It's not just a job, it's an adventure.

Eleven down, one hundred and twenty-seven to go.

For most of my Navy days, when we weren't steaming  "Haze Gray and Underway" I was assigned as a First Responder, it was called fire party in those days.  Think of it as a fire department.  We typically sat around and waited for something not to happen.  As a result, I didn't do much watch duty when we were pier side.  When we were deployed, flight deck didn't have many of those watch assignments.  Not like we had time for those anyway, we were usually on deck before sunrise and after sunset.  Sometimes, well before or after.

The most boring duty watch I've ever had the pleasure of standing was notorious for its boredom.  The name of the watch and the place where one performed one's duties had exciting names.  Fortunately, during my time aboard we never had to do the job.  Anytime we had aircraft in the hanger, someone manned a conflagration station and stood a conflag watch.  You had access to the alarms, hanger deck sprinkler systems and a direct line to the bridge.  And you sat in a worn out, abused barber's chair.  It was probably surplus in 1963 when the Guadalcanal was commissioned.  The ball bearings, and the bearing race in the pedestal were shot.  More on that in a bit.  The conflag station was a tiny, 4'x6' room, with questionable ventilation which reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and of the 9 million sailors who have sat isolated in that room in four or five hour watches, more on that to come as well.

Though this is a larger and probably a much better example than ones I've spent time in, it should give you the picture. We had two stations aboard, Conflag #1 was forward, toward the bow of the ship and the motions of the oceans were enhanced and exacerbated there.  It had one porthole positioned in front of that wonky-assed chair.  Those toasted bearings gave the chair just a little additional, late to the party, hitch in its get-a-long.  It always had a little jump at the end of a roll.  Not much, just enough though that it's the only place I experienced an ever so slight queasy sea-sickness.

Navy ships transiting the seven seas experience a lot of time changes.  For us, every two days or so we would lose an hour going one way, and gain it going the other.  (Funny how that works out ain't it?)  Our clocks were always retarded during "working" hours and advanced during sleep hours.  (Funny how that one works out as well).  Now, if you won the lottery you got to spend five hours stuck in a tiny cramped cell with questionable ventilation, which reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and of the 9 million sailors who have plopped their butts in that wonky-assed chair. 

Coffee, coke and cigarettes.  It's no wonder the place reeked.  At least we never blew up.

As always, thanks for playing along.
Fair winds and following seas.
Twelve down, one hundred and twenty-six to go.

See you tomorrow.