I tried to keep 34 low key. I didn’t mention it to anyone. Somehow they knew, perhaps from my passport. No one really said anything until lunch. We were eating at a Japanese place. I stepped across the way to buy some treats for the boys at the bakeshop, not really intending to state the reason. When I returned, I was presented with a special dish, the Fruits of the Looms Salad. Don’t ask why in the world it was called that; many things get lost in translation out here. I had been craving fresh greens and salads on the crossing, so this is what the boys opted to order.
The salad was tasty, but the best part by far was the singing. Here I am trying to be low profile about the day (no one wants to make the birthday boy take the hatches off the poopie tank, and I, as the new guy, am not looking for special treatment), and I turn around to find the entire Filipino staff massed behind me to sing happy birthday. Imagine the Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra scene in Christmas Story and you will get a good idea. The rendition was so outstandingly bad that they stopped in the middle, started over, got to the middle again, and pretty much gave up. As lunch continued, we could hear them in the back practicing for the next time some dirty white dude came in for a birthday. Each of them individually came up to me afterwards and said, “Happy Birthday, sir.” It was very touching and most memorable.
Then I went back to the boat and took the hatches off the poopie tanks.
