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“Oh, are you sure that you want to work on the boat?” he responded with a devilish grin.Taken aback by his evil little grin, I inquired, “What sort of work do you have in mind? You aren’t performing satanic rituals out there are you?”Grandpa started laughing hysterically at my last question, and I quickly did too when I realized that he was just messing with me. When our fit of laughter slowed, he stated, “I’ve been thinking about hiring a deckhand to help out on our cruises, but I need someone of the proper persuasion. I also need someone that can keep their damn mouth shut about what we do out there. I think that you’ll be the perfect test case since you fit the bill in both concerns.”Seeing that he was quite serious about this now, I probed, “What kind of money are we talking about?”“Let’s see, the cruises last about twelve hours and you’re getting about ten bucks an hour now, so let’s say two hundred for the day, plus tips,” he replied.“Tips?” I asked.“You know, for getting beers,. He doubted, though, that any of those sights had caused such commotion: shouting, laughter, shrieks, and screams, fainting from some of the women. The thang's head could've fit in a combat helmet, its twenty-two-inch length throbbing with menacing intent. The French Quarter revelers parted before him, and Dave saw a red-eyed drunk salute him and keel to the concrete. A carriage horse reared up, pawing the air, its own equipment puny in comparison to the thang. Shouts and screams followed him down Bourbon Street. Two tall, big-boned women in glittery dresses yelled, "Glory be!" and "Lord I'm havin' a heart attack!" Dave had staggered several paces beyond them when he realized they were men dressed as women. A group of people who wore white makeup and frightwigs began to chase him along the street, and whether they were men or women Dave didn't know. He gripped the thang, ruddering it in the direction he needed to go, and he prayed he could get to his hotel before ... well, just.
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