Company’s Comin’
I’m sure that, at one time or another, everyone has had an experience with the “Guest Who Wouldn’t Leave.” You know the type, they can only stop for a minute, OK, maybe an hour, alright, one night but that’s it, and before you know it they are sending out change-of-address cards, having their magazine subscriptions rerouted to your house, making copies of the house keys and poring over wallpaper samples for what used to be the guest bedroom.
This is generally a sign that you are being taken advantage of, and that a little gentle persuasion might be in order. I find that announcing to the unwanted guests that I have decided to become a nudist generally does the trick as far as convincing them to find cosseting elsewhere, but the effectiveness of said stratagem is in direct contrast to one’s overall physical attractiveness. If you are Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, for example, announcing your intention to prance around the household in the altogether might not be a deterrent to overstaying guests. On the other hand, less attractive persons like, say, the current cast of “The Biggest Loser”, would probably enjoy considerable success with such threats.
During a recent trip to Africa aboard the Marine Prepositioning Ship USNS 2nd Lt John P Bobo, the small Navy staff of Marine Prepositioning Ship Squadron One (MPSRON1) – with whom I serve as civilian communications chief - and the Merchant Marine crew of the Bobo were joined by over 100 US Navy and Marine officers and enlisted personnel who boarded our cozy vessel for the voyage.
Despite it’s rather large size (nearly 700 feet in length, with a 60-foot beam), the USNS Bobo is manned by a crew of just 30 merchant mariners, including officers, engineers, maintenance crew, deck hands, and stewards. This group is augmented by a small Navy staff of about 10 (mostly officers and chief petty officers), their 4-person civilian communications crew, 4 security guards, and 4-5 mechanics who work on the ship’s cargo.
This makes for a total crew of about 55 people. The housing is ample, everyone has their own room, and co-existence is generally peaceful except for the few times it comes down to two crew members and that last piece of pecan pie. But that is why we have the security team. They are British and have been raised on British cuisine, so you know they can be a nasty bunch.
Anyway, the addition of over 100 uniformed members of our armed services to our tight little group upset the status quo a bit more than a tidge, as you might expect. Now, I am second to none in my respect for the brave young men and women serving in the US military. These young people are serving their country in most noble fashion and we should be proud of and grateful to all of them.
But the operative word here is “young,” and young, generally, means noisy. They did not disappoint. We old duffers who were used to relaxing in our rooms, our shawls wrapped about us as we sip our Ovaltine and Geritol cocktails while being entertained by the latest DVD from our “Matlock” or “Murder, She Wrote” box sets in relative peace and quiet experienced a bit of a shock.
And could they eat! That giant sucking sound we heard was the onboard freezers and pantries being emptied at near-lightning speeds. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except that despite cramming enough food in their gullets to put Tapeworm Nation to shame, the whippersnappers gained nary an ounce to their trim, youthful, athletic frames. Seeing this phenomenon, and noting my own battle with Dunlap’s Disease (where my stomach’s “dun lapped” over my belt), I could not help but be envious.
Then there were the females, young, nubile, beautiful and in the prime of their lives. They made me wish I were twenty years younger. They’d have still shot me down, but at least I would be twenty years younger.
They shared the ship with us for a month. It wasn’t exactly like they wouldn’t leave, but they couldn’t leave. We were all on a mission. An exercise mission, but we are expected to treat it like the real thing at all times, except for the officers’ soirées afterward, and the bus tours. Probably not many of those in Baghdad at the moment.
Tempers flared at times, but were quickly cooled and nary a punch was thrown. When the majority of the visitors disembarked in Africa (a few stayed on for the return trip to Spain), they hopefully left with fond memories of their time aboard the USNS Bobo.
And it was finally safe for me to come out of my room and look for some more “Matlock” DVDs. And Geritol.
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