Spy Ship?

On the way to the Navy Exchange, as I walked briskly in my just-brushed navy blues, polished belt buckle, and buffed shoes, a car screeched to a halt on the gravel shoulder eight feet to my left, skidding as it did so. When I hesitated and turned to see what all the noise was, a very red-faced, fat man with lots of stripes on his arms, got out and started screaming at me over the top of his car, full-bore, his arms waving frantically. On my innocent walk to the Exchange, this man was going ape-shit. My immediate question to myself was, "What is that fat asshole yappin' about?" The red-faced, fat guy, a chief, was telling me that Navy Blues were not the Uniform of the Day. It was too warm and humid for it, but I just was unaware of the requirement. I had this wild idea that people might use their intelligence, wore what was decent looking, and you were good to go. For me, it was a short walk to the NAVEX and it meant I did not have to change into other clothes. I had spent the last five months in Pensacola during the summer, from May through October. The Uniform of the Day was either Navy white uniform OR Navy white, short-sleeved shirt with white trousers, or our work uniform, a blue chambray shirt and dungarees. It never changed. Before that, I had been at Great Lakes, on Lake Michigan, just north of Waukegan, Illinois. I was there from the last two days of February to the first week of May. During that time, the Uniform of the Day was Navy Blues. It never changed. The news of the Uniform of the Day was quite a surprise to me, as I incorrectly believed that the traditional Navy-blue uniform was acceptable all year long, everywhere. Apparently not. I said, "I just got here from home, Chief. I don't know what the Uniform of the Day is." "It's the whites, not the blues, Goddammit! It's your duty to get that straight before you step out of the barracks!" the Chief hollered. His face got redder every second. I kept my normally sarcastic lip buttoned. "Okay, Chief, I'll go back to the barracks and change right away. Really sorry!" I said, lying. "See that you do!" the Chief said, as he got back into his car and squealed out, spraying gravel thirty feet behind him. Perhaps he would search for another hapless newbie who was endangering the free world by wearing the wrong uniform. He could easily see that I had my Seaman Apprentice stripes, so he knew I was new to the Navy. Instead of being instructive, he just let rip with a series of cusses and bellowing. I'll bet he kicked puppies, too.