As I open my book to chapter 34, The Cabin Table (after reading and learning more information on whales than I ever wanted or expected), I thought to myself, “Here we go again, an overdescriptive nonsensical chapter of the dining arrangements on the Pequod.” I was wrong. I don’t like being wrong, but this was a rare occasion.

“Back when I was in the Navy…” Yes, it’s story time. On a navy ship, enlisted and officers are separated when it comes to meal hours. The officers dine in a more ceremonious manner and with luxurious dining utensils and china. I use the word luxurious lightly, but when you’re an enlisted person eating off a plastic tray that has separate compartments for your entrees and sides, the thought of having a ceramic soup bowl does feel a tad opulent. In the officer’s ward room, the lower-ranking person may sit at the table without asking if they are the first to arrive. If there’s a higher-ranking person at that table and a lower-ranking person arrives, they must receive permission to sit by that higher-ranking official. If the lower-ranking person were to finish their meal first, they must ask the highest-ranking individual there to be excused. If the highest ranking person arrives (the captain), they have a designated chair they sit in, and the atmosphere in the room immediately becomes erect with utmost posture and well-behaved manners that a southern mother would even appreciate. While reading this chapter I could understand and feel the intense aura and presence that Ahab is giving off.

“But ere stepping into the cabin doorway below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, and, then, independent, hilarious little Flask enters King Ahab’s presence, in the character of Abjectus, or the Slave.” The family table is the American symbol of open conversation, where a group gathers to just “let it all out.” Ahab is borne out by his actions. He is there to do a job and not there to be social or experience joy. The last joy he had was in his tobacco pipe that he threw out to sea because even that was too much of a conundrum for his monomania. Ahab has such power in his silence that it’s deafening to the crew around him. Ahab is a master of his ship, and his leadership and implicit power are not once reinforced. It is known without a shadow of a doubt that the standard Ahab has set up. Ahab is not there to run a successful crew and ship; he already has well-trained personnel to do that for him. Ahabs’ internal strife is what keeps him going.

Back to my Navy story, sometimes, and this isn’t often allowed, some Navy officers would slip down to the mess decks, where we enlisted peasants eat, to enjoy a meal. They, too, would rather be peeling the eggshell of a hard-boiled egg instead of walking on one. In the mess decks, just like the harpooners, is where the heart of the ship is. This is the area where all those petty social games are played, and a little bit of stress and anxiety can somehow vanish for a quarter of an hour. Just like in the Pequod, this is where cultures come together or clash, but lessons are learned, friendships are formed, and values are established. That’s one of the beauties of being a sailor. If I had a ship, I would title her USS Carrabba’s because when you’re here, you’re family.

p.s. I know that last line was cheesy, but I couldn’t “pasta” up the opportunity.

p.s.s. and yes I did catch that grape directly in my mouth. Fruits must be washed before ingesting.