They Know Everything
In our little settlement, along the Coco Plum Canal, we all admired Annie Miners. Mainly because Annie was an itinerant actress, and famous throughout the Florida Keys. More importantly, she was the only one of us to have a regular job. So, sometimes, she was the only one of us to have any money.
Originally from Minnesota, she lived on her trawler two slips over from Someday. A blond-haired, blue-eyed mini dynamo, she was one of the hardest working actresses in the Keys. There was no theater company in Florida that wouldn’t love to have her in their cast. From singing, dancing, playing every part from grandmothers to ingénue, she’d done it all. She was our star, our claim to fame.
We boaters in this little enclave felt, ‘Hey, my life may be in the toilet but do you know who I live beside?’
One night, as we sat around the barbeque pit, somebody asked Annie what her job was in that new play being advertised all over the Keys.
“On this one, I’m the stage manager. I line up the chorus line before they go on stage. I check their stockings, costumes, sequins, make up. I fluff their boobs up, I straighten their hats. And before they go on I make sure every….
“Hold it!” The men shot straight up in their chairs. “The fluffing part! You what?”
“Oh, well.” Annie giggled. “The actresses have to change clothes really fast and sometimes, things ah, get lopsided.”
“So?”
Nelson, Carlos, Teddy, and I all went suddenly silent. We all leaned towards Annie.
“So, I reach in their tops and straighten… matters.”
In our semi-circle around the barbeque pit all was quiet. Annie must have mistaken the glazed stares for confusion. Her eyebrows knitted.
“I fluff their boobs up!”
“I could do that!” The shout was raised.
“Me too!”
“Me three!
“Si! Me also.”
“Talk about a stage hand!”
“Nelson,” I asked, “do they do that in Cuba?”
“Oh, Si! It is a national sport!”
All of us agreed that Annie had the best job in Florida. Every man sitting around that barbeque pit offered to do her job for free. And, Annie reasoned that no matter what country they came from, all men are just pigs.
The next morning, I sat on my boat in the quiet Coco Plum Canal enjoying the Florida sunshine. The cockpit with all its old soft cushions was a perfect spot for leaning back and staring at the fluffy clouds in the washed-out sky. Just listening to the slurp and chuckle of the canal’s wavelets slapping the side of my boat.
I wasn’t letting the laid-back attitude of the tropics seep into my brain. Not really. Oh no, I was doing very important tuition. I was training my mind to avoid what I called “those terrible shoulds”. Every time I followed a should thought to it’s very end, I realized that I was being sold something. Should meant I wasn’t doing for me, I was doing something for somebody else.
Like I should go back north stay in some construction camp all winter so that I could pile money that should reach up to the sky. I should get my ass out there to date a bunch of women to prove I still had the touch. I should buy a new and bigger truck, even though I liked the old one I had.
Shoulds for other people are bad, Shoulds for me are good.
I judged. And that’s about as profound as I was going to get on this, a beautiful morning in the Keys. Shoulds make you feel bad. Plain and simple.
Now, to another important matter. Instead of the terrible Shoulds, I really should be looking for Shade. Shade from palm trees is very important in the tropics. I had my own personal palm tree that leaned from the canal’s bank, and whose shade covered Someday from around 9:00 AM to about 12:30 PM every day. After that, the direct sun would drive me out of the cockpit and over to the shade of the garage’s cool cinderblock wall. I would sit with my back to that wall in its cool wet shadow watching the activity along the canal.
There I sat, all morning, in Someday’s cockpit, with my second cup of black coffee in my tanned hand, watching the canal. Someday slowly rocked as the crab boats puckata-puckata’d’ down the canal. The ‘V’ wavelet that the crabbers pushed made Someday’s mast swing as the mainsail’s lines ting-ting-tinged their link with the waves. The crab boats were heading out on their daily pickup and delivery schedule towards their line of floats tethered to the crab pots they had set on the Caribbean side. Or, maybe today, they were going to the Gulf side.
I idly watched the boats pass. Just day-dreaming of a new life partner, a wife, if ever. My dream partner would be smart, literate, sexy, and firm of mind and body, sophisticated, yet able to mix well with the mottled crew of people I seem to attract. She must be fun to be with, and most of all, our eyes would light up when we see each other.
But.
Because now that Someday’s holding tank is full, and because Bobby had cheated me out of an engine, I had no way to motor the mile to the pump-out station. It would be nice if my perfect wife didn’t mind temporarily shitting in a bucket.
I really should fix that.
Annie knew everything about everything, which came in handy because I had a mechanical problem on Someday. The next morning, I needed her expert advice.
“Hey Annie!” I shouted across the docks. “My toilet stinks! What do you think?”
“What’s wrong?” She shouted back.
“Every time the crab boats go down the canal, the waves slop my boat around and a puff of stink comes up from the toilet bowl.”
“Well, go over to the station and just pump it out.”
“Until I get a new motor I gotta get somebody to tow me over. And besides, I’ve never used it.”
“You’ve never used your head?”
“No. I go down to the Circle K, get a coffee and use theirs. I come and go.” I said. “What about you?”
“I usually drive down to Coco Plum Beach. They’re nice and clean over there. Maybe your valve is leaking.” Annie smiled. “Welcome to boating, Rick. All boaters are fascinated by their heads. To you, that’s toilets.”
There was an electric toilet down at Shelly and John’s marina. I wandered down the street.
“I think the toilet is still out back.” Shelly said. I nodded to Ron who was leaning over the office counter.
“Okay.”
“John fired Bobby.” Ron smiled. “After you left the bar the other night, Bobby started telling the people there that he was hired by the real management to run this place. As John’s senior partner.”
“I’m shocked. Bobby … lying?”
Ron shuffled papers on the counter and smiled as Shelly came to the counter.
“Because in Bobby’s opinion, John was too young and inexperienced, and was making a mash of the place. And he, with all his experience and skill, could manage the boatyard so much better.”
I started to laugh.
“The guy’s about as organized as a baby chasing soap-bubbles.”
“The man he was talking to is a friend of ours.” Shelly said. “He phoned John to tell him the good news about his new senior partner.”
I looked at Ron. “That tanned guy at the bar?”
Ron smiled. “He owns a boatyard. After you left the bar, I sent Bobby and his babe some beers. They came over and I introduced them to my friend. While I was introducing everybody, I said that Bobby was the key man around here.”
I smiled. “Oh yeah?” I said.
“Then I sat back and let Bobby’s mouth get him fired. When Bobby showed up for work, John and Shelly were waiting for him. Didn’t stay too long.”
I grinned.
“Look here.” Shelly pointed to the computer screen. “The cops were here looking for him.” Shelly stared at the computer screen. “They got an anonymous tip about that supposed break in.”
My head slowly turned to Ron. “Oh. Bobby” I laughed to the screen. “You really don’t look good in Florida State orange.”
“I know.” Ron laughed. “Make’s his face all orangey.”
“Look there.” Shelly’s finger was on the screen.
“That’s his real name?” I said.
“Ah poop.” I said. “Now I’ll never get my $400 back.”
“Bobby’s toilet is out under the trees.” Shelly said. “New, it would be close to $400 he owes you. Guaranteed he won’t be back to pick it up, ever. Take it.”
Ron and I wandered out to the trees. We stood looking down at the stainless steel and ceramic masticator and people poop baker.
“You could sell it. Get your money back.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“If you keep it you’ll have to hook it to your power supply and vent it to the outside of your boat.”
“I don’t like cutting holes in the deck of my boat for anything, even for vents.”
“You don’t have to hook the vents up for the toilet to work. But, if you don’t, every time you use it the steam will come up and you’ll look like a rocket being launched from a missile silo.”
“Seems like a lot of work for a puff of stink now and then.” I said.
Suitably subdued, I went back to my boat to sit on my problem. I could install my new super-duper electric chair toilet, or else, get some marine plumber to empty my holding tank and my bank account. Maybe I could just break all kinds of laws, not to mention every sanitation standard in the civilized world, and just shit in a bucket.
At the very least, it looks like I’d end up doing all that gross toilet work myself. I had just spent the morning asking stupid questions of my more experienced friends. Never mind, just how would I get this old toilet and holding tank out?
I was sitting there, staring dejectedly at the head, just as the crab boat BABA clattered back down the canal. Someday slopped back and forth, and strained at the lines, rocking in the crab boat’s wake. What little water there was in the toilet bowl slopped around, exposing the head’s stainless steel valve.
Another puff of stink wafted up from the toilet. I stared at the water flopping around in the bowl. I reached around behind the white porcelain lid and opened a bright red valve that up until then had been hidden. Water flowed into the bowl and stopped just above the stainless-steel valve. The stink stopped.
I jumped on deck and yelled. “Hey, Annie!”
“What?”
“I found out how to stop the stink!”
Rick Ranson 