Hurricane

The warnings were out. She was coming and it wasn't going to be pretty. It was blowing pretty hard already.

On Meadowlands Parkway, we were abandoning ship. Everyone said get out and so we were. The condos across the street were new but were right on the river. This building felt within the reach of the tide. Day as night had fallen, the street lights flickering in and out, fooled by their sensors.

Then someone mentioned the boat.

It sat on the trailer in the parking lot. We imagined it floating away, trailer and all. Nobody, but nobody was going to attempt to haul it somewhere safe now. But it was a damned good boat. What to do? Not much choice. Try to tie it down? Then someone said "How about the lobby?"

We looked at him or her like he or she was crazy and then we looked at the boat, the lobby, the boat, the lobby and each other. "Just maybe..." So the engineers and the environmentalists got together, for once, to solve a practical problem. And we had to do it fast. Did the boat and trailer fit in the lobby? More importantly, did it fit through the double doors? Would we have to take it off the trailer? How many of us would it take to lift it?

Someone unlocked it from its post and we pushed the trailer with the boat on it to the door as a batch of our baffled colleagues assembled. Mike, arms folded over his barrel chest weighed in. "Never going to make it." Tony, smoking, just shook his head. Jimmy said "Gee." The rest of us eyed the boat, the doors, the boat, the doors, the trailer, the boat, the doors.

Finally Chet Mattson showed us what leadership is.

He said, "What's this measuring shit? Ram the sucker home."

And we did.

The Boat That Was Rammed Home.