Passing their final days "at home" in port, prior to their departure for another WesPac, the crew of the nuclear submarine still had no idea what their destination would be. Knowing only that the first half of their mission would last close to a full three months, Steve and his shipmates head out to the submarine bars around town.
[With no idea where this dream will take him, Steve heads out to another open mic, knowing only that having kept the dream capped in a bottle during the first half of his life, had more than once almost cost him his life. The genie was out of the bottle now, uncapped more than 5 years ago... Steve knows the genie will never fit back in the bottle now...]
It was safe in these places, safe to blow off steam, safe to be afraid without having to say you were. Decorated with ship plaques and photos, ship bells, dolphins and other paraphernalia. A klaxon horn would sound from behind the bar announcing another round, as boys just out of high school stood shoulder to shoulder with their salty chiefs. Some would eventually take their turn at the bar as the salty chiefs themselves, hard, drinkin', chain-smokin', men of the sea.
[Open mics were safe places for people new to the stage to face their fear of the stage, without saying they were afraid. Safe places for comedy veterans to try out some new material and impart some wisdom to the new comers they welcome to the stage.]
Heroes to the men they sailed with, they all, new men and veterans, lived in the silence of never being able to talk about the things they did while on patrol. Bonded together in that silence, the crew gave each other the support their families and girlfriends were unable to.
[Bonded together in laughter, they give each other support their families and other friends are unable to. Half their families sick of hearing the same jokes and the other half pissed the jokes are about them, they crave control of the microphone to say whatever the hell is on their minds.]
Though this would not be Steve's first patrol, he remembered his first now, the anxiety of the unknown mixed with the eagerness of his youth then. Was he just as eager now? He asked himself. Now he knew what to expect, the seemingly endless days rigged for ultra quiet, cold meals and no showers, to minimize the need to run the evaporator to make fresh water, since a submariner always feared the detection which would jeopardize the mission and possibly his life.
[Though this would not be Steve’s first time on stage, he remembered his first time now, the anxiety of the unknown mixed with the eagerness of his stage youth. Was he just as eager now??? Now he knew what to expect, the seemingly endless seconds of an audience rigged for ultra quiet, the cold sweat that comes with it and the need for a hot shower. Though never life threatening, “dying on stage” was more than a metaphor.]
Standing watches in a hot, cramped and greasy engine room, detection wasn't the only thing that could ruin his day, while at sea. The chance of a steam leak, a fire and the ever-present possibility of flooding contributed to his stress, while he spent his days unable to see the sun or even to breath fresh air.
[Taking the stage in a hot, cramped, greasy food bar... The lights are kept dim for the same reason the bars on a military base are... So you can’t see what a dump it really is...]
As they enter the Horse & Cow or the "Whinnie & Moo", as the regulars lovingly referred to the place, this evening with a just arrived new crew member, the klaxon sounds the alarm. Ahhhhh....Uuuuugaaa, ahhhh....uuugaaa!
[Entering the “No Laughs & Only Boos” this evening with a new member of the comedy family, a look at the half empty room and the uninterested look on the faces of those that were there, “Gut check!!!” yells the senior comic in the room.]
"Skivvie check!!!" yells the COB, a Master Chief Machinist Mate, he is the senior enlisted person of the crew.
As the crowd roars its approval their newest shipmate is found to still be wearing skivvies. Unceremoniously they are ripped from him, over his head, and he is made to wear them around his neck the remainder of the evening. "Submariners don't wear underwear”, Steve informs him, shortly afterward, as he regales him with a "sea story" from his first patrol.
[As the crowd roars its approval, some of the newest comics take the stage amidst the abuse of the rowdy crowd. Taking the new guys aside as each leaves the stage, they are regaled with a “road story” and some wisdom of many years on the stage.]
Mooring along side the repair ship following sea trials, the Officer of the Deck aboard the tender, took it upon himself to conduct a sock check, as they reported to the boat the next morning. Seems he felt that they should be wearing socks even in civilian clothes.
"Are you wearing socks?" he had asked, as three of them asked permission to come aboard and cross to their submarine.
"Yes Sir!" was their respectful, albeit slightly scornful reply.
"Let me see them" was a demand he would soon regret.
"Yes Sir!" they had replied as they stood upon the quarterdeck of the tender with their pants at their ankles, the tops of the socks showing proudly on their calves above the waist bands of their pants.
It earned them a laughing rebuke from the Captain and plenty of free drinks that night. The request to see their socks never came again.
As the drinks continue to flow at the "Whinnie & Moo" this evening, a salty chief jumps atop the bar, the klaxon sounds again as he drops his pants and shows off the twin screws tattooed on his ass, the legend being they insure a safe and speedy passage.
[As the drinks continue to flow at the “No Laughs & Only Boos”, Steve says a prayer of thanks no one in the audience asked to see his socks and the bar is too high for the senior comic in the bar to climb atop it. He doesn’t want to know what’s tattooed on his ass.}
Soon someone emerges from the "head", a long piece of toilet paper planted between their cheeks and set afire, they race smoky circles around the bar. Still wide eyed, though now drunk, the newest crew member stares in disbelief at the scene before him. The klaxon sounds again and Steve explains, "It's the Dance of the Flaming Asshole."
[Steve still shakes his head in disbelief at the flaming assholes in the audience who come to see a show, then don’t shut up long enough to hear it.]
As their fears flow away this evening, masked in the camaraderie of their shipmates and the blare of the klaxon from behind the bar, it's only a few short hours before it sounds again. Then the reality of their situation, should anything happen, comes back to them again… They can't escape and there won't be any rescue.
[As fears of the stage flow away through the years of experience upon it, it’s the camaraderie of the comics and the blare of laughter from the audience that keeps them coming back for more. They can’t escape and there won’t be any rescue!!!]
This time it's for real, Aaaahhh...Uuuuugaa, Aaaahhh...Uuuugaa, Dive!!! Dive!!!
[Tonight is not an open mic… This time it’s for real!!!]
Thanks for reading.
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