Today... I woke up wearing a very short blue skirt stapled poorly over my fire-proof pants.

I wasn't sure exactly what sort of message Captain was trying to send me with this outfit

until Pilot arrived, riding on Captain's back and making a

"WHEEEEEE-eeeeeee-ieeeeeeeee-eeeee" sound.

Captain was performing several roles in this masquerade: the plane, the plane's engine, the navigator, the mechanic and base commander all at the same time. Pilot was just Pilot. He also held a papier-mache aeroplane in his hand.

"STEWARDESS SNIPPEE!" Captain boomed.

" YOU ARE REQUESTED ON FLIGHT DECK!"

"No. Too tired for your games," I slurred, and turned away, pretending to admire the desolate landscape before me.

I definitely did not want to board Captain's back, as, firstly, there was barely any room up there and, secondly, Pilot would most likely defend his air-space to the death and shove me off at the first available moment.

"STEWARDESS SNIPPEEE! YOUR INSUBORDINATE LATENESS WILL BE NOTED IN THE FLIGHT JOURNAL!" Captain boomed even louder. "DO YOU WANT TO BE KNOWN AS THE MOST TARDY? DO YOU?"

"Maybe I do," I responded as calmly as possible.

"IT SEEMS THAT THIS HAS BECOME A RESCUE SITUATION!" Captain grumbled briefly and then pointed in my direction. "SENIOR FLIGHT OFFICER! CONTAIN THE STEWARDESS! SHE HAS THE JUNGLE FEVER AND DOES NOT WISH TO LEAVE ZHE PARADISE ISLAND!"

Pilot, not expecting this command, simply spun his head back and forth, trying to figure out who was playing the senior flight officer.

"PILOT. CONTAIN THE INSUBORDINATE ONE," Captain sighed, once again pointing in my direction, this time more sternly.

Having no desire to be "contained", I jumped sideways, sliding down a pile of rubble.

"WHERES MAH PILLOW, SNIPPEH?!

DON'T FORGET ABOOT THE PEANUTZ!"

Pilot tumbled down right after me, catching only my boot. We formed an uneven sphere of kicking appendages and old trash that rolled down the vast garbage canyon, accumulating more rubbish along the way.

"MOOOOOOO0000000OOOORE VIGOR!" Captain shouted from above and then the deafening, rumbling garbage avalanche overcame us and smothered my senses.

. . .

I was lucky to survive the tumble with only a few bruises. Having scolded Captain and Pilot for their idiocy, I went back to the Post Office of Captania to get the rest of my supplies.

Life as a wasteland survivor is tough, especially when it comes to lugging it around on your back.

You'd think that Captain or Pilot would be a slight bit helpful in carrying things, but no. Captain refuses to carry anything heavy because:

"CARRYING STOLEN SUPPLIES IS MOST UNDIGNIFIED!"

and "THESE ARE YOUR BURDENS!" and Pilot refuses to do anything I ask because I am not Captain, AKA "FIRST LADY OF THE UNIVERSE"

I'm beginning to suspect that Pilot's juvenile behavior/overbearing idolization of Captain is just the tip of the iceberg of massive psychological trauma.

But, guess what?

I managed to construct a sled out of junk, so now I no longer have to carry all the things in a massive backpack that threatens to snap my spine in half.

Thus, a makeshift, slightly lopsided sled was my solution to the pressing problem of accumulating items that are most necessary to our survival.

Captain praised me for "MOST MARVELOUS TRIUMPH OF FESTIVELY-SLIPPY-LOCOMOTION-CARRIAGE" and declared me as "THE EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH"

...which has earned me nothing but Pilot's enmity.