Windy as Balls

Some familiar sound stirred me from my slumber. I had been sleeping so well. 4 hours of beautiful, deep sleep. My hand lazily searched under my pillow for my phone. The bright, happy colors of the alarm screen blurred in and out as I blinked sleep from my eyes.

1245.

I had the Rev. Midnight (or as we so lovingly called it, “balls”) to 08. Plus quarters where Chief would talk about the plan of the day, DivO would repeat everything chief just said, only in a softer, more nervous voice, and then EMO would talk about upcoming port visits and the alcohol that you could get there for cheap – plus how far the red light district was and if it was off limits.

I swiped the alarm off.

1246.

Why? Why was I awake?

Underway replenishment (UnRep).

We were to be re-fueled by a Spanish supply ship in the middle of the ocean. I had never seen one before, but I was on the watchbill to help. If what I was told was right, it would only be an hour or two process then I could go back to bed.

I curled to the foot of my bed, unable to sit up fully without hitting my head on the overhead piping or my light. I grabbed my flip-flops and attempted to put them on. The right one slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground with a slap. I let out a sleepy whine.

Was I really necessary for this? I wasn’t even line-handler qualified. Maybe they would cancel it. Did we really need fuel, anyway?

My foot searched for the little foot-rung below. I twisted my body down, clinging to the metal frame so I wouldn’t plummet to my death. My bare feet hit the floor. I shuddered and quickly slipped my flip-flops on. Did the five-second rule apply to athletes’ foot? Or leprosy?

After a quick morning routine I trudged aft to our shop. I sank into one of the broken chairs and stared at the Keurig longingly. But, I knew better. Only an hour or two and I’d be asleep. I just clung to that hope.

A whistle blew over the 1MC (intercom system of sorts). “Good afternoon. This is your XO speaking. The Spanish ship we were supposed to get our unrep from is having a delay with another ship. We should be able to start in about an hour-and-a-half. Stand by. XO out.”

“Sweet,” I said. It was half a croaky groan and half true enthusiasm. “I’m going back to bed. Beaves, could you wake me up when it’s time? Just in case? Or just facebook message me. I should hear it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” she said.

I shuffled up two decks and forward, back to my berthing. As I peeled off my coveralls I realized something: my cell doesn’t have internet. I really hoped she’d realize that and not just try to message me. I shrugged it off and took another nap.

Exactly 90 minutes later Beaver was at my side. “It’s time.”

We made our way topside. The break was filled with people putting on blue and white construction helmets and bright orange life jackets. By the time we made it, however, there were no helmets left.

“You, without the helmets, you’ll be faking out the lines,” Boats 2 called to us. Beaver and I exchanged a look and shrugged. He rambled off a series of instructions and safety warnings so fast I couldn’t hear it.

Thanks for the tips.

The wind whipped about us as we stood on the bow of the ship. My curls were everywhere. They threatened to blow clear off my head. FC3 Q lost her cover. It blew straight off her long, straight black hair. It stuck to the safety lines, then somersaulted over the side. Now I wasn’t the only one.

It took us about 30 minutes before we caught sight of our replenishment ship. Another ship was still attached to it.

“So, turns out they’re having an issue with their probe,” BM Chief yelled out. His voice was surprisingly loud, even over the gales and waves. “It’ll be about another hour before they’ll be ready for us. So everyone just stand by.”

Beaver and I let out a mutual sigh and slid down the missile platform. Using our life jackets as pillows, we napped in the sun. The sun kept us warm while the wind kept us cool. Occasionally the sound of helicopter blades would cause my eyes to flutter open. They flew right off our bow, their door wide open. They were so close I could almost touch them, if I leaned over the side of the ship. My eyes shut again. The wind muted out all other noise.

“Alright! Man port!” BM1 called out, his voice not nearly as loud as BMC, despite the fact he was twice the size.

Everyone scrambled to port side. We lined up in a single file, hands clasped behind our backs. We pulled alongside the ship. It was long and grey, its middle stretched on and on like a limo; a limo with thick tentacles of fuel lines. On one of the higher levels, a man laid out in a blue lawn chair. Whether or not he wore pants, I couldn’t tell. His chest and legs were bare.

As soon as they determined we had rendered honors long enough they called for us to man the lines. Everyone scrambled to position. Me, Beaver, and a couple others without helmets took to the rear.

One long whistle. Then, a deeper, strange-sounding whistle replied three times. Pop! Pop! Ropes were sent flying across the sea to the other ship. The wind caught it; the line arced from the bow to the middle of the ship as they reeled it in.

We ran the line back and forth as it came. A dozen or so people pulled it, they heaved, leaning back into the weight of the rope. BMC screamed at the top of his lungs. “Two from the back!” “Hold!” “Heave in unison!” “BM1 what do you think you’re doing!? Don’t make me come up there myself!”

Then we stopped. We waited for the thick black tentacles to make their way from the Spanish ship to ours. We waited. And waited. Then…

“Goddamnit! Release the lines!” BMC screamed. “They gave us the broken probe!”

Everyone groaned as we eased the line back over and then took shelter as our ship pulled about. Another hour later, on the opposite side of the ship, we waited to re-man the lines.

“It’s windy as balls out here!” Beaver yelled to me. She thought about it a second, the wind blowing strands of hair out of her bun. “Because…you know, balls are super windy.”

My own hair was threatening to become something the 80’s would be envious of. It was being environmentally teased into a frizzy, white-girl afro. I cocked an eyebrow at her as I attempted, in vain, to push my hair out of my face.

“Could you even imagine?” I asked.

We exchanged a look. Then, simultaneously, thrust our hips out and made wind noises with out mouths.

“Give you a blow job,” she said, laughing. “Whoosh!”

“Whoooosh! Ha! Ha!” I added.

FC2 Q cast us a curious look. Just then BMC called us back to the lines. This time, we pulled everything over and attached the fuel probe to the side of the ship. It was 1900 before they released us to dinner. My stomach growled. A quick meal of mashed potatoes and chicken covered in sweet breading (I mean, seriously, who breads chicken with sugar?) and then I crawled back into my rack. A few more hours of sleep…that’s all I wanted. A few more hours of sleep.

FNG

A line of sailors traveled up the brow, across the wind break, and down into the depths of the food store room. Boxes were tossed from the pallet and all the way up the chain. The wind kept me cool as I passed crates of energy drinks and cartons of cigarettes from FC2 to my left to ET2 on my right.

ET2's blouse had been tossed to the ground. His brow was beaded with sweat, his face was red from heat. FC2 kept rendering smart-ass remarks down the line at a few chiefs who happened to join us on the brow for the working party. He tossed the boxes as if they were feather light. I received them with a muffled "ooph."

First day actually on the ship. Despire the labor, I was filled with joy. I had survived the evils of Great Lakes, IL. I had survived terrible legal accusations. I had thrown it back into those bitches' faces when I got my orders to Rota, Spain. There was no reason not to be happy. I was wearing my command ball cap with pride.

I wore that ball cap for a total of 4 hours and 16 minutes.

A gust of wind blew inland. My curly hair blew back. My beautiful ball cap flew off. I followed it with my eyes, my neck craining to follow it. The case of Monster's in my arms was forgotten. It fluttered off the brow, along the side of the ship, and fell with an unceremonius splash into the water below.

"Noo!!!" I screamed as if I had just found out that Darth Vadar was my father.

ET2 grabbed the Monsters from my arms and tossed them to the next guy.

"Good job, FNG," he said.

FNG. F-ing, New, Guy Girl. That was me. Way to go, me.

"We have search and rescue swimmers don't we?" I pleaded as FC2 shoved another case into my hands.

"Search and rescue swimmers?" ET2 asked, his eyebrows raised. I passed him the case, looking over my shoulder as I did so. The ball cap was becoming ladened down with water. It would sink soon.

"To rescue my ball cap," I said.

"It's lost," FC2 said, "Forget about it and buy a new one"

My heart sank. That was my first ball cap. The one I would cherish forever and ever. I had stenciled my name into it in bold, silver letters. I glanced into the water again. It had disappeared beneath the murky water.

Hours later I found myself in the Aft Shop. I settled down next to ET3 Radar on the floor. The half dozen of mis-matched, broken chairs were already taken up by the senior members of the department: IC2 McMoney, IC3 Doesntshower, IC3 Kidstache, ET2 Bodybuilder (the one from stores onload), ET2 Kermit, and ET2 Seriousface. And that wasn't even everyone.

"Hey, you're not that new girl, are you?" ET3 Radar asked me.

I frowned at him. "What new girl?"

"The curly-haired one who lost her ball cap on the first day," he said.

The conversation stopped just for that second. Of course it did. All the guys turned and looked at me. ET2 Bodybuilder grinned mischeviously.

"Hell yeah she is," he said. "Right off the brow and into the water."

The room erupted in laughter. Laughter and teasing and pointing. The story of how I lost my ball cap travelled around the entire ship and back to the division within only a few hours. I hoped that wouldn't foreshadow my stay on the ship.  

I Don't Think I Can Afford Your Services

I have already discussed my views on arizona. On how it's beautiful from a distance, viewed from TV or through pictures on tumblr; but up close it's lifeless death trap.

So, imagine my surprise when I walked off the plane in Spain and I felt like I was back in arizona (only with much cooler weather).

Palm trees and oleanders greeted me, landscaping the brown lawns of stucco buildings topped with pink tiled roofs.

But I assured myself that it was fiiine.  The cool breeze was indication enough of how much better than arizona it was.

Or so I thought.

I was walking the long road to my ship. The pier from my barracks has to be like 80 miles away (or so it felt). Sweat dripped down my back. My undershirt clung to my skin. I was so glad my sleeves were rolled.

The image of Will Farrel from anchor man popped into mind.

"N-Dubs were a bad choiiiiceee! "

But I tried to enjoy the walk anyway. The trees that lined the street were reminiscent of the kind I saw in northern arizona. Eventually the golf course I walked along did get greener.

I turned a bend and stopped. Across the street was a patch of what looked to  e prickly pear cactus.

Surely not.

I hurried across the street.

It was.

"What is this shit!?"

I sent some quick snaps to my friends back home.

I was on the other side of the world, trying to enjoy Europe, when I found cactus. It had followed me from america. It had spread itself out across the should be Mediterranean paradise of southern spain.

I hurried on towards my ship. Mesquite bushes with two inch long needles clawed at me from ditches. Potted cacti sat in windowsills. Barren dirt and rock lined the roadway.

I didn't know if I would make it.

I did. Sweaty and breathless I arrived at the pier.

"What the fuck are you doing back?" The guard yelled at me.

I supposed it was a fair question. It was stand down. No one was a board except my sponsor and her duty section. I was hoping to get a few things squared away but I didn't really have a purpose.

"Uhh," was all I could think of to say as I approached him.

"Oh shit! You're not at all who I thought you were!"

He looked genuinely shocked. I was also taken aback. Who did he think I was? Was there another girl on board unfortunate enough to have hair like mine?

"I am so so sorry!" He said.

I laughed it off and forgave him, secretly glad I hadn't replied. I would have looked like the fool. So the hunger and heat exhaustion had served a purpose.

When I left an hour or two later he made a point to apologize again. I told him it was no big deal but he was understandably embarassed.

I had made the decision to call a cab. Walking back was not an option. Not happening.

A cab pulled up outside the gate a few minutes later. The driver did not look like a taxi driver. He looked to be in his mid 20s,  light brown hair that fell in waves over his eyes, a light shadow over his defined jaw. Veins lined his muscled arms. He definitely worked out.

Oh Spanish people. Why do you have to be so beautiful?

"Taxi?" He asked.

I nodded dumbly, hovering outside of his passenger window. I was pretty sure he wasn't a taxi driver though. The number my sponsor gave me must have been for an escort to-go service.

"Uno momento, " he said. He talked quick Castillo Spanish into his radio. Must be letting the other escorts know he had found himself a customer.

"You sixty-four," he said.

I blinked at him. If this was an anime he'd have sparkles around him every time he spoke.

"You know, eehh,  six four?" He drew the numbers in the air.

"I think you're thinking of sixty-nine," I said. I shook my head. "I can't afford that. No afford your services."

He looked as confused as I felt. I needed to find a number for an actual taxi. Then another cab pulled up behind his. The number 64 written across its door.

"Taxi six four," he said.

"Ooh! " I exclaimed. He was radioing for someone to pick up the sweaty American girl. He had standards.

I thanked him and walked to the window of the new cab. This man was definitely a cab driver. He was older, heavy, and very friendly. He was more than happy to take me back to my barracks and leave me in the parking lot. No funny business.

Anyways,  that was my first cue that I needed to learn spanish. It'd make communicating with male prostitutes so much less embarassing.

The neighbors will eat your dog

"Woah," I said as I pressed my face into my friend's passenger window as we drove south, out of Norfolk, VA. 

Everywhere I looked were beautiful houses and trees that grew out of natural grass. Not only that but other green things grew up and around all the trees. Ivy sprawled over telephone wires and flowers sprouted in all sorts of colors.

Also note, when I say trees and green, I'm not talking about shrubs that happen to be taller than the other shrubs or just a slightly greener shade of brown. I'm talking about actual trees. And shades of green that look like they came out of Oz. 

These are forests. Probably filled with all the animals of Jungle Book or something. I don't know, I haven't gone into one yet.

My friend looked at me sideways -- which was probably dangerous considering he was driving.

"You act like you've never seen trees before," he said.

"Not like this!" 

Hey look! A tree!

Trees in Arizona come in a limited variety: palm trees, mesquites, and junipers. Sure you can find other trees occasionally, but they are planted there by rich people to make the area more appeasing to home-buyers from greener places. Real Arizona trees have thorns as long as knives and will hold you up for your lunch money.

The forests didn't go away all the way down to Georgia. And when they did recede into the background, they only did so to make room for adorable houses that reminded me of doll houses. Every time I saw a house with a porch id point it out.

"Ooh! That house it cute! So is that one!"

Lorenzi would squint his eyes at me in that way that he always did when he thought I was being ridiculous. Which in and of itself is ridiculous. "It's a shack. The roof is caved in. I'm pretty sure there was a fire and black mold."

"But it has potential."

Houses in Arizona don't have front porches. It's too hot and no one likes their neighbors enough to want to see them. So they retire to their fenced-in backyards (during spring and fall when it's only 90° out and you can sit comfortably without A/C) and admire their beautiful cactus gardens.

Once we got to our destination I was amazed to find out that a lot of houses don't have fences. 

"How do you know when your yard ends and another begins?" I asked.

He just shrugged. "Property lines?"

"But how do you keep your dogs in and the things that want to eat your dogs out?"

His eyes widened. "What would want to eat my dog?"

"That's a weird question," I responded. Everything was the answer to that -- possibly even the neighbors! 

"No! No it is not! Nothing wants to eat my pets," he exclaimed. Although he looked at me after that like I might eat his dog. I don't even like the taste of dog.

"You don't have coyotes? Mountain lions? Carnivorous plants? Homeless people?" 

"What!?" 

I figured he was being ludicrous. In Arizona if you leave your pets unattended without a fence -- sometimes even with -- they would get carried off and you'd never see them again. Hawks would swoop in and grab your poor chihuahua (or your baby. True story). Coyotes (the animal) would pick off outdoor cats and medium-sized dogs.

A mountain lion once snuck into the Alzheimer's garden at the nursing home I worked at and tried to eat the slower of the patients (Note: It was a garden for Alzheimer's patients, not a garden made out of Alzheimer's patients).

Okay, no one was outside at the time, but he totally would have if he had had the chance.

Even the pigs are grumpy. Javelina have long tusks and are fearless. They hunt people in packs for fun. (Note: I tried finding a picture of a scary Javelina, but they all looked super cute. But don't let that fool you! They'll eat you alive!"

There are even cacti that shoot you if they see you. I'm pretty sure they eat you too of given the chance.

I haven't t even included tarantulas, rattle snakes, or neighbors into this. The morale of this story is that everything wants to kill you and your little dog too in Arizona.

"Cactuses-"

"Cacti," I corrected my poor southern friend.

"Cacti shoot you?" 

"You don't have any plants that shoot you?" I asked.

"No. No I don't." He ended up looking up cacti that shoot you on Google. He should never doubt me again. "Why would anyone want to live there?"

Not my picture, but accurate none the less.

That's a fantastic question. One I have asked my father numerous times. He always seems to have a reason -- most of which I believe might be made up. Like "Gilbert [suburb of Phoenix] was voted greenest town in Arizona!" 

Well, that's not hard to do when you have the least brown golf courses. 

Or, "we have more types of animals than any other state!"

200 different types of snake don't count (okay, so maybe it's closer to 40, but you can't count them as different animals. They're all snakes).

My theory is that people wander aimlessly into Arizona. Or they visit the Grand Canyon and think, "well, this was a lovely hole in the ground, let's see what else the desert has to offer." And so they wander deeper into the state only to run out of gas and water. 

That's when it hooks you! In order to get more gas and/or water you are forced to start working. So you grab a job and stay in a cheap apartment in Mesa and then a few months turns into a few decades and now there are generations of you there. Only hopefully you've moved out of Mesa and into a more respectable town.

Your kids ask you, "why did you never get out?"

Even the cars cant take the heat

And you, so wrinkled and tanned from the harsh summer sun looks at them with spots in your eyes and you can't even speak. There is no response. Or perhaps over the years you have deluded yourself into thinking that it's not really so bad, or I don't like trees anyway. Blocks the view of the sky. Maybe you'll tell yourself, mild temperatures are for the weak. Getting heat stroke in the middle of winter builds character

I was beginning down that road. Settling down into the high desert near Sedona. I told myself, "this is soo much better than Phoenix" as a tumble weed rolled across my path (literally).

But then, one day, I came to mysenses. And I joined the Navy. It was the easiest way to get out of the state. So now, whenever anyone asks me, "why did you enlist?" I'll say, "to get the hell out of Arizona. Hashtag true story."