My seagoing career is noteworthy for its lack of water.
It seems that when I was seventeen or so and resident on a reasonably well-known piece of ground surrounded by water, I got it in mind that I'd like to see the world at someone else's expense. So I told my parents I was going to see about getting a job on a ship like one of those I used to watch coming or going through the Narrows.
Most of the shipping lines seemed headquartered in Br**kl*n, so that's where I went job hunting, over da Sixty-nint' Street Ferry. I find the office of a shipping line and tells 'em I'm looking for a job on a ship that goes to sea. Europe, I'm thinkin.'
"Ya gotta union card?" the guy asks.
"No, whereduhya get one-a those," I ask.
"Ya gotta go over the union hall," the guy says.
So I go over to the union.
"I want a union card," I tell the union guy.
"You need to have a job on a ship before you can get a union card," he tells me.
I go home.
I stay there.
I never get a job on a ship.
Some years later a guy writes a book called "Catch-22."
I swear he stole the idea from me.
The good side is I never got seasick.
Never got wet, or shipwrecked, or captured by pirates, either!
Didn't even get aboard.
However, I do have a lot of float-time aboard da StatNisland Ferry.
That must count for sumptin' around here, right?
Happy Thanksgiving alla youse characters.
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