I'm typing this while waiting for a surveyor to finish his paperwork to document the volume of oil we loaded this evening. When he finishes, I can button up, call a tug, and we will sail out of this oil terminal to lie at a lay berth in Brooklyn to wait for the discharge orders to come in...
...once we're at the lay berth, I can call a taxi and go to the airport.
Remember Wile E. Coyote's rocket-powered rollerskates? I really, really want to strap a pair of those bad boys on the surveyor's ass and get him off my deck. Foom!
I'm looking forward to later on, despite the prospect of going through the rape-o-scan and possibly getting fingered by a 350lb woman in a too-small TSA uniform.
Ah well. Used to be you had to pay to get your bells jingled.
I'll check in at some point. It's sunny and 78 most days at home, so don't wait up.
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