This is a story of how I found my mojo one stormy winter night.
Checking the clock for the up-teeth time that hour I slumped back down into my seat. My phone blinked 2:40 pm at me. I was one of the lucky ones – arriving at 12:23 for a 1pm ferry departure that was, unbeknownst to me, had cancelled. Others had been there since well before 8am, a few since dawn.
With the fierce storms that blew in this week it was the second time in a week that the Victoria to Vancouver ferry had cancelled – 18,800 tones and capable of carrying 470 vehicles, it was sailable in the 40 knot winds but docking it safely was another story.
About 15 university students had been in the batch of early arrivals, aiming to be back to their mid-morning classes. With plans foiled and tests missed they did what any other university student would do in their situation – hot-boxed the smoking lounge and lit up some joints. With the vending machines running low tensions grew as a rumor circulated of the 3:00 being cancelled, the weather not letting up for the 6:00 sailing either.
“Passenger in the red car in lane 31, please return to your vehicle.” We heard through the overhead speakers.
“Aggg!” She taunts us so!” cried the kids. “No departure announcement for us!” another cursed, putting he head back onto his pillow made from Biochemistry books.
Then, at 3:14 the phrase we had all been waiting for came. “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your vehicles, we hare having a 3:30 sailing.”
Cheers erupted from the hot-box, joints were extinguished and munchies finished. At 3:35 we departed, only to get stuck on the tip of the pier by the 40 knot winds. Letting the wind do the work the Captain let the ship slide on the last piling. Once the ships 18,800 tone center of mass moved past the final piling, we felt the ship pivot and then lurch forward as he gunned the engines. Finally, we sailed into the mist and ocean swells.
With a 5 foot rock I opted to endure the journey outside in the fresh air, or so I had hoped. “Got some weed?” a blond in a white pullover asked. I guess they were out. “No, all out” I replied. She must have found another supply because about 20 minutes later I saw most of the students cuddled together under the protection of an awning and windscreen. Passing a joint back and forth they were marveling at the calmness of the ocean. I looked up – 6 foot swells made calm by BC bud. So that’s the secret, I though.
Recounting this story to a friend she exclaimed “You got asked for pot! That is so cool! That’s a sign of respect! You have street mojo!”
"I have mojo! Does this negate one of my Symbols of my Age?" I wondered aloud as a warm feeling of recaptured youth spread through my body.
Up next: Not Cool Enough for a Threesome.
Unfortunately the glee of finding my Mojo was short lived.
How is that even possible? you are probably thinking. How could I have lost it again so quickly?
It will also be know as the post of "How I lost my mojo, the one I had just found".