious |
Doc walks up and tells us that they've got no heart beat, no breath. They're expectant or already dead. Triage color black.
I swallow the little bit of anger, the spike of adrenaline, that comes with the fact that this was not an actual medical emergency.
We hurry on to the next casualty.
 |
| Me wrapping up a "jaw wound" with some help |
I nod and let out a sigh. "Yeah," I say.
We fist bump, and go our separate ways.
I may have been mad at him, he may have hurt my feelings, but when it came time to save our shipmates, we came together. And that's what it's all about. You don't have to like the people you work with, you just have to be able to do what needs to be done. But really, after you accomplish something together, each person putting everything they have into it, it's hard not to appreciate them for it.
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