Navy Story: Dreaming of A Certain Redhead and Mangoes

Severe boredom can drive a man to “moronicly” sad lengths. I learned this when I was in the Navy, especially on deployment.

I believe that it had to be 2003ish, when we still had security restrictions, that severe boredom drove me towards dumber heights.

Our ship had pulled into the former Rodman Naval Station in Panama. We weren’t allowed to leave the base and we found ourselves milling about. We were warned to not go anywhere. I think that we were only allowed to use the pay phone and buy some trinkets from someone that knew how to shark a buck out of sailors.

(Noted that other sailors had gotten drunk a few years ago and broke into some old buildings that were part of Rodman Naval Station’s firefighting training area. The Panamanians shook down the ship’s captain for repairs to disused, boarded up buildings that the Panamanian naval service didn’t need and couldn’t use to make money off of cruise ships).

I spent a couple of bucks for some stupid crap, namely one of my favorite things, a Panamanian tax license plate, which used to adorn the front of a few of my vehicles.

I enjoyed the time standing around and not working. I got to soak up some sun and talk to some folks, ask how certain projects were going. The phone booth was near the old base’s chow hall. The area was slightly shaded by a huge tree, which my wilder friend from Texas noticed housed some huge mangoes.

I saw this after he pointed it out. Someone else we know was trying to jump at one of the mangoes. We didn’t close but it was easier when teaming up with someone. I put the Texan on my shoulders and he grabbed one or two out of the tree.

I laughed like a little kid. The mangoes were huge but not 100% ripe. They were juicy and fragrant. The coloration was decent, way different than a grocery store at home.

I bit into one. It was delicious. I made a mess and my buddy enjoyed his too. A more established senior enlisted sailor pointed out the tree’s roots. I saw the roots. They were big and capable of tripping a dude. The established sailor pointed out that they were growing into the solid waste outfall of the old chow hall.

Yep, shit pipe. I couldn’t smell it but it had been a few years since that place was used. My buddy had launched his mango.

I finished my mango and promised that I wouldn’t eat anymore shit pipe mangoes.

An enterprising person is probably picking those mangoes right now and selling them along the Pan American Highway.