People are Funny

September 11, 2025

He looked…disappointed.

When Mark, the pilot on our bush plane excursion out of Ketchikan, asked for a volunteer to man the co-pilot seat next to him in his 1956 DHC-2 Otter and I was the only one to raise my hand, he looked like the captain of a kids’ pick-up basketball team when, picking players, is saddled with the dweeb who can’t dribble.

Cathy thinks it was the fact we were from California. I think it was my hat.

Cathy’s theory is based on Mark’s expression when, during the obligatory “Where you all from?” session on the dock, we cheerfully said “California” and he gave us a decidedly uncheerful “Yeah, that figures” look.

My theory is Mark, and most folks we meet, do not care for the sentiment on my hat regarding our Doofus in Chief’s “Gulf of America.” My hat says, “THE GULF OF MEXICO; STAY SALTY AND RESIST.”

There is the possibility that our pilot Mark’s less than enthusiastic response to my offer to assist might have been caused by my own giddy enthusiasm.  

Maybe it was when I reassured him that he needn’t worry because I’ve spent hours at home on Microsoft’s Flight Simulator 24 and was ready to take the stick should he be incapacitated. That didn’t get the laugh I was after.

That was probably it. Too chipper Rob. A true bush pilot must be focused and steely eyed. So, I eased up on my levity yolk and tried by my demeanor to let him know he wouldn’t regret his choice. 

It was not warm and fuzzy on the flight deck. More like the view outside.  Chilly.

But an hour later, by the time I helped ease the Otter onto the waters of the Tongas Narrows, Mark seemed to warm. Cathy says I have that effect on people.

I’m not so sure. Might be my imagination; it’s hard to read the signs. But I’m beginning to think your average Alaskan thinks we liberals are losers. Not sure why I say that.  Might have been this friendly sign on a door we passed on the Creek Walk in Ketchikan.

Or this one worn by a hefty passenger at dinner the other night who said grace so loud tha it was not lost on anyone anywhere on the Lido deck that he was hard at work securing the good Lord’s blessing on our behalf.

The waitress at lunch might have added to my skepticism.

Cathy and I decided to “go local” and find a diner your true Ketchikanians frequent. And we did.  The Pioneer Café.

We split a very nice club sandwich, but there was a frosty feel in the air. It reminded me of the time my son Sam visited a pub in Limerick where it seemed an IRA meeting was taking place and the barkeep told him, “Alright lad, one pint and you be on your way.”

When I went to make my obligatory  pit stop and Cathy went to pay the check, the waitress was beyond rude to Cathy. Standing not a few feet away, looking down at the counter, knowing Cathy was waiting at the register to pay the check, not looking up for even a moment, forcing Cath to clear her throat to get her attention, then deliberately avoiding even a stab at even a token apology.

Maybe it was the fact a woman was paying the bill. Maybe it was a bit of cruise ship resentment. Maybe it was the way we dress. Hell, maybe she’s a Canadian and has every reason to be pissed at every American. But she was  nastier than Ilie Nastase toward the line judge.

You must remember that Ketchikan is the “Salmon Capitol of the World.” It says so right on the sign.

And everyone encouraged us to walk along the beautiful stream where the salmon spawn. Sadly, we arrived at the Capitol at the end of  spawning season and the stream was strewn with dead fish. My Parky’s is sometimes handy as, usually, I can’t smell a damn thing, but even I could smell dead fish. The stream bed was a soggy morgue.

Even more troubling were those poor salmon in the last desperate stage of trying to get home.  You might say this is “nature” and we shouldn’t superimpose our own sentiments. You’re of course right. Still, for a tender hearted animal lover like Cathy, it was upsetting.

So, it was against this backdrop that we hoofed it back to the ship. It was 3:30 and we were setting sail for Juneau. We trudged up the gang plank, plopped down in our cabin, and remembered that High Tea began at 3:00. My feet were sore and our spirits were lagging but the thought of a scone or two was too much for me to resist. 

So off to the Queens Room we raced. Little did we know that this wave of cranky curmudgeons was about to crest in the form a woman named Chitzel.

That’s her. The gal next to Cathy.

The smirk on Cathy’s face is because I asked her to pose so that I might sneak a surreptitious shot of the Roman Greco grump pot. 

Maybe 5’1”. Probably packing a brawny 150. Built like a middle linebacker  from the fifties with a flattop, a square jaw and rock hard calves. She had the look of a warden in a woman’s military penal colony or that Russian guy Sllvester Stalone fought in Rocky IV. I think his name was Ivan Drago.

She wore her naval uniform with a near toxic level of starch. She chose to individualize her look with big diamond stud earrings and all black leather high top sneakers. Her accent was difficult to pinpoint but it had a very eastern block sound. Maybe Austrian or Polish.

Faced, like Rocky, with a stone faced adversary I perused the High Tea menu to prep for her arrival. When she cooly presented the tray, Cathy demurely selected one tiny finger sandwich, the Ham with Grain Mustard Mayo on Wonderbread White, and politely  declined anything further.

I went bold.

Chitzel, let’s start with the  Coronation Chicken served  open face  on a white bloomer from the Savoury side, and from the Sweet side, let’s go with…oh I don’t know…the Salted Caramel Craquelin Choux looks good. How’s the Apricot Pistachio Verrine this year? And we’ll go with a scone chaser with strawberry jam and cream.

I think it was my Parisian accented proper pronunciation of Craquelin Choux that brought a hint of a smile to the East German swimmer. And when I asked her if it was poor form to have both my mini jar and Cathy’s mini jar of jam on my plate when they were taken away, she broke out into a delightful laugh.

Suddenly, she was our best friend. Smiling, laughing, encouraging me to have all the jam I wanted when next we came for tea. She was, by far, the friendliest crew member we have encountered.

Just look at Cathy’s face. She should have a thought bubble that says, “What am I going to do with you?”

People are funny, aren’t they? Sometimes, they’ll surprise you.