Beneath the surface 9

Amy stood next to me. ‘I can’t wait to get onboard and see my boyfriend we are going to break the bed when we see each other.’
‘Is he really heavy?’ Or was it strange ship ritual for arrival?
She smiled, ‘no we haven’t seen each other for two months. We have some catching up to do.’
Lovely! Why do people feel the need to inform strangers of their sexual escapades?
Once inside the ship the crew were lined up against the wall in the crew corridor. We had to wait in line for the crew purser. The crew purser’s office was where we handed our passports - our freedom. There we were photographed, given a crew number, cabin key, handed in medicals and signed documents. A couple of days later we would receive a crew card.
While I waited in the corridor a took in the scenery, of lack of it. The stark corridor travelled the length of entire ship and appeared to go on forever. That corridor was the link to all areas. The floor was mid-grey, the walls off white and the crew space was illuminated by bright fluorescent tubing. Fire safety diagrams and muster station information decorated the walls. They reminded you of your duties and gave the subconscious reminder that you always had to be prepared for a disaster. It could happen at any time. The area was empty and impersonal.
Closer to the crew office crew boards listed crew activities and safety training. Times New Roman type on coloured paper was the extent of luxury. Everything was so stark and sterile in comparison to the exuberant luxury above. In truth the underbelly of the ship resembled a hospital or an asylum. It gave the clear message that you were worth nothing and deserved nothing. The extremes between the division was extreme to say the least. Polarities: glitz versus prisonesque. Maybe it was a purposeful psychological construction to remind crew of their servile role. Where they could observe the guest who wallowed in luxury. The crew could look in but never experience it- imagine being in a room full of chocolate and not be able to taste it. My beautiful ship was simply a veneer with a hollow interior. No-one would know that to look at her; her superficial beauty distracted from the truth- the stark emptiness that laid beneath the surface.
I glanced down the corridor, crew in a variety of uniform rushed back and forth. Most were in preparation for embarkation duty, when an influx of new guest stormed the ship- the cruise sausage factory. That day the crew suffered, it began at midnight the previous night when all the suitcases were moved into the loading bay in the crew area. Each case was stacked and thrown against the wall where the crew were sleeping. While this took place your bed shook until all the cases were stacked. Breakfast began at four for the early leavers and service throughout the day continued until eleven in the evening. The stewardesses clean and prepared rooms, while everyone else was allocated welcome duties. The guests never had a clue, it was a usual embarkation. Now imagine having to wear an exhausted smile from no sleep for the whole day. What’s more you were lucky to get an hours break.
While I stood in line for the crew office I received my first glances. I had forgotten the vulturous protocol and the new meat syndrome. By stepping on board I had become what was termed as ‘new meat.’ New meat is exactly what it says it is: you fresh meat which has not been tainted by the sexual escapades of the other crew. By being new you become a prize to be competed for. On the gangway your previous sexual is wiped clean and you become a ship virgin that everyone wants a piece of. You don’t have a torrid sexual history that can be tracked and remembered by everyone on board, nor have you been the focus of malicious gossip. That means you are now considered pure: a ship virgin and everyone wants a piece of it.
After I folded my arms I shuffled closer to Amy; numerous men came and kissed her, each surreptitiously checked me out. Each one sizing me for potential shag-ability. It was like watching starving dogs jostling for a meaty bone. It was something you learned to accept, but something you are very aware of. Some find it empowering, others find it degrading. I was ambivalent. It would take someone very special to capture my eye since I was still recovering from a fractured heart. It was either join the Foreign Legion or join a ship.
The crew line slowly diminished; it seemed that the Sparkle crew returned contract after contract. That was a rare thing within the cruising industry. Most ships had a constant turn over, maybe there was something special about the company. Why else would crew to keep returning? Admittedly it was a small company, and of all the companies I have previously worked for Sparkle was considered the best. What’s more it seemed rare for new people to join unless they worked in the shops or the photography department. Both the shops and the photography sections were concessions which meant they outside and outcast by the ‘Sparkle’ hierarchy. Of course being a concession made you the lowest of the low and you were treated as such.
Back in the line, waiting for the crew purser, Amy was kissed and cuddled by everyone who passed by. With every kiss she grew more and more excited; I was concerned she might unintentionally orgasm. It was obvious Sparkle Symmetry was her home and her life. The fact that she was so overwhelmed with joy to be back was touching. It was a good sign; maybe it would be okay.