Position: Same as it ever was...

Currently Digging: The Tao of Meow, by Waldo Japussy. Hehehehe...Ja-Pussy... I'm so easily amused...

We got to deal with the Port of Los Angeles Harbor Police today, who wanted to board and take a look around and make sure our fire wires were out (not the cpu thingies, the big-ass cables we put out for tugs so they can yank us off the dock so that when we explode, we don't take the whole tank farm with us).

According to the Maritime Security Act, it is now required for us to check the identification of every individual that struts up the gangway. As though I'm going to be able to stop someone hell-bent on causing mass destrucity...

No, unlicensed seamen are still denied access to the arms locker. And we shall continue to be, so long as the officers in the Merchant Marine continue to be assholes who deserve to be shot.

Anyway, the gangway watch (me), is fully equipped for fending off potential threats to Maritime Security with a radio and a metal-detecting wand. I keep a 15-pound sledge handy, but considering I'm effectively guarding a 600' coke can full of gasoline fumes, there's not much I can do to stop a suicidal maniac armed with a "strike-anywhere" match.

Back to the cops. They board us, and I get to stop them at the gangway, doing my best to act officious. Bear in mind that this particular company requires us to wear our poopie suits (boiler suits, or jumpsuits, for you lubbers out there) in port. They are bright orange, presumably for "safety" reasons. The end result is that the whole crew looks like a gang from San Quentin, let out of the big house for a fun-filled day of picking up trash off the I-5's shoulder.

And I get to demand that the law officers produce valid picture ID.

Two of the tree times in my life that a loaded firearm has been leveled at me, a cop was on the other end.

I can't help but savor the irony.

--Jb
CEO FTW Inc.
11.01.05