Beneath the surface 8

November 10th.

At seven thirty in the morning I stood on the dock gazing up at a pristine white ship. A man hung from a harness polishing a brass bell on the side of the bridge wing. The ship was a pure white, hotty amongst the world of cruise ships. She was graceful and exuded class. I instantly liked her. Already I was impressed by her curvature, her cleanliness and her elegant presence. The ship before me was the Sparkle Symmetry.
Upon arrival I spotted my first gravity defying bouffant. A masterpiece of hair arrangement, somewhat like a Mr whippy of hair perched on the scalp of a woman in her late seventies. It swirled in perfect gravity defying solidity. Beautiful… Well not really beautiful but definitively a point of interest amongst bouffant spotters.
My body jolted: I was back. Surely I should have been pleased but I had an unsettled feeling in my solar plexus. As much as the ship was beautiful, it was only a façade. What was inside her was entirely different. At that precise moment a metamorphosis began: I bid farewell to me, the civilian, and transformed into the uniformed member of crew in servitude. ‘The smile.’
The only barrier separating me from the ship was a large metal gate and security. The crew could not escape! That solitary security guard painstakingly checked the new luggage. Next to him numerous crew lined up like convicts. Each waited patiently, aware that as soon as they stepped on the ship they would instantly be expected to work.
Amy stood next to me watching the guard examine, socks, knickers, shoes - everything.
‘What’s he searching for?’ I asked.
‘Drugs and explosives,’ Amy responded flatly.
‘Standard crew luggage ? Unfortunately I forgot mine…’
She shook her head and smirked. ‘Don’t say that - they might arrest you on suspicion.’
She was right.
Once the security guard completed his task, each member of crew was expected to place their suit case in a large metal container with high walls. The action involved lifting the suitcase above their head. How was that healthy and safety? Imagine failing to turn up for work because you were crushed by your own suitcase! It was possible.
Two hours passed. The mass of crew remained in line, each aware time was dwindling before they began six to eight months of servitude. Many shifted anxiously. The work treadmill was waiting. Once the crew member stepped on the mill the maximum incline and highest speed buttons were both pressed simultaneously. That treadmill would continue between 12-15 hours per day, seven days per week for around six to eight months. The only time for recovery was when you were spat off the end. I shook my head, my survival technique was: sleep whenever you could even if it meant standing up!
In the mean time the security guard painstakingly searched. His method was specific, detailed and involved checking everything from knickers to pockets; pedantic to say the least but that was his job and he was doing it well. The crew watched, each willing him to go faster. It did not happen.
When it came to my turn I stood before him. He studied me. Did I look like a terrorist? I certainly didn’t have a beard, were there any signs that could implicate me?
‘Open the bag,’ he commanded.
I opened a pocket of my bag to reveal a mass of tampons… Always better to be safe than sorry.
‘What are those?’ he asked.
Vaginal incendiary devices?
‘Tampons,’ I replied.
‘You need that many?’ he asked with a serious tone.
How do you answer that? Unfortunately there is no opportunity for reuse or recycle.
‘Erm… yes.’
‘And the other bag?’ he asked.
‘Stinky shoes and some dirty knickers. Do you need to search them?’
He smirked but covered his mouth.
Oh God… What if I was a potential suspect for knicker terrorism. Miss Bliss and the dirty knickers that were a threat to national security.
‘Miss Bliss do you or do you not agree that your knickers are dangerous?’ My tired mind played out the court room scenario. I unconsciously shook my head - it was a horrible thought.
Once my mind was back in order I noticed his straight face had cracked.
‘I guess I win the award for most random contents of bags,’ I said.
‘Yes you do,’ he paused and studied my coat. ‘What’s in the pocket of the blazer?’
‘A mass of snotty tissues,’ I replied.
He studied me in awe/ repulsion. Why lie? What did he expect? A nice answer?
‘Could I have an escort to the ship,’ he called down his radio.
A moment later a fellow security guard arrived and made the crew line up. He led us single file towards the crew gangway where we had our bags x-rayed as we embarked.
One ship I joined a fellow crew member was pulled aside for attempting to smuggle a vibrator on board. In front of everyone the Ghurkha security waved the vibrator at her.
‘Is there potential for explosion?’ he demanded.
She smiled coyley, ’yes but not the way you think…’
She was then escorted to the Staff Captain’s office to explain the find.