Fifteen Minutes Early

Friday. Kept count today, for the captain, who likes a tally. Every crew that turned up a quarter of an hour early walked into the shanty calm. Every crew that ran in at the last second walked in arguing about where they had parked.

Fifteen minutes is all it takes. Phones in the lockers, a quick briefing, a moment to look at each other and decide who is in charge. Then sixty minutes in the hut with the captain’s sails getting closer, then a photo and a chat afterwards. About an hour and a half all up, and not a minute of it wasted on car parks.

I hold the door for the early ones and give them a look that says, you will be fine. The scar makes the look hard to read. Some of them think it means the opposite. They are fine anyway.

Late crews do not get the sea wound back. The sails come in when they come in. But the early ones start their hour already a crew, and that is half the treasure.

The captain arrived at his own ship eight minutes late today. Nobody briefed him. He walked into the hold and asked who all these people were.