From the safety and comfort of my office in Manhattan I began to send out e-mail after e-mail to boat captains. They went something like this:
Hi! We are super nice and super stupid and would you help us bring our boat up from North Carolina to New York? In our naivety we thought we could do it ourselves but we were incorrect. Also, there may be one or two things wrong with our boat but you don’t mind, do you? Also, also, we need it up in New York ASAP since we are going to be kicked out of our temporary housing and will be truly homeless post haste. (You read that right, The Commune is disbanding. It always had an expiration date on it, we just didn’t think we’d be there when it kicked in. More on that later.)
Strangely enough, we didn’t get a high response. I’d like to think the reason for that was that there was a storm a-comin’ and everyone who knew how to move boats owned a boat and was much more worried about getting their boat to safety than concerned with moving our boat North.
Right. So, I continued to send out e-mails and my Better Half continued to pump the locals for information. Did they know a boat captain? Would he/she be willing to bring up our boat? Could they start today?
One guy asked my Better Half if his wife (me) would mind if the boat captain was a college-aged girl and her friends. He quickly (and correctly) replied that I wouldn’t care as long as they knew how to sail and could bring it up. They fell through but, seriously, I wouldn’t have minded if they were Brazilian super model nudists if they would deliver our boat.
It also hurt our case that we were asking someone to sail the week before the Fourth Of July. Everyone wanted to see the fireworks and have BBQs on the beach and light sparklers and eat watermelon and drink beer until they saw double.
That’s cool. We’ll just sit on our respective islands (me, Manhattan; my Better Half, our floating home) and wait…