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So, it usually ends up being a jar of Grey Poupon. (Still waiting for
a Rolls  to pull up along side and ask for some mustard.....)


This is in response to  Bob who is waiting for the owner of a Rolls to roll 
down his window and ask for a jar of Grey Poupon.

A couple of winters ago I decided my sailing yacht would spend the summer in 
the Bermudas.  Bermuda is the top of a volcano in the Southwest North 
Atlantic Ocean. Ten days out of the Turks & Caicos Group, West Indies I made 
land fall on the Gibb Hill Light, Bermuda, cleared customs in St. George's, 
then motored round to dock at the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club in the inner 
harbor at Hamilton, the Capital.

A few days later I had just departed the dock outbound for some fishing when 
I noticed a LARGE motor yacht inbound through the rather narrow cut. As luck 
would have it we seemed destined to pass each other close aboard at the 
narrowest part of the channel between two verdant peaks.  As the behemoth 
grew closer I was able to make out a dashing mustached figure of a fellow at 
the helm on the flying bridge in full yachting regalia - navy blazer, white 
pants and buck shoes, epaulettes, cap with scrambled eggs and monocle 
complete with TWO bikini clad damsels, one hanging off of each arm.  

Well, we DID actually pass quite close aboard and as we came precisely abeam 
each other the skipper broke off his conversation with his guests long enough 
to hail me with, "I say old chap, have you a jar of Grey Poupon?" - to which 
the females giggled their approval.  I smiled and waved back and in that 
instant  the thought came to me that, buried in my galley, I DID actually 
have a jar of Grey Poupon!  Now my sailing yacht, "Joyous Isle" is very 
steady on her helm.  So, in the blink of an eye I let go of the wheel, raced 
down the companion way, through the saloon and into the galley,. Throwing 
open the condiment locker I wrestled the contents around at an insane pace 
until the little Grey bottle appeared.  Grabbing it, I galloped back on deck 
with the gate of a mounted cavalier.  

By then the motor yacht was well astern, her wake bubbling behind her and 
crew staring at me quizzically.  In a flash I braced myself and, with all of 
my might I pitched that jar of mustard.  When the skipper realized what was 
headed his way his smiling expression turned to horror.  He shook loose of 
his companions, muscles tensing. He jockeyed to port.  He jockeyed to 
starboard. He jockeyed fore and aft while in a long graceful arch the little 
Grey bottle wended it's way over the waves.

I really don't expect you to believe this.  I hardly believe it myself but in 
a sublime show of savoir-faire, landing on his well padded derriere, the 
skipper caught that bottle of mustard.  He just sat there staring at it in 
his hands for some time. Those two girls got so excited I thought they were 
going to jump overboard.  

A once in a lifetime experience.

Cpt. Stephen M. Albers        Email: stephen@xxxxxxxxxx
 3600 Pleasant Hollow CT. #71     Comupserve: 71144,35
 Memphis TN 38115-4355 USA          07/09/97 13:17 CDT
 901-365-4299 Phone/FAX    KeyServer: pgpkeys.mit.edu
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