Email Sent To My Boss At Midnight on a Saturday Night (Barcelona August 10th)

The below email is nearly verbatim what I just sent to my boss, at midnight, Saturday August 10^th.

{Italicized bracketed text inserts are additions/explanations/commentary for non-ship people. Names were changed to protect the innocent.}

---

Take Away: We may need MTN {satellite communications provider} service soon.

Now the story:  

So, I am in bed {in my cabin on the ship}, lights out. It is midnight. My phone rings.

I answer, naturally, “Good Evening.” (Yes, really.)

“Hello? Isabel?” It is Jerrard, fire patrol. {Think shipboard fireman.} “Your equipment? In the safety office?” {Only now is the irony of my equipment being in the “safety” office occurring to me….}

“Yeah?”

“It’s burning.”

Yeah… what exactly do you say at this point?

Seriously, what is the right response?

Um, “Excuse me?”

The phone is wrestled out of his hand and the Adam comes on, “Isabel? Can you come up here? To the bridge?”

Really? The bridge? I am thinking maybe abandoning ship might be a good idea, but, um, “Yeah, OK. I will be up in a minute?”

Phone is disconnected.

---

Needless to say, the equipment was not on fire and thankfully the rest of the story is frightfully mundane.

I won’t miss being called at midnight to report to the bridge, but I will certainly miss the stories that comes from calls like this.

Stupid: Lack of sleep from this life.

Cool: The stories from this life.