NEVER let your mother get to know your Skipper

Given the lack of other writable subjects...

I got jumped while in the Nav: walking down the street in San Diego, 5pm on a Sunday, right in front of the courthouse. Felt like someone was behind me, zigged when I shoulda zagged, and *FLASHBULBS*...

Woke up unable to open my eyes (they had crusted shut with blood), and asked three questions: "Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Where are my cigarettes?" (yes... I'm a true smoker)...

Off I go, to Balboa Naval Hospital. They call my Captain, who immediately calls my mother. Mom and dad fly out, at which time they get to meet the Skipper (whom most of us referred to fondly as "Terry")...

Terry was glad to meet my folks, and SERIOUSLY pissed that something had happened to "one of his boys". We're talking about a guy that usually had a Santa hat on his head, and who had ignored the Singapore Port Authority in their order that he not pull in until the next day ("I promised my boys we'd be in Singapore today, and by God we WILL be!"). The unfortunate part of all this is that it gave my mom a chance to meet my Skipper (which brings us to the nasty part)...

The entire time I was in the Nav, I had to call home every day I wasn't at sea: if two days went by without a call, mom got VERY worried. So, around the 18th of Feb (a fairly significant date in my life), I start having trouble getting through: no answer at the house, and NOBODY knows where they are.

That fateful day, after getting cut loose, I wander out to the Exchange (needed to check the ATM: was supposed to have somebody paying me some money direct to my account, which they hadn't). Start walking back to the ship (my roomie had my car, and hadn't made it in yet (NEVER trust a Marine with your wheels). And about halfway there, I get a page: the number for DC Central. Ok... I'm heading back to the ship (roughly two mile walk)... I'll see what they want when I get there. Make it down to roughly a half-mile when my beeper starts yelling again: DCC again, with a 911 prefix...

Maybe I over-react to some things. When I saw that prefix, THE only thought was that something had gone DRASTICALLY wrong, and I needed to immediately discover the mechanics of personal teleportation. I blew past the pier guard so fast they barely saw that I was holding SOMETHING out for them to see: only reason I didn't get clobbered was I was moving too fast. Up the gangway, past the quarter-deck, and down the stairs to DCC. Where I'm calmly told to change into dungarees...

Calmly... that set off some alarms. You don't 911 someone, and then act calm when they're present: "911" means "oh, shit... we're DYING!!!".

I change, and head up to the shop (as I was told). My DivO (Mr Bittle: nice guy, normally) comes in and tells me I've been implicated in a case before the Captain, and they wanted me back to testify. Which was kinda conceivable: although I hadn't written any checks on my account, I DID know the guy that was at Mast...


Let's review fer a sec: haven't been able to track down the parental units, money that I SHOULD have hasn't appeared yet, my roomie is gawds know where with my car, and now I'm supposedly in trouble with the Captain about checks that I couldn't have written.

I light a smoke: about the time I get halfway through it, we receive The Call: Send ICFN Strings up. I look at Brad (DivO), and try to calmly finish my smoke: the shaking doesn't help the illusion of an innocent man any. So we troop our way up to Officer Territory, and the Captain's Stateroom. I walk through the door, to see the Captain sitting at his desk (lookin' fairly stern), a lil' half-wall behind him, kinda partitioning off his personal dinner table...

Captain: "Strings: you've been accused of writing some bad checks by your friend. He's already been sentenced, but we need to clarify your involvement"

Me: "Ok Sir: what do I need to do?"

Capt: "well... have you written any bad checks lately?"

Me: "No Sir. I haven't written ANY checks lately."

Capt: "well... the ones you're supposed to have written are over there on the table: take a look, and tell me they aren't yours"

I walk around the little divider...











And see may parents, grinning, as dad points and says "GOTCHA!"

Seems mom had charmed the Skipper, and wanted to get aboard to surprise me for my birthday. Terry (being Terry) had suggested going one better...

I was told later that the entirety of my Division was outside that door, to keep me from walking out...