For starters, the ship in question was berthed in the most frustrating container terminal in the port. Unlike the 2 others, Container Terminal X (I've become irrationally terrified that the government will come arrest me for putting secure TSA information on my blog...) won't let visitors drive onto the straddle field - you have to wait for the security shuttle to pick you up at the gate and take you in. Which would be fine, if Romeo, the driver, actually came when you called him. As it stands, you're likely to spend anywhere from 20-90 minutes waiting for him to show up. It's particularly fun in the pouring rain, while you're standing amidst the gantry cranes and straddlers, convinced you're going to be squashed by a piece of machinery 100 times your size. The 5 of us chaplains dutifully take turns putting ourselves through that ordeal, and today the unfortunate lot fell to me.
There were 2 ships in. The first was terribly busy, and I left after 10 minutes. The second, henceforth The Ship of Doom, welcomed me all too enthusiastically and ushered me up to the crew's day room. As I've said before, I carry $400 worth of phone cards, SIM cards, and other telephone paraphernalia. It normally lasts me for about 4 ships, and in this particular case, I had just restocked. It was nowhere near enough for the Croatian crew of the SoD. They cleaned me out within half an hour. Normally, when I run out of something, I just say "I'm sorry, I don't have any more," and that's that. Today, that response was met with:
"Well, go and get some more then! NOW!" Because all the other ships had been visited, and it was only 12:00, I acquiesced, none too happily. I waited 40 minutes for Romeo (at least it wasn't raining), went back to the center to restock, returned to Terminal X where I waited another 40 minutes for Romeo, and re-climbed the gangway of the the SoD, where the ambush recommenced. I was half terrified that they were going to clean me out AGAIN, but fortunately they contented themselves with berating me for taking too long and then skulked off. Once they were gone, the Indonesian crew contingent crept into the crew's lounge. They were much more polite, and much more receptive to the presence of a woman in their midst...a little too receptive, as it turned out.
The tiny ship's steward, who was younger than I and on his first deep sea assignment, sidled up to me on the sofa, stared at me like I was God incarnate, and proclaimed: "You are such a beautiful woman. Maybe someday you would like to come to Bali...with me?"
I balked. "Uh...I have no vacation time. Seamen's Church won't let me," I stuttered, probably way too fast for him to understand me. He relented for a brief while. The conversation turned to Indonesian food. I participated halfheartedly, inwardly freaking out about whether I chose the appropriate response. Just as I'd begun to think that I misinterpreted a joke, or missed an unknown cultural reference or something, the steward decided to get bolder. While his companions were bickering about who owed whom a cigarette, he said in a hushed voice:
"In my cabin, I have Indonesian noodles. Would you like to come with me...and try them?"
At this point, I truly freaked out. I'm used to being stared at aboard ships - as uncomfortable as it was at first, I've come to appreciate the reality that these men can go months without laying eyes on a woman. But this was the first time that I'd been propositioned, and I was horrified. "I have to go. Right now," I said, and bolted. To hell with being pastoral. I was so done with that godforsaken ship. I trampled down the gangway and waited on the straddle field for a full ten minutes before I realized that I'd forgotten to call for the damn security shuttle, I was that shaken.
A bit of advice, should any of you ever discover a long-lost calling for seafaring: the way to get what you want from your port chaplain is neither by yelling at her nor by hitting on her. End of story.
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