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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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