Midnight At The Blue Light Lounge

I ran into an old shipmate last week...he called me out of the blue. Unintentionally. Seems he has a voice-activated cell phone that, while expensive, can't differentiate between the commands, "Call Kurt," and "Call Curt." So, Matt called me with a pretty detailed question about how to fix a commercial refrigeration unit he was working on.

I told him I'd do everything I could to help, but since I don't know anything about refrigeration, my advice might not be so helpful. He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Well, maybe we should just forget about the ice maker, then, and go get a cup of coffee."

Matt's not easily fazed.

So over coffee, we got to reminiscing about our time aboard USS COWPENS, and had quite a few laughs about some of the stuff we had to deal with there.

One of the other chiefs had nicknamed our Combat Information Center the "Blue Light Lounge", because it was lit with blue lights when we were underway, and generally, when you went inside, you'd find a bunch of guys slumped in their seats like Nicholas Cage about to get kicked out of his last bar in "Leaving Las Vegas." (No one was drunk, of course, but for the most part, we were bored.)

I should make it clear that boredom in the Blue Light Lounge was a desirable thing. When we weren't bored there, it meant someone was in serious danger.

We often went to great lengths to overcome the boredom. On one particular midwatch, one of our young sailors turned to his shipmate at the console next to him and said (over the intercom, for nearly everyone to hear), "I bet you wouldn't dare me to get naked."

"When?"

"Now."

It's important to recognize that sailors will rise to any challenge, no matter how stupid. "I bet you wouldn't," us the usual start for a stupid challenge.

"Oh, yeah? I bet you wouldn't get naked in here, right now!"

So, the intrepid young sailor threw off his clothes, and sat back down at his console, dressed only in his boots and socks. He proceeded to immerse himself in the duties of his watch, as though he were, well, actually clothed. (I should note that the temperature in the Blue Light Lounge was kept in the low 60s, and most of us wore jackets for our 5 or 7 hour watches.)

Some time, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes went by, and the Watch Officer, the only one among us not on the intercom, happened to walk by and notice that something was amiss. He stood slack-jawed for a moment, then boomed, "Awww, Christ! Put your clothes back on, Petty Officer Heine!"

I've been chuckling about that for thirteen years.