By lex, on June 26th, 2006
So anyways, when SNO came back from Everett yesterday, one of the questions I asked him was what his running mate was like – a “running mate” is the enlisted Sailor who’s primarily responsible for making sure that his mid doesn’t hurl himself to his death going down the scuttle, knows where to muster, sleep and eat, etc. I still remember my running mate from youngster cruise in 1979 – STG2 Caz Rampey was his name. He still owes me money.
“Oh, he was a good guy,” replied SNO, adding, “kind of a joker, though.”
“Really, how so?”
“Oh, you know, the standard stuff. Always sending me of on bogus errands. ‘Bring me twenty feet of waterline’ for example.”
“And relative bearing grease?”
“Yeah, that too. Plus ‘the keys to the engine room.’”
“How’d you handle that?”
“Well,” he said, smiling slyly, “one time he sent me down to Damage Control Central to ask for an ‘HT punch.’ It was even plausible because he was working on a piece of gear that looked like he need an awl or a punch of some sort.”
“Ah, the old HT punch. Did it hurt?”
“No, actually – I went down there, but there weren’t any hull techs (ed. – “HT’s”) around. So when I got back to the shop, I told him that I couldn’t find any HT punches, but that the master chief had stopped me and asked me what I was looking for. And that the master chief wanted to see him. Right away. And that he looked pretty hot.”
“What’d he do, your running mate?”
“He sputtered for a bit – ‘You didn’t really tell the master chief, did you?’ – Yeah, IC2, I’m afraid that I did. Was that wrong?”
Oh, that face of exaggerated innocence. Trust me gentle reader, when you see that expression on the young man’s face, it’s time to put your hand on your wallet, count the silverware and lock up your daughters. But the IC2 didn’t know the scamp as well as I do. So he scurried down to beg forgiveness of the master chief.
Who was very surprised to hear about the whole thing.
Ah, the joys of the service.