To most people, mechanical items are just inanimate objects. There to make life easier.
I know better. There have been quite a number of mechanical objects sent to this planet with the express purpose of pissing me off. You may recall the movie Love Bug, when the mechanic suddenly realises that his little VW Beetle, “Herby” has a personality? I can sympathise with that.
Ladies and gentlemen let me introduce you to some of the inanimate objects that have been sent to try my patience – the ones that have been possessed by aliens or even worse.
The most memorable and spectacular would have to be the hydraulic drive unit in a racing yacht on which I crewed for a couple of years in the
The drive unit weighed nearly as much as the moon and sounded like Black Sabbath played at 180 decibels and twice the normal speed. It was less efficient than a gang of Northland road workers and pushed the boat about the same speed as they move back to the job after a tea break.
The crowning glory was …. it was also completely unreliable. What that means is it was capable of suddenly splitting in half (while it was not being used I might add) and dumping gallons of stinking hydraulic oil into the bilge during a particularly rough ocean race when we already had a foot of water sloshing around down there.
It was also capable of instantly failing as we pulled into the berth at 5 knots. In the latter instance we had to politely remind the two blokes who were planning to stop this 46 footer by shoving against its bow – that they would be dead within seconds if they didn’t get the fing hell out of the way very pronto-ish. Yes we hit the marina; yes the boat rode up onto the pontoon nearly to the keel before sliding back. Yes we enjoyed the look of horror on the blokes’ faces as they realised how close they came to becoming roadkill.
It hated us all, that unit.
That same boat had “tacking” bunks, held up by blocks and tackle. They were fine with one person in them but on the odd occasion when a member of the crew was able to convince someone of the opposite sex to try them out, the blocks had a nasty habit of slipping a few inches and the bunk would drop suddenly. Depending on what you were doing at the time this could be enormously exciting .. or bloody terrifying. A broken penis is not a good look for a macho ocean racing bloke.
We decided to pull all the squabs off them – they were securely lashed all the way round but when we got them off we found a stash of porno mags beneath. The publication named “Dog 2” was voted by the crew to be the most amusing. It was printed in German but we were able to work out the general plot by way of the many photos. From that day anyone on the crew who stuffed up was called “Otto” for the day.
We put the mags back beneath when we re-lashed all the squabs in place, for someone else’s “enjoyment” at some time in the future.
The very nastiest piece of gear I ever experienced was an ancient Johnson 4hp outboard motor. I’m sure it was designed by the Armenian apprentice on a day when he was badly hungover and had caught his girlfriend in bed with his best mate (former) the night before.
It had a tilt release that was located at the back of the outboard, about one thumb-width below the exhaust pipe. Exhaust burns were therefore extremely common. Because it hated being used, it would frequently die.
To get at any of the internals the cowling had to be removed. It had a large screw on the top dead centre of the cowling which appeared to be what you undid to get the cowling off. Wrong. That screw held in place the 14 miles of tightly wound spring steel comprising the recoil starter mechanism. Undoing the nut would result in a dull “twang” and signal at least one whole day of frustrating hard work to wind it all back.
To get the cowling off you had to turn the outboard upside down and remove four tiny little nuts hidden way down in the bowels of the engine. I ended up making a special tool to get the things out – normal spanners and sockets would not go near them.
Have you ever tried to hold a 4hp auxiliary outboard upside down while you work deep inside its innards? I’m sure the thing was turned on by the excessive use of bad language. I was pleased to see it depart my life forever during a garage sale for the price of a box of Steinies.
Which brings me to the canopy on my last boat. A perfect example of the highest price guaranteeing that the product has been made by a mentally disabled dwarf.
It had a habit of allowing water straight through it, and thick drops of condensation would greet you in the morning if it was left up over night. The first time you went over a wave it would rain heavily inside the canopy.
It was also too short to stand under. Despite being low, it had no clear screen so unless you sat hunched up double your view was similar to being in a coal mine when the lights have gone out. Very safe.
Its favourite expression of hatred towards me was, when driving standing up through the rolled up front end, the forward stay would belt me on the back of my neck. It liked to do this often. It did this until the cheap brass domes furnished by the dwarf started parting company and rendered the canopy pretty much useless.
I was a happy man when the thing shook loose while towing and flogged itself into a hundred shards of expensive canvas. At least I got my own back, just for once, on a piece of possessed marine equipment.
All I can say is – be thankful that trailer boats don’t carry dunnies – the old plastic bucket has to try pretty hard to work up a hatred of human beings – even when they are doing horrible things into it.
Possessed marine toilets. There’s a whole column on that subject alone.
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