Monday, September 10, 2012

Squelch it Bubba

It's dark, it's winter in Kodiak and I've just changed my tire, again.

"Hey," a burly invest in Cardano in Kenya figure emerges from the dark, "the watch captain sent me out to ride with you." He notices the tire iron in my hand. "I'll just check the lug nuts before we go."

Oh joy, I get the newbie. He's 6'2" of rolly polly interference. I toss the iron in the back of the truck. "Get in."

"Can I drive?"

Oh hell no. I give invest in Cardano him the stinkeye and after a minute he shrugs and climbs onto the passenger's seat. As I engage the gears he leans over and flips on the emergency lights.

"Really?" I swivel around to give him my full attention, "would you like to run the siren?"

He reaches for the controls and I bat his hand.

When I'm satisfied that he'll sit with his hands in his lap, I ease onto the road and head for the harbor.

Bubba is quiet for buy Cardano 2.4 seconds then static crackles over the radio and he jumps. "Jesus, what's that?"

"Static," I mumble, "just adjust the squelch."

"Squelch? Where do I find squelch?"

Guess he can't see the little knob on the radio. "Have you looked in the glove box?" I bite my tongue as he rummages behind the vehicle registration and emergency flares. Huh, we'll maybe tonight isn't a waste after all. I take a right and veer toward the air station.

"Not here," he says, "now what?"

"Well," I say struggling not to laugh as I park in front of the hanger, "pilots usually keep an emergency stash, why don't you run in and get a tube?"

"Okay." He jumps from the cab like a kid on Christmas morning and I wonder if I should warn him not to push buttons or flip switches. In minutes he's back and flapping his arms. "They had no idea what I was talking about."

He's so frustrated, I start to giggle, but to my surprise he joins in and then says. "I know, right, how stupid can they be?"

Oh God, my insides are quivering and I'm going straight to Hell. How did this kid get through boot camp? I wipe my face, and when he's fastened his seatbelt, I head for the docks.

The radio erupts in static and Bubba turns down the volume. "This is just wrong," he says, "what if there's an emergency, what if there's a fire, what if ..."

"Relax," I tell him, "there are three ships in port and one of them will have a spare tube of squelch. I park in front of the Storis and watch as he strides up the gangway. When he disappears below decks, the watchman trots down to meet me.

"Hey Boats," he says when I lower the window, "what's up with Doofus?"

I fill him in and when he stops laughing his eyes are shining. "Want me to call the Morgenthau and the Citrus and give them a heads up."

"Oh," I grin at him, "excellent idea."

The remainder of the shift flashes past as we toy with Bubba. When I get back to my quarters I have a stitch in my side and my jaws ache from grinning. Tomorrow I'll tell him the truth.

Of course I will.

But now it's a new shift, I've signed in and I'm reaching for the keys when Bubba's voice drifts from the squad room.  "This isn't a job for girls, why can't I ride with someone else?"

Smoke furls about my ears and when I flare my nostrils they fill with brimestone. I march out to the truck and call a friend at the pharmacy for a favor. This time I'm not messing around.

All too soon Bubba opens the passenger door and climbs inside. "So," he says, "I talked to a radioman and there's no such thing as a tube of squelch."

My left eye twitches and when I can unclench my jaw I turn on him. "Radiomen," I spit, "do not need tubes of squelch, they repair radios. We are an emergency response team. We do not have time to play around."

Wide eyes lock with mine. "Understood?"

He swallows. "Understood."

"Good, now we're headed to the infirmary, Chief Sal had a physical today and he left a tube of squelch at the front desk. Ready?"

"Okay," he says leaning back in his seat, "now we're getting somewhere."

Ten minutes later Bubba is back and in the truck shaking his head. "This won't work," he says brandishing the tube, "this is just the base."

He has no idea he holds a tube of hand cream with a bogus label. "Don't worry," I say, perking up, "we have lots of time to find a jar of active ingredient."

Saturday, September 8, 2012

We've Been Here Before

Oh yes we have.

"So," says Rob looking over the rim of his reading glasses, "How much do you weigh?"

I flash him the stink eye but the man is impervious so I grit my teeth and growl. "I thought you and Luis were going to drag the boat out of the muck."

The time is 6:37. 

The good news comes on at 6:30. I have to call work at 7:00 and find out if I have a trip tomorrow. Maybe I do, maybe I don't, but if I'm on the short-list, I go to bed at 7:03, leave the house at 02:00, and nap at the alligator alley rest stop until I get the call.

My temper has been inching north since noon.

The time is 6:38 

Rob spots Simon and bends down to scratch his ear. "So," I heave a sigh, "do you need a hand?" 

Rob pulls up his shirt and scratches his belly. "That'd be nice."

"Dammit Rob," I stomp to the bedroom, "I told you twenty minutes ago that I wanted to watch the news. I told you that I had to go to bed early. I told you ..."

Even I tire of my rant so I tear off my pajamas and yank on a pair of shorts.

When I return, Rob is not behind the wheel of the truck, he is rolling on the floor with the dog.

The time is 6:38.

"Can we get this over with?" I say as I head outside, mindful to slam the door in my wake.

I ignore Rob's chuckle, haul myself into the bed of the truck and settle my weight over the stuck tire.

Slowly, ever so slowly, cause he knows I'll blow a gasket if he doesn't get this in one, Rob pulls the truck and trailer to dry land.

"Just remember," I say as I climb out of the bed, "you can't do this with a skinny wife."

The time is 6:39

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Stuck on Band-Aid

We've flown from Miami to Atlanta and back and we're waiting for the plane to take us to Nashville when I look down and spot a hole in my pantyhose. I rummage in my suitcase, but no nail polish for repair work.

Well crap.

I glare at the ruined hose (no I don't have a spare) and get an idea. I'll use the sticky strip of a Band-Aid, tuck it in the hole and tape the raw edges of nylon together. Oh yeah, great idea.

I duck in the ladies, but I can't tear the Band-Aid apart with my hands, so I use my teeth.

Did I mention veneers?

Yep, four fake covers, front and center, so ex-hubby wouldn't call me Fang.

Did it work?

Not exactly, but I don't miss the gap, the canines or ex-hubby, only it's been twenty years and I've forgotten those damn things have a life span. I clamp the end of the Band-Aid between my teeth and yank.

There's a sharp crack and something clatters into the sink. My eyes shoot to the mirror.


"Are you alright?" Asks a mother as she cups her hands over her daughter's ears.

"Fine." I give her a weak smile and glance back at my image. 


"Are you sure you're alright?" She scoots closer to the door.

"Thowy." I flap my arms and stare at the wreckage. The gap is back, but now it's bracketed by the remains of the veneers. 


After the mother flees the restroom, I slink back to the gate with my hand cupped over my mouth. "I don't think I can go."

"Why?" Ask my co-workers. 

I give the crew a sick smile, they start to laugh and I slap my hand back over my mouth. It's too much. I join the laughter, dig out my cell phone and call crew schedule.

"What?" Say's John, annoyed because we only call with problems.

"I just bwoke my two fwont teeth." I launch into the story and he starts to chuckle. "Tho," I ask, "do you have a fwight attendant who can finith my twip?"

"Just a sec." 

I roll my eyes and check my watch. We're due to board in five minutes.

"This is Claire, so why can't you fly your trip?"

Another scheduler? I sigh and start again. "I bwoke my fwont teeth." 

Claire chokes out a laugh and John comes back on the line. "Okay, I don't have anyone at the airport, but I'll take you off the trip and call someone else in."

Crap, that'll take hours. "No, I'll fwy to Nathville. Can you wemove me when we get back to Miami?"

"Sure," he says, delighted the flight will go on time, "how bout I deadhead you home on a earlier flight?"

"Uh," there's nothing wrong with my math skills and an eight hour layover is brutal, "naw, I'll wook back to Miami."

"Deal, I'll have a replacement finish the trip, have a nice flight."

We board the flight and I'm working first class, so instead of a verbal greeting, I nod and bob my head. Passengers aren't stupid, they've watched our laughing antics behind the gate and they know something's up.

Well I don't want to be rude so after we level off, I stomp into the cabin and hold the serving tray like a fan to cover my mouth. "I bwoke my fwont teeth. Make me waugh and you go to coach."

Grins break out and eyes twinkle. Have I told you before that passengers are wicked? Yep, downright evil and 3B, you know who you are and Karma's coming to get you.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Points of View

My Internal life as a writer has been a constant battle with the small whispering voice (well, sometimes it shouts) that tells me I can't do it. This time, the voice taunts me, you will fall flat on your face.
                                                                  ~Dani Shapiro

   "Writing?" Asks Rob drying his hands.

   "Something like that." Annoyed, I close the laptop on a losing game of spider. "Dammit Rob, don't leave wet paper towels hanging from the roll."

   He ignores me. "So, how's the book?"

   My plot sucks, so I shrug. 

   "That good huh?"

   "Just mow the lawn," I snap, "and quit feeding bunnies on the lanai."

   "Oh good," says Rob, his head in the fridge, "you bought carrots." He disappears out the back door and before I can launch twitter, he's back. "Have you posted anything new on the blog?"

   I shake my head. 

   "So, let me see," he taps his lip, "you've taken a break from the blog to write a book, but instead, you check e-mail and play solitaire." His eyes twinkle. "Better not quit your day job."

   "Stop," My fingers splay into the international stop sign, "talking to me."

   He laughs. "Want to go for a bike ride?"

   Movement catches our attention as baby bunny sneaks onto the lanai, gives a cautious glance to either side and then launches into a series of leaps and pirouettes. When he stops at the sliding glass door to peek inside we hold our breath.

   "Yeah," I sigh as bunny wanders off, "I'd love to."

   "Good, get your shoes and I'll get the bikes." He stops with one hand on the garage door. "Don't worry, you're smart, you'll figure it out."

Fall flat on your face, but find someone to pat your back  ~ Kelly