Chapter 3: Crossing the Harbor.
I woke up at 8:02am while the party goers (that spent the night) on the boat next door were slowly being revived and assisted back to their cars, still talking too loudly.
On my shopping list I decided to add a camping toilet, one I could carry to the club to dump instead of having them pump out the tank on my boat. Driving a sailboat across this harbor was the one place I was most likely to damage the boat and someone else's, so a short run to the waste pumping station should not be taken lightly. Does that make me sound like a numbers geek and lawyer when I talked about risk and cost? My second career choice was to be an actuary.
Funny, I could do complex math in my head but I couldn't hit a ball with a bat or a blow a bubble with a chunk of Bazooka gum. I couldn't bowl or dance or pick out nice clothes, suits, ties, or even what sunglasses to buy. I was totally dependent on others when it came to decisions about fashion and style. That's a common problem for autistics, which was why living alone was problematic at times.
When I was a little kid it took me weeks to learn to balance on a bicycle, I couldn't even hit a ball on a T-Ball stand. I couldn't learn the piano, or play chords on an acoustic guitar. I'm kind of surprised we're allowed to drive.
At 9:00am I was in the men's room with five fellow mariners. We heard one of the pay bathrooms blast itself clean. It sounded like a large commercial dishwasher. Several of the guys in the room commented about the noise. One guy knocked on the door and shouted, "You okay in there?" and we all laughed again. It was actually a great group of guys in the bathroom that morning, it was just like college except everyone (except me) had grey hair, plugs, or a toupee. One thing I liked about the communal bathroom was most of the guys walked around in their underwear.
By 9:45am I was in the Rav4 heading to Target again then back to the marina. This time I purchased a two-wheel folding shopping basket for hauling stuff from the car to the boat or the boat to the laundromat. Before it got blazing hot I went for my daily run and hit the shower again on the way back. I was mastering the facilities and felt much better about the yachting lifestyle. What Tim said to me made sense, I really could live here. I got great cell signals and had fast wifi access so I could easily work from here as I could at the condo. I almost dreaded going home to my boxy little apartment, I knew I had to go home Tuesday evening, but today was Sunday July 4th!
One of my immediate concerns was if I sat at my dinette table and talked to clients on the cell could the neighbors hear what I was saying because if they could hear me there was no way I could work on the boat because many of my work conversations contained very private information from clients.
I borrowed the neighbor's vacuum cleaner and did all my floors and heard the steady stream of sand particles hit the inside of the hose and tank, just like he said. I ordered one of these things for myself but was shocked by the $650 price tag but when you got stuff for yachting the price always skyrocketed.
I also eyed ads for inflatable rubber dinghies and outboard motors, I think the one for Susan was either stolen or sold a while ago. There was a 900 watt microwave oven with a very small footprint that I ordered from Amazon for use in small campers. I also ordered lunch and dinner delivery, for lunch I got an Italian hoagie on Italian bread, delivery ASAP. 11:30am my food arrived and I sat in the partial shade on the back deck being very quiet. I think most of my neighbors were out doing stuff like playing golf or sightseeing with their guests from out of town. I put my dinner into the ice box.
While I was eating (on the back deck) my neighbors returned to their party boat and engaged me in a friendly conversation about the festivities last night, they wanted to apologize for the noise, but I assured them it was not a problem and was glad to see everyone had fun.
Since the subject had been raised I told them I was considering working a few days a month here but was curious if they could hear my voice from their boat. They agreed to the test so they sat down to listen. He sat on their cabin roof and she sat on the back deck. I left my hatches and cabin door wide open and pretended to talk at my normal volume on the cell, including laughing and sounding surprised by something my imaginary client said. I called the weather forecast line and played the Florida Marina forecast at full volume on my speaker phone. Back outside both said they heard me laugh but that was all. Success! I could work from the boat. I thanked them for their help.
I tried to briefly explain the reason for the test but they seemed to only be interested in helping the new handsome guy next door. Bill seemed complimented that I ordered the same vacuum cleaner as theirs.
At 2pm I drove back to Target and got a few swim suits, one of them stretchy nylon that was tight and revealing. I got a few nice tank tops to show off my firm upper body and naturally smooth chest. One of the tops I got was deliberately two sizes too large so it would hang loose and expose more flesh, the shoulder strap constantly sliding down my arm. I also got more cleaning supplies and learned they sold dry ice in ten pound blocks so I got two for the kitchen ice box and more ice cubes for my Yeti Tundra cooler. Before I left I picked out two Hawaiian print button-down shirts too. I also got some nice hangars and another pack of legal yellow note pads, because I'd definitely use them here, lawyers used tons of legal notepads. I grabbed stuff for cooking and for laundry day too.
The twenty pounds of ice cubes were poured into the Yeti, that lasted about four days, but dry ice in the ice box lasted almost a week, and with dry ice there'd be no waste water to pump from the bilge. Before I poured ice in the Yeti I realized I had too much food and threw away one of the gas station hoagies I got yesterday.
I half expect one of my idiot neighbors to tell me not to dump melted ice water from the cooler over the side because it might chill the Manatees and give them a cold.
After lunch I lifted all the floor panels to inspect the bilge and inspected the batteries under the captain's bunk and found two cables were loose but I had no tools, so I added that to my list as well as a battery tester and another battery charger. I also noticed the sewage tank was nearly full and the city water tank was nearly empty, so I decided to confront my anxiety and sail to the marina pier and get those taken care of.
I must confess my biggest sailboat fear so far was lifting open the primary bilge hatch which was in front of the kitchen counter and finding it was full of sea water and minutes away from oozing up through the cabin floor. But the bilge was bone dry from end to end. I had to lie on the floor and stick my head upside down below the floor to see the entire bilge and shine the flashlight around. After I got the floor panel back in place I got ready to motor across the harbor.
It took me almost one hour from start to finish and I was scared as hell of crashing into another boat! But it worked and nothing went wrong. The trick was to move very slowly. Thanks to the calm winds it was actually rather easy.
I had the 2-way marine radio in hand and said into it, 'This is sailboat Susan on Pier K moving slowly across the harbor to the marina then back to Pier K again.' Nobody responded but I'm sure a few heard me. I think I was supposed to say the license number from my boat but I forgot what it was.
If Bill had been here I would have invited him to ride along and supervise. On the way across the harbor I realized I had no idea if I even had enough battery power to sail half a mile or not. It would be bad if they all died halfway to their pier, but everything ran just fine. The voltage meter said 13.4 volts but it gave no indication how well charged the batteries were. Anyway, it all worked fine and I was empty and full in the right places now! And with 155 gallons of sewage gone the cabin floor felt level now too!
The guy that pumped out my tank told me the yacht club had announced they would soon start installing city water lines on piers and offer pump-out service on demand or by subscription. In my mind I estimated a 155 gallon waste tank equaled about 70 toilet flushes and some minor kitchen sink water. Dishwashing without hot water was one of the reasons why I decided to stick with paper plates and plastic eating utensils for a while. I had been carrying my cooking pans to the Men's bathroom to wash in the large sink, I thought was there for that purpose.
Since a lot of boats had no hot running water the yacht club had an outdoor kitchen sink for dish washing and hand cleaning things. That's what I'd use if I ever cooked food here, but for now I'm limited to microwave oven heating and using disposable stuff.
After that task I opened the other beer, a cold Coors which I poured into a nice tall glass. Sandra Peterson shouted from next door that they banned glass years ago, I should too. Glass and sailboats were a bad combination, I laughed and thanked her for the advice. So I poured my beer into a tall plastic glass and put the glass in the trash bag. I think what she meant was glasses on boats tended to fall and break, and people usually didn't wear shoes on boats, so glass was a bad idea. I think alcohol was a factor in getting class slivers in your feet too.
Seated at the table I went over my shopping list and took a few minutes to measure for curtains, but later on when I looked under the dinette seats I found the original curtains were stuffed in a plastic bag, so I took them to the laundromat along with my e-reader. When I got back 35 minutes later I immediately hung them back on the rods (still damp).
For dinner I ordered two pulled pork sandwiches on burger buns with BBQ sauce and two large tubs of coleslaw and extra paper towels. I used my cell to play an internet radio station I found called 'KQMQ' which was in Honolulu, Hawaii that played some really decent music. After an hour of that I figured out how to link it to the built-in stereo via Bluetooth to play it softly inside the cabin but not on the rear deck speakers. The cabin had nice car speakers in the ceiling and two more in the walls of the front bedroom. It was a Blaupunkt AM-FM car radio with a CD player, probably not the original radio.
Sunday evening by headband flashlight I used the floating ball battery tester to check the charge status of the deep cycle batteries and found they all badly needed water and charging so I added three gallons of distilled water to the list for tomorrow and lowered the bunk cover. Judging by the battery plates I'd say that new batteries were in my near future too. Next, I uncovered the rear (main) sail and pulled it all the way up and inspected it by flashlight, it looked old and slightly yellowed but not cracked. I lowered it and pulled the cover back on it and decided to check all of them tomorrow in the sunlight if the wind stayed calm.
I went to bed on my new sheets, pillows, and pillow cases. At home I had a queen size bed, here it was a twin size bunk that was almost too short, but for some reason the small rocking movement of the boat really helped me fall asleep and sleep all night. The captain's bunk was surrounded by wood on three sides, so it was like sleeping inside a beautiful wood casket that floated on the water. This boat had two clothes closets, one was beside the captain's bunk, the other was in the front bunk room. If I started living here I'd have to invent a place to hang my work suits, maybe above the sofa since I never used it anyway.
Monday July 5th.
At 8am I did my bathroom routine, shit-shower-shave. I avoided conversation with the other guys but started to see familiar faces. I saw Tim that morning, he said he hoped to see me at the bar last night. I told him I worked on the boat all day and would again today, lots of stuff to do to make it like home. When I'm around strangers I tended to keep my eyes on the floor but two of them that morning loudly welcomed me to their bathroom club.
So far I was expecting delivery of about fifteen boxes at the apartment next week. I had about thirty things on my list to get for the boat, and I needed to come up with a new name for her too. All the names I came up with so far were stupid, like Minnow2 or Lawyers Rock. So I decided to hold off with names until I got my creative brain out of my creative ass. But I started a list in the computer. I even searched online for boat names but nothing really looked appropriate. Sometimes all I came up with for names was concepts or rules, like no use of old TV show names (like: get smarter, three hour boat tours, or common animals like mice, rabbits, or dogs from TV).
I exchanged messages with the guy on Grindr again and sent him a shot of me in a swim suit in the far corner on the back deck, without a shirt on. In full sunshine the camera usually made me look more brown skinned than I looked in person. Most people assumed I'm Italian because of my olive complexion. If I spent time in the sun my nips got pretty dark. When I was a kid I avoided the sun so I looked Caucasian like all my friends. My scrotum was rather dark all the time. All that was from my father's mother, she was 100% Arizona Navajo. She died months before I was born so all I saw of her was in family photos.
I spent the rest of the day reading yesterday's newspaper. I decided this evening I would try out the five buck power-shower and see how it worked, see if it was worth five bucks.
I forced myself to 'use the toilet' that evening so my intestines would get in sync with trips to the men's room.
Then I took a five buck shower and shaved with a razor in front of the mirror, about the time I was halfway done shaving I noticed the countdown clock was blinking, so I grabbed my stuff and left before I finished shaving. I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped out into the men's room and pulled the door shut. About a minute later it beeped and showed it was self-cleaning on the display and the jets started and as it showered the entire inside of the 6'x6' fiberglass bathroom. The worst part was the toilet paper dispenser designed to keep the paper dry, made it hard to grab some paper without having to reach far up inside the dispenser. I noticed some guys brought their own TP with them in a Ziploc bag, which I thought was a good idea.
The instructions on the door of the pay bathroom said if you stayed past 15 minutes the electrical outlet and water would shut off, the door would unlock, all the mirror lights went out except one in the ceiling. When I first got inside I hung my towel on the handle outside so I could use the toilet for several minutes, then pay and start my shower. Knowing a timer was running I probably went faster than I needed to. The timer display was near the sink so I couldn't see it from the shower. Then I wondered if I could pay twice and get thirty minutes instead? The instructional sign didn't address that issue.
I spent the rest of Monday on the computer on my notes list and reviewing the list of stuff I had ordered to be delivered to my apartment downtown. My Target shopping list was already half a page long, things like wrenches and hand tools, more bed sheets, propane tanks for the stove, and more bathroom gear. And despite all my planning and shopping none of what I got so far related to actually sailing the boat. The thought of actually sailing her on Tampa Bay still caused me anxiety, I even had dreams about it mysteriously sinking at night while I was asleep on the front bunk.
I also spent a few hours stretched out on the back deck seats reading an ebook (on my Kindle) I liked called 'Our Cabin in the Hills.' It's about two guys from Ohio that fell in love, got married, built a home and a coffee shop then without warning the USA was attacked with nuke EMP weapons and the US went from 2017 to 1817 in one minute. This was the third time I read that ebook on my Kindle.
Monday afternoon I filled all the battery cells and found the charger was never turned on despite the boat being plugged in. It turned out the charging system was very complicated and I needed to hire a marine electrician to evaluate it and tell me how to make them charge by wind and solar.
Monday night I slept up front on the V-bunk, it was very nice with lots of room and a cool breeze on my upper body all night. I left the hatch wide open all night, it had a screen to keep the bugs and boat lizards out.
Tuesday was the same routine as Monday: read, relax, read, think, write notes, and spot clean the cabin interior. I got the impression the doctor hadn't actually sailed Susan in years but one of his kids had once or twice a year but for the past fifteen years she hadn't seen much action on the Gulf.
I sprayed all the cushions with Febreze on the undersides which really reduced the last traces of musty smell in the cabin.
The Petersons left yesterday afternoon along with most of the others on Pier K. I ran into Tim when I went to the bar to order lunch and we talked for a while, I changed my order to dine-in instead of carry-out.
We talked about work and some of what he said about private investigations started to sound familiar.
"Who do you work for?" I asked.
"I'm self employed but I do a lot of sleuthing for different companies and law firms." He answered.
"Like which ones?"
"Oh, I do work for two offices, Beckham and Rogers is the most well known." He rattled off the name of where I worked. Then it clicked in my head that I'd actually called him before about an investigation. He helped me get the specifics on the cotton farms in Georgia and how all of them used herbicides.
We both laughed loudly after we discovered we were coworkers! So now my secret really was out, but now I knew he was okay to trust. I'd talked to him on the phone several times and was always pleased with his work. Now I understood why his voice sounded familiar.
I ordered us a bottle of wine and some melted nachos to celebrate and we spent nearly three hours at the bar getting drunk and talking about past jobs. We had a fantastic time and it was sort of nice knowing I had a friend in the same marina!
Sooner or later I knew the big questions would emerge because he's a detective, he asked good questions for a living.
"You know Steve, I don't like rumors or not understanding stuff but I gotta ask a personal question if you don't mind." He asked and I shrugged my shoulders and smiled and stared at his hands. After a brief pause he softly spoke.
"I've heard rumors. They say you're eccentric and too quiet, I don't think anyone knows for sure but while they love your work almost none of them feel comfortable talking to you. Why is that?" He softly asked.
"I gotta say I appreciate your honesty, its okay to ask. When I was a kid I was diagnosed with autism, that's what people sensed when they spent time talking to me, but few people understand what that means." I replied quietly. Then I added it was something people gut sensed but seldom verbalized, when asked they simply said something quick and easy like, 'he's weird.'
"What does the diagnosis mean?" He asked.
"High functioning autism was defined in the 1950s in Germany by a child psychiatrist, it has a long list of common features. The thing about autism is if you meet one person with autism you only met example, everyone has it different regardless of what type they had. Autism is a neurological disorder that effects how people sensed the world around them; taste, hearing, smell, touch, and sight. It also affects balance and coordination, behavior and a huge list of other things. Heard enough yet?" I asked.
"I still don't really understand." He replied.
"When a child has regular autism their entire world is very overwhelming, so they learn to shut down to try to lessen the discomfort. Anything can be painful if done too much, so Autistics tend to try to become invisible hoping the world would just go away and leave them alone. Many with high functioning type struggle to do things, like writing, sports, ride a bicycle, talk to people, tell jokes and stories, and the list goes on. So as a way of protecting themselves over years they become isolated and seem to withdraw, but they easily make friends with other high functioning autism kids."
"Kids with high functioning type do better in school and meet most developmental milestones, but there were subjects I couldn't handle without extra help. I could not hit a ball with a bat, or skate, I could barely hold a pen and write but I could do algebra better than my math teacher."
I paused and looked at him, it seemed he was paying close attention. So I asked if he wanted me to go on and Tim said yes, but he wanted a concise summary. His request made me chuckle because Autism was too complex for a short explanation.
"The best way I can summarize high functioning type is no two people have it the same, I am extremely sensitive to specific senses. I am a total klutz, and I struggle in relationships because I tend to speak my mind because I am blind to most facial expressions and body language, and I have some weird movements I do with my hands. I do it because they make me feel better when the world around me is too loud and intense."
"Okay, I got it now, thanks. If I hear anyone mention it do you want me to say something?"
"They hired me knowing it, so it's not a secret, I put it on my resume. Just tell them he has autism, it's a protected disability, and he'll sue anyone else that violates his rights to equal treatment!" Then we both laughed because I said it with a fake British accent.
Then I briefly explained that when people saw kids with autism that were totally non-verbal and maybe couldn't even walk, lots of those kids have multiple medical problems, not just autism. They call it a spectrum because the way it looks can vary widely.
After a little time to ponder what I said he asked what things I avoided. I told him, "I won't go to movies, sports, or live shows. I avoid concerts because of the crowds and the volume, I avoid crowded places like airplanes and airports, malls, or standing in long lines. I don't like barbers because they can't keep their hands off me, and I don't like meeting strangers because I don't like shaking hands, but at work I have to do all that stuff."
After a few moments I told him, "All that stuff I said I avoid, all of it is related to sensory input." Then I stopped talking because I'm sure he needed to think about what I just said. Autistics tended to get into 'Little Professor Mode' where they talked endlessly when asked a simple question.
I paused for a little while then added, "Imagine there was an amplifier inserted inside your brain where impulses from all your senses got amplified way too high and the only way to turn it down was to avoid the world. That's what it's like to be autistic. When you see autistic kids making weird movements, most of that was them trying to compensate for being blasted by out of control sensory inputs."
We parted ways after a couple hours, my explanation permanently changed how he acted towards me. Tim asked if there was any advice I could give him for how to talk to autistics and I told him don't shake hands or touch them unless they start it. Avoid humor, hinting, innuendo, and double meanings. Say what you mean and don't pressure them to do things. Jokes were fine I could fake laugh quite well.
That was probably the best explanation I ever gave someone on the subject. But I hoped I answered his question. I felt we really connected, I hoped I turned him into ally and maybe an ally for all autistic people. I also hoped I didn't talk too long. One of the problems with autism was there were no short-simple explanations, lots more research needed to be done, like why were newly diagnosed high function types usually boys?
Contact the author: borischenaz gmail