Just another drunk

Having worked on the Party Boats for a number of seasons, I've had to deal with many a drunk over the years. Some result in a donnybrook (I've always wanted to use that word somehow) while others just end up being chalked up as another day at the office.

One guy that was memorable, at least to me, happened one warm Sunday afternoon.

Usually once you got through the Friday and Saturday trips, you could usually count on Sunday being fairly easy. You'd still get your share of drunks, but they were usually in recovery mode at that point and they ended up being harmless.

So, I was caught a bit off guard by this one particular dickhead.

We had gotten through the morning trip (8am-noon) with nary a problem, much to my delight. (On a quick aside, where else can one use the word "delight" without sounding like a pretentious douchebag? Hmmm? I don't know... maybe it's just me. Back to the story...)

While we did have a lot of people, no one gave us any problems. (their lucky, too... I would have slapped them naked and hidden their clothes if they did! that's right... I'm a badass... at least that's what my Mom says) It was while I was handing out the rental-rods for the afternoon trip that I had my first interaction with Mr. Personality.

He waited in line for his fishing rod patiently and when it was his turn he handed me his rental-rod ticket, grabbed the rod, told me to go fuck myself (something that isn't possible, by the way... I mean... um, so they tell me) and walked away.

I was kind of surprised by the whole thing, actually. You usually get the "is that a lucky one?", "how's the fishing been?" and "damn, you're sooo good looking" comments. Not a "go fuck yourself". Well, I didn't usually get them at that point in the trip. We hadn't even left the dock yet.

Surprisingly, my captain happened to be standing right behind me when it happened. He must have needed something really bad to have come out of the wheelhouse. You usually didn't see him at all... the lazy bastard.

Anyways, all he did was shake his head and say "Uh, keep an eye on him.. I guess."

Yeah, great leadership there. Let the 16yr old kid take care of the big drunk guy. That always works out well.

It was right around that time that he came back in and demanded a better rod. I explained to him that there was nothing wrong with his rod, that it would work just fine and all of the rental rods are exactly the same anyways.

He didn't agree. I believe that his exact words were...

Him- What the fuck does a fuckin' punk like you know? I've been fucking fishing longer than you've been fucking alive!

Me- (trying to keep from telling him to go fuck himself... I did work on tips, you know) There's no need to talk to me that way. If you'd like a new rod, we can get you one.

Him- Yeah, you'd better. (under his breath) Fuckin' punk.

Me- What's that?

Him- Fuck you.

Me- Fuck me?

Him- Yeah, fuck you.

Me- Have you been drinking today?

Him- Fuck you.

Me- Yeah, ok.

Him- Fuckin' punk homo.

Me- Yeah. That's me.

Him- You probably are. I know how you fishin' guys are.

Me- Didn't you just say that you've been fishing longer than I've been alive?

Him- Just gimme a new fuckin' rod. I want a new rod.

Me- There is nothing wrong with that rod, but you are more than welcome to look in the rod locker for one that you like if that is what you want.

Him- Yeah, right. You'll probably grab my ass or something.

Me- Listen buddy, if I were gay I would like to think that I could do a hell of a lot better than you.

Him- "........" (walks off)

This was proving to be fun. I had a drunken, belligerent asshole onboard to deal with plus that customer (insert rim shot here). Just what I wanted to deal with after a long weekend.

I headed up to the wheelhouse to talk it over with Captain Courageous. He (uncharacteristically) said just to keep an eye on him and don't serve him any alcohol against my recommendation. I wanted to deep-six his ass right back onto the dock, but I guess that ole skippy boy needed the money too much. He normally didn't let the drunks onboard at all. I've seen him reject whole boatloads of people costing him thousands of dollars at a time.

I didn't see Captain Fuck-Fuck (the drunk guy... I use that name because of his colorful use of the English language) for the rest of time that we were at the dock. I did take note as to where he had set up shop out on deck. He had conveniently (for me) chosen a spot directly under the portside wheelhouse window. It was the perfect spot for me to keep an eye on him while on the ride out to whatever hotspot that we were going to that day.

There wasn't much activity from Mr. Wonderful one the ride out. Although, he did tell me to fuck off (again) when I asked him if he would like to get into the pool.

(The pool is when everyone, who would like to enter, pays in a certain amount of money ($2-10) and then whoever catches the biggest fish, wins it all. We've actually had some several hundred dollar pools before. Unfortunately, I couldn't enter unless all the customers agreed and that only happened when a bunch of our regular customers would go out together for the last trip of the year. That was always fun.)

Instead of getting mad, I just winked at him and walked away. It was the first time that I had seem him speechless up to that point.

A little later on while I was scooping on the galley girl I noticed that he had stumbled into the cabin and was heading towards the head (bathroom). I kept one eye on him and one eye on the galley girls rack to see what he was up to. A lot of times you would catch people taking out their weed or bottles of booze before they got into the bathroom where the hoped to consume it without anyone watching. People are so stupid.

(My favorite was one time while I was filleting fish on the ride home and someone was smoking pot inside the bathroom. While that wasn't all that uncommon, most people don't do it when they have to ask me to move because I am standing next to the door and then proceed to light up while I am all of two feet away. This guy was a little more creative than others, though. He had brought in a bottle of air-freshener and would spray it as he was smoking. I would smell "Lemon Rain" then pot.... "Lemon Rain" then pot. After he came out of the head, I followed him over to his tackle box where he was putting the air freshener away. I said "How's that air-freshener work for bait?" He paused...thought for a moment and then started to say something but I cut him off. I just told him that "Lemon Rain" and weed is not a smell that we normally have on the boat. It tends to stick out and get the attention of the crew. He got the idea)

Anyways, he didn't fumble around with anything but the latch. After he walked out, I went in after him to see if I could smell or see anything and lo and behold, there were three empty nips of brandy.

Of course, he denied that they were his and told me to fuck off some more after I confronted him about it. I wouldn't have expected anything less, but he was starting to get on my nerves and there was nothing that I could do about it.

But Mother Nature could.

A few days earlier there had been a massive storm that had formed off the Carolina's and was supposed to nail us but thankfully, it had missed us by heading out to sea. Large storms at sea tend to send a large ground swell in all directions that can be felt hundreds of miles away. You can have a day where there isn't a breath of wind, but you would have 10 foot seas. It's actually a pain in the ass when you are trying to haul nets and stuff, but that doesn't apply here.

What does apply is that we were steaming into a large groundswell and it wasn't agreeing with Captain Fuck-Fuck. It was a southeast-based swell, so it was hitting us right on the starboard bow the whole ride out. Not only would the boat would slowly go way up and then way down, but it would go side-to-side as well. In my experience, that was the best combination for making googans (tourists) sick.

Our hero was starting to look a little green when we got to the first spot. After dropping the anchor, I headed towards him with the full intention of screwing with him a bit but he stopped me dead in my tracks when I saw him start to twitch.

I knew what was coming and I couldn't wait!

He got up, leaned on the railing for a moment and then hung his head towards the ocean...

This is it!, I thought.

For a minute there, I thought that he was going to make it and so did he. But then, Mother Nature let me know that she had my back by sending in a couple of sets of waves that were particularly devoid of any backside. There wasn't any of that slow up-and-down bullshit. These went slowly up, then quickly down.

And that was all he needed.

Let's just say that by the time he was through puking, I thought that we may have had a new long distance record set. I'm telling you, if it didn't go 6 feet, it didn't go an inch. Not only that, I think I saw one of his shoes come out of his mouth at one point. It really was quite spectacular.

Captain Fuck-Fuck was now Captain Puke-Puke and I was enjoying every minute of it.

Of course, I didn't miss a single opportunity to ask him if I could get him anything. I would ask him nicely if he would like a greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ash tray or maybe a raw egg egg served in a backed-up toilet complete with all the fixin's. Hey, it's all about the service, right?

Between bouts of heaving ole Puke-Puke just kinda flopped around on the deck like a flounder. He would slither between sitting up to completely sprawled out on the deck where I would "accidentally" spray the hose or tip over the bait bucket with the nasty old clams in it (my favorite).

I didn't hear much from him the rest of the trip.

Surprisingly, he didn't even look at me as he was leaving when I told him "Have a nice day, you big stud" when he left.

- Cod

ps- And to think, he didn't even give me a tip.