G’day, ‘Arry ‘ear.
I am Bushranger’s hairconditioning system. That’s air conditioning with a ‘h’. I ‘ave trouble with me haitches. I am one of the hunsung ’eros of this vessel. One of the most maligned parts. Loved and ‘ated by equal parts.
You ‘ave probably ‘eard about the ‘eat and ‘umidity on the Chesapeake. You might not ‘ave ‘eard about my job in keeping the crew comfortable, keeping their accommodation ‘alf way ‘abitable.
What ‘appens when we dock after a long passage and harduous docking procedure? “Put on the hair”, she cries. ‘E rushes to comply.
And that’s it! I go to work (actually there are two of us but we work as a team and the haft cabin unit let’s me do the talking – it has a lisp). We ‘uff and we puff to get the temperature down. What reward? Nothing! Hanxious gazes at the temperature and ‘umidity displays. “Is it working?”
They forget, this crew. I remember the Tennessee River in April. Sleet! What was the call back then? “Put on the hair!” And I’m expected to conjure up ‘eat from freezing cold.
But we do our bit, we hairconditioners. Don’t listen to that raucous dinghy ‘anging off the back, haccusing us of the easy hindoor life, or that grumpy stick-in-the mud, hanchor, ‘anging off the bow. We the hairconditioning department are the ‘ardest workers on this vessel with the least hacclaim – until now.
Signing off now
‘Arry, the hairconditioner
PS. I just ‘eard that the ‘olding tank might want a word soon. Wouldn’t ‘old your breath on that!
Such is Life!