Name Calling

‘When you talk to them about the mooring fees, I wouldn’t mention the fact that you’re changing her name’ said Nick, my sailing mentor and the friend whose house I was redo-ing in exchange for him buying me a boat, ‘they’re an odd bunch, sailors’.

But we knew this, right? I mean, in my 5 times sailing, I’d already committed to memory some of their quirks:

– No bananas
– No menstruating women
– No using your left hand unless your right hand is occupied
– No green plants
– No whistling
– No black traveling bags

… and the list goes on.

And even re-naming a boat being bad luck made sense – the stripping of it’s identity, disregard for it’s birth, more paperwork for the easily irritable Poseidon – but it was something that had to be done.

I wasn’t about to start my lifelong dream of having a sailboat of my own, one I could take on adventures and live on – to a vessel called ‘Elver’.

Horrible, right?

Elver.

Even in the English Accent it sounds, well, gross. No, not gross – stupid. Yes, that’s the word I’m looking for.

‘It has a great meaning’ said the man on the phone, the man who I would buy the boat from, the man who Christened her this title of ridiculousness, the man who heard my long exhale on the other line, ‘it’s the journey a baby eel takes up the water’.

Fuckery. That’s what this was – absolute fuckery. An uncomfortable name representing a slimy frightening sea creature of the deep now hiding behind the world sanction that it’s becoming extinct?

Bad luck be damned – I wasn’t going to live in a place called, or meaning, that.

So, the uncomfortable situation of letting Nick, and my few sailor friends, know of my plan.

None thought it a good idea, but they’re British and known for their uptightedness. I, however, am American – and we’re known for disregarding all rules and re-making them to suit ourselves.

Which I did.

Never mind the odd ceremonies listed online, the poems and gifts for the sea gods – the only thing I’ll take from hours of research is the fact that no two names should exist on the re-named yacht, which makes sense to me. Her transom wasn’t painted [and what painter in their right mind would?], which makes things much easier, and if I can acquire my college degree from a site called PhonyDiploma.com, then I think I’ll be able to procure online any new paperwork needed.

Basically, to hell with tradition – the Titanic [which left from the same port we will this weekend in bringing her back] had only one name, right? And I would think a happy boat is the most important thing. I mean, let’s say you were given the handle something ridiculous like…oh, let’s see: Keith – wait, no… Kenny. Let’s say you were given that name and on your 14th birthday, you were sold to a nicer family who thought to call you Alexander. You’d be happier, they’d probably not return you and everyone lives better, right?

Right.

So there you go – centuries of sailing customs completely disregarded by someone who’s never properly sailed himself.

It’ll be fine…

Right?

Aric S. Queen does a lot of things decent – but very few things well. He likes potatoes and doesn’t care much for tall people. He lives on a boat.