An officer and two deckhands showed up to moor us to their ship. The mooring line we put up was really heavy and wet, a struggle for 2 small Filipino deckhands to drag 40 feet straight up to their chocks. The Indian or Pakistani officer just stood and yelled at them for not working faster. The deckhand who was throwing the heaving line down to us was an artist. He threw the line to me directly to me safely, 3 feet to my side, so I could shuffle over, snatch the monkey's fist out of the air, and tie it off to the eye of our line for them to haul up. The officer, like a dew claw, like tits on a tree, utterly useless, continued to complain, although quieter, so I couldn't hear him anymore. Twice the deckhand stopped what he was doing to move a pace away from the officer, who was crowding him, so he could sidearm throw the monkey fist without striking the officer.
On the 4th line, after moving a pace away to make his throw, the officer again moved too close to the deckhand. Sadly, he didn't get hit by the thrown monkey's fist, but the heaving line caught on the handrail, causing the line to stop. Physics being what it is, the monkey's fist accelerated in the tighter arc, swung back, and struck the officer directly in the genitals. He didn't make a peep as he collapsed.
Lowlight: Our washing machine broke. We're gonna be hand-washing clothes for a bit. Gonna smell magical, like feet and onions in the quarters in a few days.