Mail on the Boat

In order for this story to make sense, you have to remember what life was like in the early 90’s, before cell phones and internet access were common. Heck, there was still a waiting list to get a regular phone line in the barracks, and the Navy wanted us to have those (it made it easier to call us back in when something broke at two in the AM). Another thing we did without is a mail box – if you were single like me, you got your mail delivered to the boat. That meant everything funneled through the Navy admin system, adding about two weeks to the process.

For the first few years on the boat this was a non-issue, as I never got mail. In fact, my room mates and I were the least mail-getting people in history; the one time I got a Christmas card, the yeo-chief delivered it personally.

But all that changed when one of my room mates got engaged. He started getting mail almost daily, and not just bills and magazines. She was sending him these heavily perfumed letters you could smell coming down the passageway long before you could see them, and he took great joy in the fact he was getting more mail in a week than I saw all year. Being a competitive sort, I rose to the challenge.

The first thing I did was check out the classified section in the back of Navy Times. I got a book of stamps, and every ad that said “send for free info” I replied to. One of those ads was along the lines of “hot exotic women want you” (yes, in Navy Times – they know their audience), so of course I replied to that one as well.

It turned out they were a penpal club; for $5 you got a catalog of girls’ addresses in various countries, including a photo (usually too blurry to make much out) and short bio. Most were either in the south Pacific or in eastern Europe. You could also submit your own photo and address (for an additional $10), which I ended up doing. That was the real goldmine.

About three months after I sent in my address, the letters started showing up. LOTS of them. Sometimes ten or more a day. I dutifully answered every one, though most relationships didn’t last more than a few letters. Even so, one of the cool things is that virtually every one sent me a photo, so I soon had a wall covered with girls’ photos. That didn't last long; my room mates made me take them down, as they seemed to have a negative effect if they brought their girlfriends by.

I have to say I won the Battle of the Mail – not only was I getting more of those sweet perfumed letters than anyone else, but I didn’t have to marry any of them like he did. It was a lot of fun while it lasted, but eventually keeping up with several different conversations (and having to wait three weeks for a response) made it feel more like work. But I will say that getting to know all those European (and Australian) women kind of spoiled me; it was a long time before I’d even consider dating an American girl.