“Yar,” the old sea dog said, moving a telescope away from his eye, “there be a mighty island coming fer us, maties.”
The crew squirmed. Feet shuffled and uncomfortable glances were exchanged. Whispers followed. The Captain noticed.
“What be ye whispering ’bout, ye scurvy sea rats?” The Captain asked. He turned to face his crew.
The first mate cleared his throat and spoke truth. “Sir, we just, the crew I mean, we want to talk to you in regard to your vernacular.”
The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Do ye now? And what about me words of choice has ye so bothered, First Mate Jenkins?”
“Well, and just to be frank here sir, please remember this is a constructive dialog that will help us all be better sailors and that is the real end goal here,” First Mate Jenkins attempted to set the tone of the conversation, “We feel your particular choice of words is a tad old fashioned and cliched for the modern industry that has cropped around the concept of a privateer.”
“Well, shiver me timbers you mutinous bilge rats! I’d be insulted if not for me wooden leg insulating me from emotional damage,” The Captain was horrified by his crew.
“Sir, I don’t even know how to respond to that so will ignore it. Is it possible to just speak as a typical ship’s captain in the 21st century?” The First Mate pleaded.
“Jeepers, Bob, you’re such a buzzkill. Go about your regular duties, crew. Know that if I see anyone playing Clash of Clans before the deck is clean, I will make you walk the plank. Cliche or not, I will throw you overboard. Dismissed.”
Thanks for reading!