Sink A Boat - Get a Check

It was cool and dark in the Watering Hole bar. Bluto, Ozzie, Medfly and Weasey had been here before; it was comfortable. So after the oil had been changed in Bluto’s Cutlass, the lawns had been mowed, the Boys were enjoying a few cold ones, well, maybe more than a few.
They had known each other since the fourth grade. They were telling the stories they had told many times before; when Bluto played the part of Buford Pusser, the hero of “Walking Tall,” saving Ozzie from bouncers at the Star Nights bar, or the time Weasey was misplaced in the in-field at the Daytona 500. They finally wound up with an all time favorite; when Ozzie, Bluto ate all the chicken while Medfly and Weasey were stranded in the middle of the lake on “The Boat.”
“You know we haven’t been on that boat in a long time, Medfly,” said Bluto.
He was leaning against the bar, one foot up on the rail. He was 6’3” and looked at the world through hazel eyes with clear, unfailing logic. It was too bad that his clear thinking was going to fail him that day. To say the man was big would be like saying a lake is slightly damp. He had been slim in his younger days; but after some guy tried to push him around at a party, he had subsequently discovered lifting weights. Now, as he said himself, he was 225 pounds of “twisted steel with sex appeal.” One day, Ozzie, his buddy and one of The Boys, looked at the heavily muscled man with the dark beard and said , “Man, you have a great big body and a little tiny head, just like Bluto.” The christening didn’t stop there. Ozzie was in construction and whenever he wanted something knocked down, he handed Bluto a sledgehammer and said, “Bluto, bash it.”
Ergo, Bluto the Basher.
“That’s because I don’t use it much any more,“ said Medfly. “It doesn’t lend itself much to boating.”
Medfly earned his moniker because he was one of many children. At one family reunion, unfortunately someone said, “Look! The Medflies are swarming.” As a member of the swarm, Ozzie dubbed him the Medfly. He was a small man of high courage and ideas, ideas to make easy money. One of them was the purchase of a fifteen-foot motorboat, one that lived up to the saying, “…a hole in the water, you pour money into.” Somehow, he had reasoned that he could use The Boat and when he sold it, he would make a killing. He always believed he would make a killing and somehow never did.
“I remember that Boat. It was too much work to put it in the water, too much work to paddle back home after it broke down, too much work to get it out of the water once we got back,” Weasey said.
The Boys said that Weasey suffered from ergophobia, “the fear or dread of work. Bluto found the word somewhere. They called him “Weasey” because he was always “weaseling” out of his share of whatever labor had to be done. Whenever they were on a job site, he’d carry one thing at a time and walk slowly, so as not to strain himself. Weasey had had a beard since he was in the seventh grade, a four o’clock shadow that arrived around two-thirty. He often wondered why he had a beard so early when he lost the hair on the top of his head at the same time. It was almost as if it was some kind of cruel joke. But it did come in handy when the Boys were underage and trying to buy beer.
“Have you insured that thing?” Ozzie asked.
Ozzie was dark and clever, a favorite with the ladies, at least he thought so. A lot of the ladies didn’t. Like Medfly, he was also known for schemes that meant trouble for all concerned. Now, his ideas, unlike Medfly’s, were not the next road to riches. They were supposed to be fun. Although he named almost all the boys, Ozzie had been Ozzie as long as anyone could remember. Ozzie and Medfly were an unholy alliance. When they started to plan together, it was a slippery slope to disaster. Bluto and Weasey knew it. Yet, in spite of that, somehow they often got entangled in the plots.
“Yep. It’s insured for twenty-five hundred dollars.” Medfly replied.
“You know… the Boat’s worth more sunk than it is afloat.” Ozzie said. A cunning smile appeared on Ozzie’s face. His eyes gleamed. “Remember the Norton 750 Atlas in California, Medfly, as in bike off-a-cliff-get-a-check?”
Bluto gave a shout of laughter. “I thought you said that the only ones that made any real money in that little maneuver were the two Mexicans who managed to climb back up the cliff with the bike engine tied around their waists!”
Clearly, it was an Ozzie-Medfly adventure that had gone somewhat awry. But, that’s another story.
Medfly’s face became thoughtful. “Yeah, but I did get a check.”
Weasey leaned forward on the bar to look at Medfly and groaned. “Here we go. I know that look,” he said. “It usually happens just before we end up doing something that takes effort and gets us into some kind of deep shit. Tell me you’re not planning something. It’s cool in here. I’ve just started a nice cold beer.” The more he looked at Medfly, the more he realized it was too late, the gears were already turning. He sighed. “Uh oh, here it comes,” he said.
When Medfly came up with a new and brilliant notion, a notion that he wanted the Boys to help with, he always started to talk really fast. As Bluto looked back on the speech years later, nothing much was very clear. All he heard was, “… sink boat… easy… beer… get check… beer… no problem… we’re in.. we’re out… beer.”
But he did remember the fatal words: “Sink the Boat… get a check.”
Before they knew it, with Bluto’s famous logic deserting him utterly, all four of the Boys were speeding toward the Astatula public boat ramp in Clyde C. Carpenter,s Architectural Hardware Consultants van (with mag wheels); the doomed Boat hitched behind them and the famous sledgehammer in the back of the van.
The mood in the van was jubilant and the beer was cold and flowing so even Weasey thought there might be an upside.
“You know, once you get that check, we could all go to Fort Lauderdale for the weekend and have a big time,” Ozzie said.
“Now why would I want to take my twenty-five hundred dollars and spend it on you in Fort Lauderdale. I can think of a lot better ways to spend it than to go away with three other guys for a weekend.” Medfly winked.
The plans for the money become more exotic and they’d settled on a big party, new wheels for Medfly’s car and maybe even a quick fishing trip to the Bahamas. It didn’t matter that the price tag for the plans were probably a good thousand dollars more than what he expected to get from the Boat’s demise.
Finally they arrived. Medfly carefully backed the Boat on its trailer close to the edge of the ramp. They tumbled out of the van and took a long, measured look at the sacrificial craft.
Solemnly, Ozzie went to the back of the van, got the sledgehammer and handed it to Bluto. “Bluto, bash it,” he said.
The big man rubbed his palms together and rolled his shoulders preparing for his first big blow, confident that he would only need one or two. He picked up the tool and swung it in a mighty stroke.
BOINNNNNNNNG! The hammer bounced off the hull with a force harder than the downward swing. Bluto vibrated like Wily Coyote after the failure of one of his ACME experiments. He almost vibrated off the ramp into the water. There was not a mark on the Boat.
“Pretty hard stuff,” he said and wound up again.
About an hour later, much to Weasey’s disgust, the sledgehammer had been handed around and they’d all taken turns hammering the fiberglass. The vessel’s hull remained intact with nothing more than a slight crinkling on the surface, evidence of their efforts to penetrate it.
Stymied, the four boat assassins retired to the back of the van to cool their parched throats following their exertions.
Medfly started talking fast again. “Uh oh,” said Weasey.
“Listen… swim… boat…plug… sink… check… beer… swim back… job done… easy… beer.”
Bluto looked at Medfly, his logic finally returning in full force.
“I’m not swimming anywhere. My job is done – see you when you get back.” Bluto leaned back in the van and put his hands behind his head. He was known for holding his ground, once he’d made up his mind, no matter how fast Medfly talked. Weasey heaved a sigh of relief. Swimming was almost as high as work on his list of least-favorite things to do. He knew he had dodged a bullet since Bluto wasn’t going. Weasey sat beside Bluto in the back of the van and quickly took up an identical position.
“Have a nice dip!” he said.
Ozzie said, “Don’t worry Medfly. I’ll go with you. You boys hold the fort ‘till we get back and don’t drink all the beer.”
Ozzie and Medfly took off their shirts and shoes. With some effort, the Boat was lowered down the ramp and into the water. They hopped in and no surprise, the Boat continued to resist them and refused to start.
With a sigh, Bluto, the only good mechanic among them, got up to help start the engine. Weasey smiled, relaxed and took another sip of beer.
Some time later, with much dirt and grease coating Bluto, and following a flow of invectives and curses, the uncooperative craft sputtered to life. Ozzie and Medfly secured some liquid refreshment and set off to the middle of lake to “pull the plug.”
From their positions at the boat ramp, Bluto and Weasey heard a great deal of giggling wafting back from the water. It was getting late in the day and the sunlight backlit the condemned Boat and her passengers with an orange glow. After what looked to Bluto like some fumbling, the would be saboteurs jumped into the water, still giggling. They watched the Boat do nothing. It wasn’t listing; it wasn’t drifting; it did nothing. In fact, it did less than Weasey on a bad day.
“The Boat that will not be beat,” Bluto said. He and Weasey collapsed in hysterical laughter as they watched the continuing spectacle.
Just as the swimmers began to head back to it to see what was wrong, the Boat started to slide into the water; the stern disappearing. In seconds, it was perfectly perpendicular to the surface of the lake. It slid straight down and suddenly stopped. A full three feet of the bow stuck straight up out of the water into the air. As the sun continued to set, the silhouette was stark evidence that the Boat still refused to surrender. Ozzie and Medfly lingered in the water in the forlorn hope that it might give way.
Ozzie swam back. He was choking and laughing so hard he was almost drowning. Medfly followed slowly. They got out of the water, Ozzie still coughing, laughing and spitting up lake water. Medfly said, “Well, that didn’t work exactly as I thought it would.” Ozzie fell to the ground, his guffaws ringing through the Boat ramp parking lot.
“Well, at least we didn’t run out of beer.” Bluto said.
The following day, Medfly reported the terrible news of the loss of the boat to his insurance company. The agent promised faithfully that he would verify the claim and the “check” would be processed as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long before Medfly received a fateful call.
“Sir, “ the agent said. His voice was high and slightly squeaky.
“All your payments appear to be in order; received on time; no late charges.”
Medfly could feel himself getting richer. “Yes,” he said. “I like to be responsible with these things.”
“There seems to be a problem though.” The agent paused.
“A problem?” Medfly asked. The warmth that had begun to spread, cooled suddenly.
“Your boat was over-insured. It was only worth $700.00 not $2500.00. However, we would be happy to send you a check for that as soon as we verify that it is a complete loss.”
“But I paid one thousand dollars for that Boat and another eight hundred this year alone to insure it. If I take the settlement, I’m out eleven hundred dollars.” Medfly sputtered.
“Perhaps you should find out if you can salvage it and at least get some more use out of it,” the agent answered calmly.
“Use out of it!” Medfly took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll call you back and let you know what I am going to do. Thanks for the information.” He hung up the phone without hearing the calm reply of, “Certainly, sir.”
“This plan is really not working out the way I thought it would,” he grumbled to himself.
Then the phone rang again. “Hello,” Medfly said.
“Uh yessir. “ The voice was nasal with a deep Florida twang. “Yessir. Ma name’s Bubba from the Astatula Boat Marina.” His voice rose at the end of the sentence as though he was asking a question. “I got y’all’s boat from the channel. Yep… it was sticking up right there. Towed it to the marina, Ah did. Got it started for ya, too.”
“Oh,” said Medfly, thinking that he wasn’t going to get a check at all.
“Uh, yessir. Well, it seems y’all owe me a bit of money for the tow and for the fixin’ the boat and all. Found y’all’s name from the registration.”
“Whatya mean… had to tow it. I didn’t ask you to tow it or fix it.” Medfly was incensed. Someone wanted him to write a check!
“Hadda to tow it – blocking the channel as it was. Marine patrol called me hisself. Thought y’all’d want it runnin’. Put in a new plug for ya too. Y’all’s was missin,. Strange thing, it sinkin’ straight up like ‘at.” The voice sounded puzzled.
“Thing is, sir, y’all owe me three hunnerd dollars.”
Medfly wrote a check.
Days later, an envelope arrived in the mail. It was from the Florida Marine Patrol. It was a fine for five hundred dollars for the “deliberate obstruction of the channel.”
Medfly wrote a check.
The Boat had its revenge.
The next Saturday, in the cool darkness of the Watering Hole, Medfly trudged up to the bar. The Boys were there; Bluto leaning back in the stool; Ozzie and Weasey with their elbows on the bar.
“So, rich man,” Bluto asked. “You buying?”
“Nope. Damn Boat.” Medfly said.

It took a lot of persuasion, cajoling and the lubrication of the gentle brew for The Boys to discover the terrible truth. There would be no wheels for Medfly’s car and no exotic vacation.
From its promising beginning, “Sink a Boat – get a check, the caper became “Sink a Boat – write a check.” They had learned a valuable lesson that day on the lake. Never sink a fifteen-foot boat in twelve feet of water.