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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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