January 2020
Monday morning. I hate Monday mornings, especially this semester. I am teaching computer science courses at the local university, and some pervert in the scheduling department wanted to inflict maximum torment on me by scheduling my first class at 8:00, at one end of the campus, and the next class at 9:00, at the opposite end of the campus. So, every Monday, I have to run from the first class to the next, and when it is dark and the temperature is –25, like it is today, it is no fun at all. When I finally get to my office, I collapse in my chair and stare at nothing in particular. On the wall above my desk, there is a lovely poster showing a beautiful, warm beach with crystal-clear water and palm trees in the background. Wouldn’t it be nice to be there, to sit on the warm sand and look at the ocean?
Suddenly, I see a figure on the poster walking towards me. It is a strange creature with a wooden leg and is limping on crutches and looks like a pirate.
"Hello, I was wondering if we would ever meet again."
Obviously, he knows me, but I do not know him (the typical situation, considering that I am a professor). However, he does not look like one of my students.
"Don’t you remember me?" continues the creature. "I am John Silver from Treasure Island, by Louis Stevenson. We were great friends when you were a kid, and you were reading the book secretly in bed under your blanket because your mom said that you should sleep.
I remembered that, but there was something wrong.
"You are a character from a book, and I am real. Somehow, this does not fit together."
"Yes, it does. You are now also a character from a book, but not from this one. We will select a different book. The one about the famous British pirate Sir Francis Drake. You always wanted to be pirate so, now, here is your chance. Come with me."
"I cannot," I replied. "I have a wife, children and a job right here. I cannot just leave."
"You will have a wife, children and job in about 400 years in Canada. Now you are here, and there are not many employment opportunities apart from piracy. So, do not invent excuses, and come with me."
I had no choice. I had to follow him. He led me to a large fire pit where a bunch of drunken pirates roasted a pig. Somebody gave me a mug of rum and a piece of partially cooked meat. The rum was burning my throat, and I was wondering how my delicate stomach would respond. It was getting dark. A prostitute offered me her services, but she asked for two shillings in advance, which I did not have.
"Can I pay by credit card?" I asked.
"Leave out your stupid jokes!" the woman yelled and then left.
In the morning, the hot sun woke me up. I had a tremendous headache and felt like vomiting. "This new career does not seem to be starting all that well," I thought as I dragged myself back to the fire pit. The pirates were warming up a big pot of rum, but that was the last thing I wanted.
"Where is my nice breakfast at home with a cup of tea and a sandwich? Here I can only crunch hard old ship’s biscuits and drink rum, which I hate," I lamented.
John, who also was not in his best form, came to me and said that we must go to the captain. Inland, there were some wooden shacks, and one of them had a sign: "Francis Drake, Captain." We went in, the captain looked at John, and asked, "Who is the guy you’ve brought with you?"
"He is my old friend, he always wanted to be a pirate, and he wants to join us."
The captain looked at me and said, "For a pirate, you are little bit old. What have you been doing up ‘til now?"
"I was programming computers, if you don’t mind."
"Leave out your stupid jokes!" he yelled.
This was the second time somebody told me that. Perhaps that is their favourite saying here.
"It is obvious you are pretty useless," continued the captain. "Therefore, you will wash the deck and clean the latrines. Get out of here!"
We left the shack and staggered to the port in the suffocating heat. My head was aching more and more, and I could hardly walk. After what seemed like a never-ending journey, we came to some kind of sailboat, which looked more like a shipwreck than a pirate vessel. We walked on deck, and John talked to one scary-looking pirate. The man looked at me, gave me a bucket and a brush, ordered me to scrub the deck, and left. I asked John if the captain was the real Sir Francis Drake and, if so, why did he not have his title displayed on the shack we had just visited?
"He will become 'Sir' Francis Drake after three years, when we have returned to England, and he has paid the English queen."
Three years! I was horrified. Three years of this? Then I remembered from history that things would get even worse. Along the west coast of South America, we would attack Spanish towns, and on the Pacific Ocean, we would sink Spanish ships. This was a nightmare. I wanted to wake up from it, and be back in my good, old, snowy Canada.
It was a nightmare, and I did wake up from it. I was still sitting in my chair in my office, looking at the poster, but it did not look all that inviting anymore. Maybe I do not want to be a pirate after all. I went to the cafeteria and got myself a large cup of coffee to get me through the rest of the day.