The following is my account of what went down aboard the Hyak ferry’s 7:20 a.m. sailing from Bremerton to Seattle:7:34 a.m.: After a few minutes of stretching and a quick trip to the head, I took my almost-usual seat in the Hyak’s second-floor seating section on the opposite end as the dining room. I faced the door — which was open — and enjoyed the cool sea breeze for seven or eight minutes.7:42 a.m.ish: A woman sitting in the center section, to my right, gets up, obviously about to shut the door. We make eye contact, say a few things before words are spoken, and I start the conversation: “Seriously?” She gets up to close the door. She explains that she’s cold. I explain that there are hundreds of seats on the ferry that aren’t close to the door. She leaves it open. I go back to reading my book. I fight the urge to put on my sweatshirt for a few minutes until I wear it on my lap like an old lady before sheepishly putting it on, still enjoying the fresh air.7:50 a.m.ish: A woman in heels comes walking down the aisle next to me and closes the door. The guy sitting next to the adjacent door immediately opens his. A few women on his side of the room squawk a little. He puts it out there: “I was here first.” Besides, he goes on, “I’m not the only one who wants the door open,” looking straight at me. I chime in, “There are 2,000 seats on this ferry and only 25 of them are next to the door.”7:54 a.m.ish: Another woman — one of the squawkers — gets up, closes the door, looks the dude in the eye and says “Majority rules.” Dude responds: “Fuck the majority,” and opens the door back up. Half the room lets out a collective “Oh, what the hell …” grumble. An older, wiser man than myself cuts through the clutter. Please excuse me while I paraphrase/selectively quote his address to the room: “Let’s solve this like civilized people. Let’s take a vote. All in favor of keeping the door open, raise your hand.” One hand went up, and it was mine. When a dozen or so hands went up against me, I let out a good-natured “Fair enough,” and went back to my book. The other guy by the door wasn’t done. I missed most of the exchange that went down between he and the squawkers, but everyone in the room heard him say: “Yeah, but you’re a bitch!”Another guy got up and got in guy #1’s face, and quietly addressed him as “Son…” which even I thought was strange. Guy #1 listened for a little while and then said, “Don’t call me son,” and his voice started to crack. “I’m not your son.” A few minutes later guy #1 got up and went outside.The door stayed shut. It got hot. I took off my sweatshirt.