Sunday Funnies, Vol. 3

(By way of setting this up, you should know that for some 20 years, I inspected merchant vessels for the Quarantine Division of the U.S. Public Health service, in all east coast ports from Port Canaveral, north to Georgetown, SC.) One hot summer day in the Port of Savannah, I was inspecting a chemical carrier. She was Bahamian flagged with an all Brit officer complement on board. When I arrived at the captain’s office, he and the chief steward were just finishing up business with a boarding rep from a ship chandler. It was, as it turned out, also “tea time.” Given that it was my last inspection of the day, I accepted the Captain’s invitation to take tea with him and his officers before dealing with the business at hand. We were soon joined by the chief mate and the chief engineer for the daily ritual. When the mess man arrived with the tray, the captain apologized profusely for having neither hot scones nor crumpets. It seemed that the cook had gone ashore for dental work. I graciously assured him that the tin of “biscuits” (Brit-speak for “cookies” – though “crackies” would be more accurate) would be just fine, all the while thinking how lucky I was not to have had to choose between the two theretofore never actually eyeballed treats. It being summer, the captain, who had no doubt been ashore earlier with the ship’s agent, was decked out in summer whites. Picture John Cleese, of Brit-com fame (Monty Python’s Flying Circus, Faultey Towers, etc.) in white shoes, white knee socks, white shorts, and white shirt with gold, four-striper shoulder boards. I mean, really picture John Cleese –as Basil Faultey. The captain, at about 6’4,” was a dead ringer. Even the accent was dead on. As we sat there talking about the best places to go on River Street, the world news headline du-jour, etc., my usual problem of holding in check my tendency to ape the accent when I’m talking to Brits was nothing compared to the effort to keep from goofing on how much the captain resembled Cleese in a skit. At one point, I imagined a stuffed, “late parrot” glued to his shoulder board and almost lost it. I got through tea all right, then performed the inspection without incident. When it came time to go ashore, the captain, a quite proper Brit, insisted upon escorting me personally from his office down to the gangway. I almost made it. Just as I reached the pivot plate at the top of the gangway, I turned to shake the captain’s hand and, as always, wish him and his crew a safe voyage. That’s when it just popped out. “You know, Captain, you really remind me a lot of my favorite British comedian.” “Oh, I say?” “Yes, John Cleese. I’m guessing you’ve heard that before, right?” “No – not really.” DEAD SILENCE. Long, straight faced, dead silence. Then (captain) – “Well- then – cheerio!” Debating whether to use the gangway or simply dive headfirst over the side, I shook his extended hand without further comment, then turned for the gangway. On the way down, when my shoulders were about level with the weather deck, I hazarded a glance to see if the captain still had that considerably-less-than-amused look upon his face. To my relief, amazement, and utter delight, he was high stepping across the deck in a perfect rendition of John Cleese’ famous “Ministry of Silly Walks” bit. He kept it up for the full fifty feet back to the door to the house where he disappeared without ever breaking character or looking back. Laughed so hard I nearly fell off of the gangway.