2 guys at an isolated gas station in Marin, no car, canister in hand. They look like vacationing men on a misadventure, well dressed in sporty get-up, but at this point dazed and sunburned, à la Clint Eastwood in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. They give me the address of the closest marina, where their boat is in need of fuel.
Something little off about them—the car door gives them a bit of trouble—but I didn’t quite put my finger on it till one of them gets on the phone with his wife and plunges into a tale of mishaps, including a rogue wave knocking over the canister of fuel, but she apparently cuts him off in mid sentence, since he pauses, and then says, defensively:
“No honey, of course I am not drunk, we barely had a beer. We just had a little problem out on the ocean but now everything is great, we just need to get back to the boat to gas up, sail over to Berkeley, dock the boat, drive over the bridge and will be home in a jiffy” (he names a realistic time frame of 4 hours).
“Aaah, you guys are drunk!” I say, after he hangs up. “How did my instincts failed me on this one?”
“That's sort of the point of the fishing trip with a buddy. The fish and the beer. But don’t tell my wife.”
“I don’t think I have to” I say, suddenly noting a strong smell of diesel about the car.
“Do you boys have a cap on that canister?”
“it’s sleeping on the bottom of the ocean”
“Great", I am thinking, we have an open container of diesel fuel while coming down 80 miles an hour on an olympic sized hill squeezed between 2 giant SUVs driven by speeding Marin overachievers. I decide to abandon 101 and opt for the side roads.
“So, what exactly happened out on the ocean?”
“It was like that movie”
“Old Man and the Sea or The Perfect Storm?”
“Bit of both”, they say. They give me some detail, part fisherman’s tale—involving large fish, naturally— part a drinking story, also staring the oversized swell that arrived on the scene at the point when the boys were clearly not surprise-ready. But by now, as they claim, they are practically all sobered up, since there is nothing like crises on the open water to smack you back to reality. They are, however, dog tired, since they have been up since 5 am and lot has happened, and they both need to be in top shape for their corporate jobs tomorrow.
We find the boat at the end of the guest dock. I would accept a fish of gratitude they offer, except that would make picking up further passengers that afternoon tricky. They assured me all the beer on the boat was at that point all gone, and they were perfectly capable of steering the boat across the bay. Still, I don’t look back. I hear no crushing sounds.
Something little off about them—the car door gives them a bit of trouble—but I didn’t quite put my finger on it till one of them gets on the phone with his wife and plunges into a tale of mishaps, including a rogue wave knocking over the canister of fuel, but she apparently cuts him off in mid sentence, since he pauses, and then says, defensively:
“No honey, of course I am not drunk, we barely had a beer. We just had a little problem out on the ocean but now everything is great, we just need to get back to the boat to gas up, sail over to Berkeley, dock the boat, drive over the bridge and will be home in a jiffy” (he names a realistic time frame of 4 hours).
“Aaah, you guys are drunk!” I say, after he hangs up. “How did my instincts failed me on this one?”
“That's sort of the point of the fishing trip with a buddy. The fish and the beer. But don’t tell my wife.”
“I don’t think I have to” I say, suddenly noting a strong smell of diesel about the car.
“Do you boys have a cap on that canister?”
“it’s sleeping on the bottom of the ocean”
“Great", I am thinking, we have an open container of diesel fuel while coming down 80 miles an hour on an olympic sized hill squeezed between 2 giant SUVs driven by speeding Marin overachievers. I decide to abandon 101 and opt for the side roads.
“So, what exactly happened out on the ocean?”
“It was like that movie”
“Old Man and the Sea or The Perfect Storm?”
“Bit of both”, they say. They give me some detail, part fisherman’s tale—involving large fish, naturally— part a drinking story, also staring the oversized swell that arrived on the scene at the point when the boys were clearly not surprise-ready. But by now, as they claim, they are practically all sobered up, since there is nothing like crises on the open water to smack you back to reality. They are, however, dog tired, since they have been up since 5 am and lot has happened, and they both need to be in top shape for their corporate jobs tomorrow.
We find the boat at the end of the guest dock. I would accept a fish of gratitude they offer, except that would make picking up further passengers that afternoon tricky. They assured me all the beer on the boat was at that point all gone, and they were perfectly capable of steering the boat across the bay. Still, I don’t look back. I hear no crushing sounds.