ANCHORS AWAY!

Mom is in town today so we went to see the Yorktown after church. I was super excited because the last time I went to see the Yorktown I was in the seventh grade and we spent the night on the ship in those tiny three tiered bunks with 6 inches of space between your face and the bottom of the bed above you. So it was amazing, is what I'm trying to say.

Anyway, one of the things that somehow escaped my memory is that the ship is not air conditioned. In retrospect I guess it is sort of ridiculous for me to expect that they would even attempt to air condition an aircraft carrier with approximately 10open doors the size of drive-in movie screens lining the sides, but hey, it's Charleston--they make miracles happen with the A/C when it gets bad enough.

Well, no miracles today, apparently. On the open deck it actually wasn't too bad--there was a decent breeze coming in from the harbor and cool airplanes everywhere, so the heat wasn't really that noticeable. However, once we followed the signs downstairs for "tour 3" (out of 6), panic immediately began to set in. The humidity, already oppressive in open air, became immediately concentrated when experienced below deck, giving one the sensation of attempting to breathe underwater without the benefit of gills.

The tour was self guided, and the person in question was expected to navigate the ship by way of a million yellow arrows lining the floor of the passageways. This sounds like a system that any retard could follow, but apparently I'm not just ANY retard because I suddenly found myself in a room containing lots of kitchen-y looking things, staring through a huge pane of plate glass at the group of tourists on the other side. They looked surprised to see me there (probably since I wasn't supposed to be there). I backed out carefully and tried to find some yellow floor arrows, and finally after what I would estimate as around 5 hours later, I stumbled into the "women and african americans in the military" exhibit (I love how they group us together to save space). Once I made it to the deck above, I just stood there gasping for a second and scanning the floor for my mommy who was standing next to the navy flight simulator looking bored. She suggested we go tour the submarine. After a quick imaginary tour of the claustrophobic horrors that probably awaited me down there, I told her that I was just going to buy 20 ounces of cool Diet Coke for $1.75 and chill.

I can't wait to go back when my dad visits.