Red Flag? This Sailor Just Asked Me Out Entirely in Nautical Semaphore
Steering clear of relationship red flags these days is nearly impossible.
And steering clear of red flags on open waters while a seafaring captain signals his romantic interests in semaphore—a nonverbal telegraphy system using flags held at various arm positions to convey specific words and letters as used by the Navy—has me up a creek without a paddle. (Proverbially, of course; I’m currently in the hull of a small fishing boat with no sight of shore while the waves are growing rocky.)
Look, buddy; I’ve seen every trick in the book. I know when I’m being hit on. Why else would a well-equipped maritime professional be seeking my attention? Oh, you saw the wind nearly capsize my boat, and now you’re striking while I’m vulnerable? Classic.
Is flag semaphore really the best way to court someone? I asked myself as the amorous fisherman continued waving his arms from across the harbor. As the weather turned to an all-out squall, I rolled my eyes. Men will literally display brightly colored squares in specific patterns instead of just asking a woman what she wants.
“THANK YOU FOR YOUR INTEREST, BUT I COULD REALLY USE SOME HELP RIGHT NOW!” I shouted through the storm. “DRINKS ANOTHER NIGHT?!” My focus had quickly shifted from flirtation to floatation, realizing no one mentioned anything about life rafts when I rented this boat from the picturesque marina a few hours ago, using only an email address and a valid form of ID.
But some guys just can’t take a hint. Ok, this is definitely a red flag, I thought. Wait, no, I’m seeing yellow on the flags as well. Typical dude! Using the most perceivable colors on the visible light spectrum to get a girl’s attention.
I’m told I then went into hypothermic shock. When I came to in the cozy cabin of this seaman’s fishing barge, he handed me a mug of hot tea and told me in a thick Portuguese accent that my boat broke in half and I almost didn’t make it. Well played, Romeo, but you’re gonna have to work a little harder than that. “My name is actually João,” he said.
And after all of that? He left me high and dry. No phone number, no nothing; just safely back on shore in a fresh set of clothes as he sailed off, no doubt looking to cast his net for other fish in the sea. (Mostly sardines, which I learned were abundant in that area.)
That being said, this little incident pales in comparison to the time that ski patrolman tried to pick me up on a mountain. No really; I was stuck in an embankment and he tried to physically pick me up to airlift me to safety. What a skeezball.
