A Commodore of Errors (30 page)

When the chief had his guys clean out the purser's office, they took out every stick of furniture, including the shelving. The only thing left in the office was the wall-mounted telephone. The phone worked and the engineers just could not bring themselves to rip a perfectly good phone off the bulkhead. The phone was in the back of the office, completely blocked by cases of Heineken. Until now, no one had ever bothered to ring the office, so it was never a problem.

The purser's office sat adjacent to the crew lounge, where the chief steward was watching
Dirty Harry
for the umpteenth time. The crew lounge was the one place on the ship that was not spic and span. The lounge was off limits to Captain Tannenbaume and the other officers, so the crew was free to keep their little clubhouse any way they saw fit. “Loungy” is how the chief described it. “A goddamned mess” is how the chief mate saw it, but then again, it didn't matter because neither one was allowed to set foot in there.

Between the ringing phone and the electrician jumping on Clint's lines, the steward couldn't hear a thing Clint said. Finally, he hauled himself off of the lounge's worn davenport and called the chief. “Someone's ringing the phone in your storeroom.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” the chief said.

“I want you to answer it. It's driving me crazy,” the steward said. “How I'm supposed to hear what Clint's saying?”

“Clint doesn't say much anyway,” the chief said.

“Don't you go making fun of Clint now!”

“Now, now, don't get your shorts bunched up, Stew.”

“Look,” the steward said. “Get someone in there to answer that phone or else.”

The chief laughed out loud. “Or else what?”

The steward hung up the phone and lay down again. After a moment, he slapped the side of the dusty davenport with his ham-sized hand. His favorite part in the movie was coming up and he couldn't concentrate. He got up again and called the bridge.

“Wheelhouse, Third Mate here.”

“Who the hell's calling the purser's office?”

“Who's this?” Swifty said.

“It's the steward!”

“How am I supposed to know who's calling the purser's office? I didn't even know we carried a purser on board.”

“We don't! Man, you're an idiot.” The steward hung up the phone then called the radio room. “Sparks? This is the Steward here. Are you calling the purser's office?”

“We don't carry a purser on board,” Sparks said.

“I know we don't, you idiot!”

“Duh-Duh-Don't call me an id-id-idiot,” Sparks said. “You're the wuh-one who—”

The steward hung up the phone and called Captain Tannenbaume. “Cap this is the steward. I hate to bother—”

“Oh it's no bother, Stew,” Captain Tannenbaume said. “What can I do for you?”

“Someone's calling the purser's office and—”

“We don't have a purser on board, Stew.”

The steward did not respond.

“Stew? You still there?”

The steward waited another moment before he answered. “Yes, sir, I'm still here. And yeah, I know that we do not have a fucking purser on board—”

“Now, Stew, don't get fresh with me. You know where that got you on your last ship.”

The steward took a deep breath. “Captain, I am trying to mind my own business. All I wanna did this morning is watch
Dirty Harry
but between the electrician running his yap and the phone ringing—”

“That electrician's running his yap again?”

“Yeah, but it's the phone in the purser's office that's—”

“You tell that electrician I said to get back to work,” Captain Tannenbaume said. “Alright stew, go back to your movie.”

Captain Tannenbaume had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again. He clearly was not going to get the sleep he needed.

“Sonny, I'm trying to ring—”

“Good morning, Mother,” Captain Tannenbaume said.

“Good morning, Sonny. I'm trying to ring the purser's office but it's been busy for the last ten minutes.”

“We don't carry a purser, Mother.”

It took Mrs. Tannenbaume a minute for that to sink in. “No purser? But my friend Roz said if I had any complaints not to bother you but to call the purser's office instead.”

“Which would be good advice if we actually had a purser,” Captain Tannenbaume said. “If you have a complaint, I'll call whichever department head can best handle it. Now, what exactly is wrong?”

“Nevermind,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “I'll handle it myself. But you should really look into why the purser's office phone is busy.”

“I told you we don't have a purser, Mother.”

“Oh yeah?” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “Then why is his phone busy?”

Captain Tannenbaume had to admit he didn't have an answer for that one. He hung up and rested his head on his pillow.

Sylvia saw him thinking hard and asked him what was going on.

“We've got a crank caller,” he said. “I've heard of this happening on other ships before. We've got a deranged crew member on board.” Captain Tannenbaume picked up the phone and dialed the purser's office. It was still busy.

“Yup.” He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and got out of bed.

“Wow,” Sylvia said. “A deranged crew member!”

Captain Tannenbaume got dressed and then called the chief engineer. Unlike most chief engineers, the chief was a late sleeper, which meant Captain Tannenbaume had the pleasure of waking him. An added benefit. “Maggie, we've got someone on board with a loose screw. Get someone in that storeroom of yours to answer that phone.”

“What storeroom?” the chief said.

“The purser's office storeroom, that's what storeroom.”

“Someone's calling the old purser's phone?”

“That's right,” Captain Tannenbaume said.

“Oh boy.” Captain Tannenbaume heard him groan. “We've got an awful lot of bee—uh, lube oil—to move.”

“Well, start moving it.”

The chief put the entire engine department on it. The men complained that it was a Sunday and that they'd better get paid double time for it. The chief said since they were moving—air quotes—“lube oil,” he'd consider it hazardous work and give them all hazardous pay. When the deck department found out that their counterparts were getting haz pay for moving beer, they wanted in on the deal, but the chief mate said, “Haz pay my ass. If anybody puts in for haz pay I'm redlining it.” The mate was so stingy with overtime that the deck gang figured they might as well take what they could get but they'd be god-damned if they were going to bust their asses for it. Especially since it wasn't even their beer.

So when the boatswain, the foreman of the deck gang, saw Tibby grab two cases at once, he nearly had a conniption. The bosun told the OS, “Safety first, son, safety first.” He wasn't going to have any back injuries in his department, he said. He turned and winked at the older seamen in the deck department. “Take it one case at a time, son,” he said. “And bend those knees,” the bosun said. The older seamen showed the bosun just how safe
they
could be by moving the beer, not one case at a time, but
one six pack
at a time.

By the time Captain Tannenbaume came down to see how things were going, the engine department had followed the deck department's lead, and they, too, were moving the beer one six-pack at a time. Captain Tannenbaume stood next to his chief mate and watched. He was all too familiar with how the unlicensed crew manipulated the union pay scale: the higher the hourly rate, the slower they worked.

The mate read his mind. “This thing would have to happen on a Sunday.”

Captain Tannenbaume was watching the electrician whispering to one of the oilers. The oiler glanced over at Captain Tannenbaume and whispered back to the electrician. Then the electrician removed a can of beer from the plastic ring and walked out of the purser's office. He was about to place it alongside the rest of the beer being staged in the passageway when Captain Tannenbaume ran over to him and grabbed the can of beer out of his hand. “knock off.”

“He can't knock off.”

It was the chief. Captain Tannenbaume spun around and faced him.

“He's gone too far with this slow bell thing, Maggie,” Captain Tannenbaume said. “I mean, come on, one can at a time?”

“Okay,” the chief said, “maybe he has gone too far but you can't knock him off. All hands means all hands. If everybody else is working, the man has the right to work. It's right there in the union contract.”

Captain Tannenbaume saw the electrician's hand go up to his mouth. He threw his hands up and walked over to the mate. “God almighty it just burns my ass.”

The mate just stood at parade rest with his hands behind his back and watched the slow bell brigade. “It burns my ass, too. They're going to pay for
this though. I'm going to redline the shit out of their overtime sheets the rest of the voyage.”

Sparks joined Captain Tannenbaume, the chief, and the mate to watch the men move the cases of beer. “It's like, like watching firefight-fight-fight—”

“Try”—air quotes—“'firemen,' Sparks,” the chief said. “It's only got two syllables, not three.”

“Fight-fighters retrieve a kitten from up a tree.”

A few minutes later, the second engineer joined the crowd of onlookers. Before long, nearly the entire crew, officers and unlicensed, gathered outside the old purser's office, listening to the phone ring and ring, and watching the beer moved one six-pack at a time.

“Actually,” Tibby said, “since nearly the entire ship's crew is present and accounted for, we could figure out who the crank caller is by process of elimination.”

“That's a good idea.” Sylvia turned to Captain Tannenbaume. “Why didn't you think of that?”

Captain Tannenbaume seethed. “Tibby, knock off.” The words were not out of his mouth before he regretted saying them.

“All Hands means—”

“I know, Maggie, it's All Hands.”

“Well if you know it's All Hands, why do you keep trying to knock the sailors off ?”

Captain Tannenbaume looked at the mate, mostly for commiseration, but the mate remained at parade rest, his attention absorbed by the spectacle before him.

The work continued all morning, right up until coffee time. By then, only a few stacks of beer stood between Captain Tannenbaume and the phone on the bulkhead.

“Don't let them knock off for coffee now,” he told the mate. “There's only a couple of more stacks to move and we can get to the phone.”

“Union rules,” the chief said. “Coffee time is”—air quotes—“'coffee time.'”

And so the crew knocked off for coffee, along with the rest of the onlookers, including Captain Tannenbaume, who didn't want to, but what else was he
going to do? When Captain Tannenbaume turned to go, he saw that the mate had not budged from his parade rest.

“You coming?” he asked.

“No.”

When everyone returned from coffee time, the mate was right where everyone left him, still at parade rest, still staring straight ahead, still seething, smoke practically coming out of his ears.

The crew removed the last of the beer from in front of the phone. Captain Tannenbaume went to answer the phone himself but the electrician beat him to it.

“Hello,” the electrician said into the phone. “Purser's office.”

“Oh, give me that phone.” Captain Tannenbaume tried to take the phone away from the electrician but he turned his back and kept the phone for himself.

“Breakfast in bed?” The electrician rolled his eyes at the crew. “Coming right up.”

The electrician hung up the phone. “The new cadet, Mitzi, wants breakfast in bed.”

“I already told her,” the steward said. “If she wants breakfast, she has to come to the mess like the rest of them.”