Today we're loaded deep, alongside a really gaudily painted cruise ship. Graffiti-style hull murals for some tacky reason have become oh so de la mode for regular shore people.
This one today is particularly gaudy.
Cruise sbips generally don't have a goodnway for bunker vessels to moor alongside. There's never enough Panama Canal Chocks (recessed reinforced bitts in the hull to hang a hawser on, used also for Panama Canal transits, hence the name).
Today's ship was painted so eye-searingly chaotically, I couldn't see all the chocks at a distance, as some are painted over by the graffiti.
I had 2 inexperienced young deckands with me, both broccoli-headed Gen Z'ers. Nice kids, green. While I was talking with our two tugboats as we moved alongside, I was pretty frustrated about not being able to see the damn mooring points, and finally said something like 'Hey, we gotta get closer before I can figure out where to put her; this fuckin' paint is like Gay Camouflage.'
The tug captains laughed. The deckhands both got pie eyed, before studying their feet, visibly uncomfortable.
Now, my wife's gayest cousin is also the cousin I'm closest to. I really don't give a shit about what tickles anyone's pickle, but we have no sacred cows out here and everything is fair game for humor.
The kids will be fine. They're figuring it out. Maritime work isn't for the thin-skinned and this, along with not belching into the VHF microphone unless someone you like is talking, is all part of the process.
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