THE SONIC BOOMER
My husband Mark has owned his boat for several months now. I say “his” because I refuse to participate. I see boats as a frivolous expense (exactly why he likes them), and here is what has happened so far…
- The dock where the boat was being stored changed ownership and dock fees immediately jumped from $880 per month to $1,200 per month.
- In order to register a boat, you need a Vehicle Identification Number, just like a car. There are 12 digits in this number. Mark’s boat has 11. He sees no problem here.
- The mast was discovered to have been eaten away by rust at its base. Mark says he doesn’t need it anyway, despite the fact that the TV and radar are both attached to it.
- The boat needs a window where some inattentive swabbie smashed through it with the end of his swabber.
- There is no captain’s chair on the bridge, just four holes where it used to be screwed into the deck before some wrathful Loch Ness-type creature gobbled it up, along with its occupant. (Or so I imagine.)
- Said creature must have been very hungry because there is also no fly-wheel up there.
- Six fire extinguishers need to be replaced, including one that is welded to the deck. No one knows how to remove it.
- Three of the five marine batteries need to be replaced at an estimated cost of $330 each.
- Mark did save a little money when he found a can of two-year-old pork-n-beans in a cabinet. So he’s up 88 cents.
- However, he’s been fiddling with this thing since March and is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.
Here (because I wrote it down on March 12) was our initial conversation regarding this boat:
Mark: I expect to put $12,000 into it because of the labor and materials needed to install new fuel tanks, put in new fuel lines and filters, clean and re-paint the engine room, fill up the gas tanks, as well as acquire and install an autopilot system, a tender and a motor — and then I’m ready to re-splash.
Me: Hahaha.
Also, did you catch the word “re-splash?” This is Mark’s brand-new habit — talking like a pirate. He hangs around all day with his boat buddies and picks up the lingo, much like he starts “talking Southern” right about the Georgia state line. The other day, I was foolish enough to ask him if much of this work wouldn’t be better done on land.
He replied, “You mean, on the hard?”
“Yes, Ahab, ‘on the hard.’”
Of course it wouldn’t. It is much better done bobbing around with buddies and beer.
Another stupid question from me, “Are any of these guys married?”
Of course they aren’t. Maybe they were, but they aren’t now.
I think I see where this is headed.
