The Ship Chugs On
This one is from way back when, about six years ago now, when I was in an entirely different career and halfway around the world. On a certain class of military warship, there is a place. The bridge may be in control of where the ship goes, but Damage Control Central is in charge of how fast it is getting there and whether or not it arrives in one piece.
It’s run by a high-ranking officer from Reactor Department, Earl, and his two cronies, one that monitors the ship’s water usage and one that monitors the ship’s electrical usage—me. These three people can bring 97K+ tons of steel and sadness to a halt. Behind them are a small pile of engineering folk, literally the ship’s tech support branch.
People could call us and report a problem (from an out light to a fire), and between all of us in there, we had the knowledge, skill, authority, and political clout to get a response team out. A lot of people didn’t know what kind of authority we held, or exactly who they were talking to when they called down. This made for some very entertaining conversations.
One evening, the engineering folk get a call. One female sailor picks it up and naturally, we all listen in, because if it’s a fire or something, we all need to respond as rapidly as possible. From our POV, this is how the conversation goes from her side:
Engineer: Damage Control Center
Engineer: The heater doesn’t work?
Engineer: Oh, yeah, that’s normal.
Engineer: No, we can’t turn it up.
Engineer: What? No, we can’t replace it, we’re in the middle of the Persian Gulf, where are we going to get another one?
Engineer: Look, it works fine. Take shorter showers.
Engineer: Your division can put in a request for a bigger one when we get back to home port, but you’re not getting one now.
Engineer: Yeah, no, I’m not ordering one. Replacing those things is beyond the scope of what we’re allowed to do underway.
Engineer: Because policy.
Engineer: Okay. You do that. We’ll be waiting. Make sure you request permission to enter.
With that, she hangs up. Naturally, we’re all staring. She grins at us.
Engineer: Game faces on, this one is gonna be good. Sir, I am sorry in advance.
We sit back and put on our best game faces on and wait.
Not 15 minutes later, the door thuds open. In walks the hero of this little story, a very low-ranking punk who thinks he’s hot stuff because he does maintenance on airplanes instead of steam pipes. With him is his immediate supervisor, a gentleman of my rank, and their divisional officer, a wee young lieutenant.
The divisional officer is all fired up because how dare engineering not fix his guy’s problem. He makes a bee-line for the engineering folk. This path will, briefly, place him between my boss and a panel that, by the order of people with a rank I could never hope to achieve in my life, my boss is not allowed to be obscured from. They HAVE to be able to see it, at all times.
I wait until the merry little band is almost in front of my boss before I speak up.
Me: Sir, please go around, he needs to be able to see that panel.
Divisional Officer: I will walk where I darn well—
He stops. Because someone of approximately double his rank, four times his time-in-service, and significantly crankier is staring him down. All of the fire leaves him in an instant. Which, honestly, is exactly what I wanted. When high-ranking people get fired up, it’s usually for a good reason. When baby divisional officers get fired up, everyone in their general vicinity is stupider for witnessing their temper tantrum. They get much more done when they’re calm.
The low-ranking punk realizes that a Commander is sitting there and nearly poops himself. His immediate supervisor is completely oblivious. They walk back around our desks, not nearly as grudgingly as they could have, and take the slightly longer route to the engineering folk. Who are having the time of their lives, because the circus is well underway and they haven’t had to even do anything yet.
The engineer they were talking with spins around, her hands on the arms of her chair, a very pleasant, blank smile on her face.
Officer: Are you the one that won’t fix my guy’s showers?
Engineer: The showers aren’t broken, sir. Did he tell you what his complaint was?
The low-ranking punk nearly cringes out of his skin.
Punk: Well, the hot water heater in the shower head can’t keep up with the entire division when we all shower in the morning.
Engineer: Does it put out hot water at all?
Punk: Well, yeah, when we all get up it works just fine. But as everyone takes their showers, it gets colder and colder.
Engineer: Does it ever go completely cold?
Punk: No, but with a bigger heater, we could all take as long of showers as we wanted without it running out.
Water Control Guy (also in the room): Showers should be limited to five minutes, you’re wasting water.
Punk: Well, yeah, morning showers are pretty short, who wants to wake up early and shower? But when I take my second, longer shower in the evening, to relax after a long day of working—
At this point, some teeny tiny sense of self-preservation kicks in and he shuts up and looks around. He is in a room full of people who play the “food, shower, sleep—pick two” game on a daily basis. Every single person in this room, including his back-up, is staring at him with either full derision or outright hostility.
Except the engineer. She’s still smiling her blank, polite, “I have been in the retail trenches and am dead inside” smile. I may be in love.
Engineer: Sir, you can see why I denied his request. Supervisor, you may want to remind your guys that, despite being surrounded with water, there is a limit on how much fresh water we can make in a day and that long showers should be saved for in port. Was there anything else I can help you all with?
Officer: No, I think I’ve heard enough. You two, my office. Now.
They leave. The punk looks close to tears. The officer is full of now-justified wrath. The door shuts. All of us immediately put our heads on our desk and cry with laughter. Someone hands the engineer an IOU for drinks at the next port.
The engineer’s supervisor drafts an email to the ship’s mid-tier leadership that not waking up early enough to get a hot shower is not a reason to request a new hot water heater and that water on board is limited. No details are provided and everyone eagerly looks forward to the rumor mill as people try and figure out what spawned that particular reminder.
The engines turn. The ship chugs on.