Shortening the Line

The Navy, in its infinite wisdom, has a carefully designed policy of only offering ship services during very limited hours, thus ensuring the long lines that guarantee everyone’s time is wasted equitably. The lines are everywhere, the mess decks, the barbershop, the postal clerk, and most importantly the ship’s store.

I served back in the Eighties, and in those days, on the smaller ships, the store was a nothing more than a large closet filled with cigarettes, cassette tapes, Zippo lighters, boom boxes, and of course Geedunk. Geedunk is the inexplicable Naval term for junk food. Every day, except on the random, unannounced days when the services were needed most, the store would open for an hour or so. The store is only open while at sea, so the first day of a long voyage is always a big event, and a long lines form outside the transaction window.

I hate waiting in line, and I am also by most accounts kind of an asshole, so I devised a positively evil approach to shorten the line. I am blessed with a seafaring constitution. That is, I don’t suffer from the malady of sea seasickness; in fact I am quite immune to it. So when I planned my visit to the ships store, it was always immediately after smoking a big fat cigar, and armed with a can of sardines and a spoon.

I would start at the front of the line, and walk slowly down the passageway, stopping to chat and socialize along the way. The greener they looked, the longer I lingered. I would messily and noisily chomp the greasy fish, open mouthed, with obvious relish, offering it up to share at every opportunity. Rare was the swab who could withstand my assault. Lines of twenty or more swabs would rapidly diminish to just two or three, leaving the pick of the latest cassette tapes and choicest candy bars mine for the taking.