Consumer
Elder Statesman
Long ago, in my mis-spent youth...
We had been on patrol for about 45 days. Since the cutter I was on had a very good air-search radar and Link 11, we spend 99% of it in the middle of nowhere, doing figure 8's at 3 knots in an empty piece of ocean. The RD's had fun tracking aircraft and relaying the info to the "Big Picture", but the rest of us were bored out of our minds. Even the fishing had turned bad as the sharks had figured out that anything we caught was easy to eat. The GM's threw a few grenades in every so often and we'd gaff a serving of "Shark Catalina", but that was wearing thin. We were ready to party when we hit shore.
Mid-patrol break was in San Juan, PR. This is the home of the Bacardi Factory. 2nd day in port myself and my compatriots in the Weapons Division all took a water taxi across the harbor at 10 in the morning and went to the Rum Factory. One very crusty old Chief told us with a wink that the "tour" would take till 5. We weren't quite sure what he meant...
The tour took 1/2 and hour. How to turn sugar cane into alcohol, in about 10 different varieties. Cool. And then...on a lawn, under a large tent, overlooking the harbor was the Bar. Free Rum drinks. For as long as we stayed. Or until 5. NOW we knew what he meant.
At 4:30, they told us to leave. And carry those guys out with us (only two of us were out). We stumbled aboard the water taxi, claimed that we were confiscating it, told the driver to head toward the big white boat with the racing stripe on it. The trip across the harbor was as tough on me as Hurricane Hugo was (which I went THROUGH, not around). We pile off (at the taxi pier, the guy ignored us until we threw up in his boat), and head to the nearest bar after dropping off our two sleeping beauties on the "rec-deck" and covering them in shaving cream and tooth-paste. More Rum.
Sometime around 7 I was in a taxi. Land taxi. I think. Not sure. Everything still FELT like I was a sea. Ended up at the end of the pier...I guess I was being dropped off. Crawled to the gangway, crawled UP the gangway, ran into the XO (but did not throw up on him) and was congratulated for not getting into trouble and being smart enough to make it home under my own power. "Thank's...shir..." Made it down to my little 14 man birthing area (noted that someone had added two or three more layers of saving cream and tooth-paste to the guys on the req deck, one was missing his eyebrows too), and into the head. Talked to the Dinosaurs on the Big Phone for the next hour. Passed out. Ended up in my rack, buddy carried me back there.
For the next two days, I didn't go out. Sunlight BAD.
Now, I don't drink much at all, being a couple of decades older and wiser. And no Rum. NEVER Rum.
A true story, and possibly a cautionary tale.
-SB
We had been on patrol for about 45 days. Since the cutter I was on had a very good air-search radar and Link 11, we spend 99% of it in the middle of nowhere, doing figure 8's at 3 knots in an empty piece of ocean. The RD's had fun tracking aircraft and relaying the info to the "Big Picture", but the rest of us were bored out of our minds. Even the fishing had turned bad as the sharks had figured out that anything we caught was easy to eat. The GM's threw a few grenades in every so often and we'd gaff a serving of "Shark Catalina", but that was wearing thin. We were ready to party when we hit shore.
Mid-patrol break was in San Juan, PR. This is the home of the Bacardi Factory. 2nd day in port myself and my compatriots in the Weapons Division all took a water taxi across the harbor at 10 in the morning and went to the Rum Factory. One very crusty old Chief told us with a wink that the "tour" would take till 5. We weren't quite sure what he meant...
The tour took 1/2 and hour. How to turn sugar cane into alcohol, in about 10 different varieties. Cool. And then...on a lawn, under a large tent, overlooking the harbor was the Bar. Free Rum drinks. For as long as we stayed. Or until 5. NOW we knew what he meant.
At 4:30, they told us to leave. And carry those guys out with us (only two of us were out). We stumbled aboard the water taxi, claimed that we were confiscating it, told the driver to head toward the big white boat with the racing stripe on it. The trip across the harbor was as tough on me as Hurricane Hugo was (which I went THROUGH, not around). We pile off (at the taxi pier, the guy ignored us until we threw up in his boat), and head to the nearest bar after dropping off our two sleeping beauties on the "rec-deck" and covering them in shaving cream and tooth-paste. More Rum.
Sometime around 7 I was in a taxi. Land taxi. I think. Not sure. Everything still FELT like I was a sea. Ended up at the end of the pier...I guess I was being dropped off. Crawled to the gangway, crawled UP the gangway, ran into the XO (but did not throw up on him) and was congratulated for not getting into trouble and being smart enough to make it home under my own power. "Thank's...shir..." Made it down to my little 14 man birthing area (noted that someone had added two or three more layers of saving cream and tooth-paste to the guys on the req deck, one was missing his eyebrows too), and into the head. Talked to the Dinosaurs on the Big Phone for the next hour. Passed out. Ended up in my rack, buddy carried me back there.
For the next two days, I didn't go out. Sunlight BAD.
Now, I don't drink much at all, being a couple of decades older and wiser. And no Rum. NEVER Rum.
A true story, and possibly a cautionary tale.
-SB
