Gold diggers ahoy!
Up in the gallery I wrote my diary and glanced about. Something quite fascinating caught my eye: a pair of gold diggers. The reality of gold diggers had never crossed my mind until that evening when two implant-clad women in their mid-forties turned up with particularly elderly husbands. Both women dripped gold and diamonds as they supported their husbands who appeared to be in their late eighties. My first naïve belief was that maybe they were their fathers but jovial genital cupping dispersed that thought. Unless there was more to it…
As with all things I had to figure it out. How did it work? Did they share a bed? (Each couple - not all of them). They all seemed to be having a good time, but where was the love? Did they grow to love each other? Did gold diggers simply service the old chaps until they died? Did they increase the servicing to make them die? Was there such a thing as malicious death by sex? I have known of men having heart attacks whilst in the act of rumpus pumpus. I remembered on a previous ship one reached orgasm and died during release. His wife was left with a corpse collapsed on top of her. How awful! Death and the orgasm face. I wondered if doctors knew instantly because of the facial expression. I know that is a dark subject but questions like that should always be answered!
Anyway the body remained in the morgue for five days because we were making a trans-Atlantic crossing. The strangest things happened at sea.What's more it was always horrible to hear the buzz of the morgue, knowing there was a body inside.
I was consumed by the thought of gold diggers. If (and I am being very very naïve here) everyone had a soul mate - what happened to the gold digger and their partner? Were they a gold trader? How did love work with them? How could a person really offer themselves to some old chap for the sake of money? Humanity amazed me - there was always something new and bizarre to comprehend. I could never understand the choices people made. I guessed the thought of living in luxury and having all your needs taken care of was quite a motivation. At that moment there was an increased motivation for me. Maybe I should search for a rich husband. No. I couldn’t live with myself - or him. I couldn’t bear not being in love with the person and the thought of intimacy… I would have to knock myself out. Naïve, romantic or just stupid?
I looked around the gallery and lecture theatre; there seemed to be a common theme: the majority of men were old and not what I would class as attractive. Although most had an attractive, well kept wife. That then lead me to the question: did unattractive men aspire to have money to increase their mating rights? What’s more most motivation originated from sexual motivation. So to attract the best mate in our society did a male only establish his hierarchy /alpha-malism through wealth? My mind was consumed. The three wealthy men I dated were wealthy to compensate for their small appendage. If that was the case did having a small dick motivate a man to get rich? Was he over compensating for inadequacy? Did all rich men have relatively small penises? Was I working on a ship serving small dicked men? I wondered if a survey had ever been made of penis size in relation to wealth. Inch per pound or dollar ratio. You could put it on a pivot table and only image the graph. One of my friends once said, ‘if the world was ruled by men with big dicks it would be a much more relaxed place. There would be no war...’
‘That would suggest that women could not rule,’ I responded.
‘Ah, I had forgotten to bring women into the equation…’ he replied.
The dripping of diamonds and gold over the women was mesmerising. It seemed there was some kind of extreme diamond-bling competition going on. Obviously it was formal night and that enabled a display of wealth competition. Were they displaying for themselves or others? The irony was there was a gemstone and gold fest taking place yet I had overheard a penthouse guest say, ‘darling we can’t afford that,’ talking about a fifty dollar portrait. Maybe their wealth was just an act, but if that was the case how did they afford one thousand dollars per day for a cabin?
After the second sitting numerous drunk guests stumbled and rebounded off furniture and walls from the dinning room. The atrium was like a human crash test derby as everyone attempted to grab anything they could to stop themselves falling over. What I found wonderful was with all the diamonds, the tuxedos and evening dresses the blue sea sickness stood out. I can dress beautifully but I can not be sick! I have always wondered how the wrist bands worked. A pressure point on the wrist was depressed (meaning presed in and not emotionally upset) and that somehow distracted the inner ear. So what made no sense to me was how seasickness and vomit actually helped a person. It seemed quite pointless. Was it a distraction from the motion?
Anyway we finally packed up the studios. Of course another set of guests noticed the lights had come down. They had had potentially five hours to have a portrait.
‘Honey I want a picture!’ she said a white haired woman with a slur. She repeated her self, this time waving her arms. The arm motion was a big mistake!
Jose turned slowly and gazed deep into her eye. The look was dark and the sniper was back. ‘No,’ he said slowly, gauging whether she would remember.
She frowned and studied him, had anyone ever said no to her? She seemed puzzled and considered testing him. The silence spanned the atrium, Jose was not going to play nice. He wanted off the ship and if she so much as said anything she was going to get it. The old woman sensed something and shifted, ‘oh darling there will be other formal nights!’ she said. ‘And you missed out,’ she said.
Jose silently turned back to arranging the chairs and said nothing. He paused studying the chair. Did he want to pick it up and throw it at her?
Marrissa stood shaking her head, ‘these guests expect everything - no?’
Jose glanced at her, he had won a small battle and the look in his eyes revealed a hint of joy.
Marrissa returned to packing things up, ‘disaster. These people disaster!’
She caught me smirking and paused, her English entertained me. Her sweetness combined with interesting word combinations made her fascinating. After the first few days we were managing to communicate, I had adjusted my vocabulary to make my wording simplier. It was not something I was terribly excited about but her language was improving daily. Admittedly I wished I could speak Spanish, but I could not. I had a respect for her courage to work in an environment where she was not completely sure of the language. Brave and persevering.
For the evening’s finale there was an interesting moment to the sounds of a lone pianist. The nutty old dancer was back in full force. In the atrium, next a waterfall adorned with glass and lights, the elderly lady danced waving her scarf. It was no average dance either- she had pulled out all the stops for a drunken flamenco. It seemed she had reached the point in being inebriated where she had convinced her self that she was the best dancer in the whole world. The arm waving, finger clicking and side jumps were creative. The stamping, clapping, and the ‘olays’ were attention grabbing. Although there was one thing that was astounding: spinning whilst on a moving ship. A couple of times I almost covered my eyes - she was precariously close to going for a swim. Just when you thought she had had it another little jump took her back to safety. I was transfixed, half willing her to fall in, half willing her to stop. The song came to the end, the old dear was exhausted. Some of the other guests clapped and she took her leave. Eccentricity on the seas might be a title for a book one day.
goylegatr
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Beneath the Surface 24
Lunch was an interesting experience today. There was no line and no order; crew members barged in front of each other showing absolutely no courtesy.
‘They are one step up from peasants,’ said Amy. ‘This cheap labour is driving me crazy. How are we supposed to maintain our seven star deluxe when there isn’t any grasp of the English language or manners? This behaviour just isn’t necessary!’
‘In training today I corrected all the grammar in the handouts and handed them back to the Staff Captain,’ I said.
Amy turned and smiled at me, ‘good girl! What did he do?’
‘Nothing, but I was sure he was shocked by my cheek!’ I replied studying what looked like entrails for a main course. Entrails, sea kill and carrots for dinner. Beautiful!
I wandered back to my cabin to prepare for formal night. All the while I was embroiled in thought; ten years ago I worked for the same shipping line and strangely some people had worked there all that time. Why had they stayed? Why had I retuned?
Wandering the stark corridor, I ran into the social hostess - Kendra. She reminded me of a weathered blow up doll. Her plastered on smile covered eyes full of bitterness. I noticed she was trying to appear caught up in looking at the wall as she walked so I purposely stepped onto her projected route.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She grimaced. It was either that or an extreme Botox smile. I couldn’t tell.
I had known her ten years ago and she had been cruel to many of my friends on board. She had perfected the art of verbal poison and managed her fake façade perfectly. No hair was out of place, no bare skin without bronzer and no kindness in any cell of her body.
‘Kendra, I’m the new photographer - in fact I am sure I know you from ten years ago,’ I said.
She made a deep huff and looked me up and down, ‘I don’t think you made an impression then. I don’t recognised you and I don’t usually associate with photographers,’ she said.
She frowned and glanced me over, ‘it seems the class of photographer has declined,’ she said, smoothed her hair and strutted away.
Spiteful? Malicious? Who cared? She had just granted me a literary gift!
Her verbal darts had numerous colleagues in tears. When one of the shop girls had her hair cut she stopped and frowned, ‘you really should go to a professional hair dresser. You can always spot a cheap hair cut. Cheap hair cuts reveal a cheap person. Of course you can’t buy class…’
What did you say to that?
The look of viciousness was often focused on a colleague but as soon as a guest passed by an ultra-fast transformation took place. Kendra the nut nuzzler emerged, the sickly sweet alter-ego. ‘Mr and Mrs Hart! How wonderful to see you!’ Kiss. Kiss. ‘Look how beautiful that dress is? Who is your stylist and designer? You must give me their contact. If I could have a dress made like that I would be in heaven!’ She would say with a joker smile. Her tone of voice raised two octaves and could probably smash glass.
Prior to formal night we had a security talk. It was quick, simple and about terrorists.
The security officer talked with a flat tone and was wholly uninterested in being there. ‘Terrorists walk around the ship and write things down,’ he said.
Marrissa glanced at me curiously, what was she doing? A moment later she put up her hand.
The security officer nodded in her direction, ‘Felicity write in small book,’ she said. ‘Is she terrorist?’
What? Was that idea of a joke? Thank you Marrissa! Why don’t you just draw a marker pen beard on me during my sleep to really convince him. Great!
The security officer studied me - he was actually contemplating whether I fulfilled the criteria. I wrote in a notebook and had just been unintentionally trained in espionage. I hoped that wasn’t enough to incriminate me.
I glanced at Marrissa and she was smiling, she thought it was hilarious!
As we walked back to the cabin Marrissa kept chuckling to herself. She found what she had done hilarious. Would it have been so funny if I had ended up in the brig?
Along the corridor numerous signs advertised a crew party.
‘Do you want to go Marrissa?’ I said pointing at the sign.
She shook her head, ‘formal, no party. Too busy,’ she said sadly.
She was right, unfortunately the hours we were working didn’t enable fun unless you sacrificed your health. What a shame. In previous years on ship the photogs used to be party animals. My favourite parties were the fancy dress - Dress as a guest or Come as your favourite disease. I went as gangrene and had bits drop off. The winner was the Siamese twins. They had cleverly been plastered together and were cut apart with a mini-chainsaw. Inside the plaster was fake blood that spurted everywhere! It was amazing. Those were the days!
The second formal night of the cruise and the ship was in strong motion. Many of the guests carried a green tinge which did not really make for inspirational portraiture. Those who did survive visited our portrait studios. It seemed they were impressed by the quality of the work. Also they enjoyed being fussed over. I always made a real show of tie straightening, bra strap hiding and the alignment of jewellery. It made the guests happy and increased the professionalism of the portrait.
In a quiet period I made a huge mistake. I was talking to a guest I had known ten years ago and somehow I said I enjoyed talking to people of the same intelligence as me. Idiot! That does not mean I enjoyed talking to idiots. Instead, according to Sparkle, I had just overstepped the mark. I had set myself above my station. We had been discussing qualifications, he seemed perplexed that I was educated and working in what he considered a menial role.
When I said, ‘I really get on with the passengers and I enjoy talking to people of the same intelligence,’ there was silence. I had overstepped my servile role and likened myself to the entity that had paid to be served. An expression of disapproval graced his face. I could have kicked myself - in his eyes I was hired staff. A person lesser and there to serve. No matter whether I had won the Nobel peace prize the fact I was hired help no way intimated the same intellect or level. I sense that one comment could have repercussions. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made a complaint. ‘Captain one of your staff members suggested she had equal intelligence to me. I want her disciplined!’
An image of me being dragged from my bunk in a sack and thrown in the brig stampeded through my mind. It was ridiculous really - how could I maintain a ‘let me massage your ego,’ stance? It just wasn’t me.
In a quiet moment Robert sauntered over. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Okay,’ I replied. I had to keep what I had said to my self.
‘How do you fancy staging a mutiny when the big K comes?’ he asked.
‘Are you joking?’
He shook his head, ‘well I thought we could refuse to work until he pays us what he promised us.’
I quite liked the concept, it could be fun. Ironically I had just received an e-mail informing me I had just got paid a nice tidy sum for some work at home. I didn’t need to stay. A mutiny could be fun!
The conversation ceased when a rather drunken eighty something old women gyrated her hips about the fountain waving her silk neck scarf. She had requested the Carmen Bizet song from the quartet and danced like a Spanish maniac.
Robert and I glanced at each other in silence. It summed up our reality. You never knew when your conversation could be interrupted by an overly active, senile old dear.
After the final photo-session Jose and I broke down my studio while Marrissa and Robert broke down his studio. A group of old women watched us take down the whole lot, smoothed their skirts and sauntered over.
‘Darlings we would like a portrait,’ said the leader.
I glanced at Jose, a red flush graced his neck.
We worked on a seven star deluxe ship, what the passenger demanded you had to comply with. Jose and I re-built the studio. When the lights were tested the old buggers posed like fashion models and drunkenly laughed. It was apparent they were seeing how far they could push us. What’s more the reality was they didn’t intend to buy a single image. I had to play along while Jose stood with his arms folded. I could see how he would take each one out if he was a sniper. His eyes always revealed his thoughts and at that moment he was laying in undergrowth with a large gun and a silencer!
‘They are one step up from peasants,’ said Amy. ‘This cheap labour is driving me crazy. How are we supposed to maintain our seven star deluxe when there isn’t any grasp of the English language or manners? This behaviour just isn’t necessary!’
‘In training today I corrected all the grammar in the handouts and handed them back to the Staff Captain,’ I said.
Amy turned and smiled at me, ‘good girl! What did he do?’
‘Nothing, but I was sure he was shocked by my cheek!’ I replied studying what looked like entrails for a main course. Entrails, sea kill and carrots for dinner. Beautiful!
I wandered back to my cabin to prepare for formal night. All the while I was embroiled in thought; ten years ago I worked for the same shipping line and strangely some people had worked there all that time. Why had they stayed? Why had I retuned?
Wandering the stark corridor, I ran into the social hostess - Kendra. She reminded me of a weathered blow up doll. Her plastered on smile covered eyes full of bitterness. I noticed she was trying to appear caught up in looking at the wall as she walked so I purposely stepped onto her projected route.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She grimaced. It was either that or an extreme Botox smile. I couldn’t tell.
I had known her ten years ago and she had been cruel to many of my friends on board. She had perfected the art of verbal poison and managed her fake façade perfectly. No hair was out of place, no bare skin without bronzer and no kindness in any cell of her body.
‘Kendra, I’m the new photographer - in fact I am sure I know you from ten years ago,’ I said.
She made a deep huff and looked me up and down, ‘I don’t think you made an impression then. I don’t recognised you and I don’t usually associate with photographers,’ she said.
She frowned and glanced me over, ‘it seems the class of photographer has declined,’ she said, smoothed her hair and strutted away.
Spiteful? Malicious? Who cared? She had just granted me a literary gift!
Her verbal darts had numerous colleagues in tears. When one of the shop girls had her hair cut she stopped and frowned, ‘you really should go to a professional hair dresser. You can always spot a cheap hair cut. Cheap hair cuts reveal a cheap person. Of course you can’t buy class…’
What did you say to that?
The look of viciousness was often focused on a colleague but as soon as a guest passed by an ultra-fast transformation took place. Kendra the nut nuzzler emerged, the sickly sweet alter-ego. ‘Mr and Mrs Hart! How wonderful to see you!’ Kiss. Kiss. ‘Look how beautiful that dress is? Who is your stylist and designer? You must give me their contact. If I could have a dress made like that I would be in heaven!’ She would say with a joker smile. Her tone of voice raised two octaves and could probably smash glass.
Prior to formal night we had a security talk. It was quick, simple and about terrorists.
The security officer talked with a flat tone and was wholly uninterested in being there. ‘Terrorists walk around the ship and write things down,’ he said.
Marrissa glanced at me curiously, what was she doing? A moment later she put up her hand.
The security officer nodded in her direction, ‘Felicity write in small book,’ she said. ‘Is she terrorist?’
What? Was that idea of a joke? Thank you Marrissa! Why don’t you just draw a marker pen beard on me during my sleep to really convince him. Great!
The security officer studied me - he was actually contemplating whether I fulfilled the criteria. I wrote in a notebook and had just been unintentionally trained in espionage. I hoped that wasn’t enough to incriminate me.
I glanced at Marrissa and she was smiling, she thought it was hilarious!
As we walked back to the cabin Marrissa kept chuckling to herself. She found what she had done hilarious. Would it have been so funny if I had ended up in the brig?
Along the corridor numerous signs advertised a crew party.
‘Do you want to go Marrissa?’ I said pointing at the sign.
She shook her head, ‘formal, no party. Too busy,’ she said sadly.
She was right, unfortunately the hours we were working didn’t enable fun unless you sacrificed your health. What a shame. In previous years on ship the photogs used to be party animals. My favourite parties were the fancy dress - Dress as a guest or Come as your favourite disease. I went as gangrene and had bits drop off. The winner was the Siamese twins. They had cleverly been plastered together and were cut apart with a mini-chainsaw. Inside the plaster was fake blood that spurted everywhere! It was amazing. Those were the days!
The second formal night of the cruise and the ship was in strong motion. Many of the guests carried a green tinge which did not really make for inspirational portraiture. Those who did survive visited our portrait studios. It seemed they were impressed by the quality of the work. Also they enjoyed being fussed over. I always made a real show of tie straightening, bra strap hiding and the alignment of jewellery. It made the guests happy and increased the professionalism of the portrait.
In a quiet period I made a huge mistake. I was talking to a guest I had known ten years ago and somehow I said I enjoyed talking to people of the same intelligence as me. Idiot! That does not mean I enjoyed talking to idiots. Instead, according to Sparkle, I had just overstepped the mark. I had set myself above my station. We had been discussing qualifications, he seemed perplexed that I was educated and working in what he considered a menial role.
When I said, ‘I really get on with the passengers and I enjoy talking to people of the same intelligence,’ there was silence. I had overstepped my servile role and likened myself to the entity that had paid to be served. An expression of disapproval graced his face. I could have kicked myself - in his eyes I was hired staff. A person lesser and there to serve. No matter whether I had won the Nobel peace prize the fact I was hired help no way intimated the same intellect or level. I sense that one comment could have repercussions. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made a complaint. ‘Captain one of your staff members suggested she had equal intelligence to me. I want her disciplined!’
An image of me being dragged from my bunk in a sack and thrown in the brig stampeded through my mind. It was ridiculous really - how could I maintain a ‘let me massage your ego,’ stance? It just wasn’t me.
In a quiet moment Robert sauntered over. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Okay,’ I replied. I had to keep what I had said to my self.
‘How do you fancy staging a mutiny when the big K comes?’ he asked.
‘Are you joking?’
He shook his head, ‘well I thought we could refuse to work until he pays us what he promised us.’
I quite liked the concept, it could be fun. Ironically I had just received an e-mail informing me I had just got paid a nice tidy sum for some work at home. I didn’t need to stay. A mutiny could be fun!
The conversation ceased when a rather drunken eighty something old women gyrated her hips about the fountain waving her silk neck scarf. She had requested the Carmen Bizet song from the quartet and danced like a Spanish maniac.
Robert and I glanced at each other in silence. It summed up our reality. You never knew when your conversation could be interrupted by an overly active, senile old dear.
After the final photo-session Jose and I broke down my studio while Marrissa and Robert broke down his studio. A group of old women watched us take down the whole lot, smoothed their skirts and sauntered over.
‘Darlings we would like a portrait,’ said the leader.
I glanced at Jose, a red flush graced his neck.
We worked on a seven star deluxe ship, what the passenger demanded you had to comply with. Jose and I re-built the studio. When the lights were tested the old buggers posed like fashion models and drunkenly laughed. It was apparent they were seeing how far they could push us. What’s more the reality was they didn’t intend to buy a single image. I had to play along while Jose stood with his arms folded. I could see how he would take each one out if he was a sniper. His eyes always revealed his thoughts and at that moment he was laying in undergrowth with a large gun and a silencer!
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Beneath the Surface 23
Sea DAY 16th
At seven thirty I took a shower while Marrissa remained in bed. She was out for the count and still snoring. I went for breakfast and then to the back deck (a covered crew area full of ropes and metal) to practice chi-kung. That was the only way to keep me sane. Chi kung balanced your energies and enabled you to quieten your mind and remain focused. Alternatively I could take a big stick and hit something. It seemed my choices were limited and I could not find a stick.
While I was practicing on the back deck I had what I call a ‘bubble’ moment. A bubble moment was when you hit an energy blockage or emotional suppression. The bubble burst and the suppressed feelings rose to the surface. In such moments I often retched and cried. On that back deck, when the bubble burst I began to feel very upset. It was very easy to struggle with emotion and suppress it; that would not help. With such a lack of privacy all I could do was pull up my hood, pull down my baseball cap and let it out. In that moment I realised my team consisted of great people - we could have had so much fun. It was time for us to forget that we had been mislead and have as much fun as we could. I had to live for the now and live as best I could. Anger would just make me ill so I had to be mindful of my thoughts and emotions.
I cleared my mind and continued my practice, I had to let go and surrender. Everything was out of my control. When I was complete I went and sat watching the bow waves. To my right was a punch bag. Something about it made sense. Glancing around I side stepped towards it. Smack! Whack, whack, smack! I knew where my anger could be released. Whack! Ken’s face.
Whack! I thought about Robert’s self amusement and imaginary tumble weeds rolling past. Admittedly he was doing his best. He was trying to motivate us against all the odds. Whack! He was putting in a huge amount of effort in to prove a point and make the ship money. Whack! He was fighting a loosing battle and the truth was the type of photography we were providing was considered worthless. Whack, whack, WHACK! We had been given the incentive to churn out images: quantity over quality. Whack! Whack! How would Robert feel that day? Dealing with angry moods in a confined space was not good for anyone. God I hoped he’d got laid the previous night. I hoped the Swedish stewardess had developed a sudden ‘thing’ for him. That would at least put a smile on his face and the illusion of tweeting birds, floating flowers and sunshine songs would emanate from his very being as he skipped the corridors. It was possible; he had gone to the Ship’s barbeque where the Swedish stewardess was prime game (not in terms of barbequing). Of course this was reality and unfortunately I had seen her flirting with one of the waiters. Could there possibly have been a miracle? Please… Please… Please! Whack! Whack! My knuckles were red, but God did I feel better! Somehow I had to get hold of some bag gloves then I could release my fury on a regular basis on an inanimate object! WHACK!
More ship’s training.
Marrissa and I had more emergency training. To say it was disturbing was an understatement. The original film showed us how to deal with an emergency. In such a panic situation only six out of ten passengers actually reacted. Imagine a real emergency and how you would react. For me survival instinct would always kick in.
According to the training many of the passengers fell into a state of shock. What’s more it took one guest to panic and their behaviour resonated creating panic amongst the other guests. In a crowd emergency situation there was always a wise guy who thought he knew better or who would complain. His behaviour would ‘infect’ the other guests and make them question what they were advised to do. That individual had to be separated from the rest otherwise lives would be endangered.
The safety officer was the kind of man who was straight down the line. A cow was a cow not a black and white, grass chewing ruminant. What’s more he had experienced two emergencies and survived. The first was when a giant wave caused an engine black out. The waves were so massive that crew and passengers were thrown all over the ship like ping pong balls. Why did I just think of Thailand when I wrote that?
‘One of the crew was thrown two decks from a balcony,’ he said. ‘When I asked the fellow officer to hold a towel to the crew member’s head to curb the bleeding he said NO! He did not want to be near blood, he could get AIDS.’
What a caring individual. It turned out that even though the stewardess was completely damaged and laying on deck, she managed to press the towel into her own head.
‘What has the world come to?’ he said shaking his head.
Further into the training he played us a scene of a ship sinking.
‘The Greek officers don’t care about the guests and are usually the first off the ship. I know. I worked with Italian and Greek officers. In our emergency they deserted the passengers. There were only a few of us left to help,’ he said honestly. ‘The ship did not completely sink but we were close,’ he said folding his arms - remembering.
I couldn’t help but mimic and crossed my arms and legs. I didn’t like what we were being told. The DVD showed a young stewardess fighting through thick smoke to check all the staterooms. She tied a white towel to all the handles of all the cabins she checked. Once she had completed the search she could then go to her muster station. In terms of time and reality - she would die. Had anyone else noticed? Training in efficient death.
Something about the film triggered my memory of one of my previous ships. It collided with a submerged rock in Antarctica and what did the passengers do? In a state of panic they attended the buffet. What was even stranger was how not one single passenger asked me what was happening? It seemed they were in denial or extremely hungry. Wouldn’t you be curious as to why the expedition leader was standing in a passenger area wearing a bright orange survival suit looking shifty? I would.
During the disaster the officers told us to not make the emergency look like an emergency. There I stood wearing the orange survival suit, a woolly hat - reading a newspaper. It was definitely not an emergency - the reading of a newspaper stated that. The harsh reality was the survival suit enabled me forty eight hours survival. The passengers had five minutes survival time if they fell in the water fully clothed. Was it any wonder that I made my decision to return to land five years ago?
If an emergency took place the guests were initially directed to the muster stations. Muster stations were usually a lecture theatre, a lounge or a cinema. Once inside a role call was made and the passenger names were checked off the manifest. Those who were not present were reported to the bridge and a crew member was sent to find them. Everyone had to be accounted for. In an emergency there was no lift usage. Since many of the guests used wheelchairs or ‘strollers’ specific crew members were allocated to those guests; but what was expected? Did the crew carry the buggers to safety? For a pittance of pay a cruise line expected so much of the crew.
I noticed within the film a repetitive message - in fact there were five or six repeats. ‘Often crew and officers make heroic acts in emergencies,’ the voice said.
‘Often crew act heroically to help guests!’ It said a few moments later.
‘We should be able to cope with all emergencies,’ said the overly American voice. They seemed to have forgotten ‘we don’t want you to think for yourselves.’ Or, ‘you’re your life should be sacrificed for a cruise line who thinks its okay to treat you like shit!’
The problem was that the staff were taught through repetition and it seemed the messages were drummed into them.
During the break I went to the Safety officer, ‘so what is with the subliminal messaging?’ I asked.
He studied me and considered his answer, ‘the company has been taking on cheap uneducated labour to cut costs. The messages in the film are there purposely,’ he said.
Something made sense, cheap staff would be grateful for the inadequate conditions and would not question what was taking place. They would ignorantly accept being fed and having a bed. They would be grateful for anything they were given - but would they sacrifice their lives?
The training continued. It was interesting how often faced with an emergency most people maintained their routine. As an example one guest continued to gamble: one passenger was due a pay out from a slot machine. When rounded up for evacuation she refused to leave the one armed bandit until she won. It seemed that money was more important than life.
It was odd being fed examples of disasters. Take for example the Sun vista - a fire in the funnel resulted in the ship being evacuated. The lifeboats were not maintained and many of the lifeboat engines failed. The crew had to row the lifeboats to safety. When a ship sunk it caused a suction which could effectively pull the lifeboats down with it. That was why lifeboats and life rafts had to maintain a safe distance. Ideally at least one and a half ship’s lengths was necessary.
The Oceanus in 1991.
The Captain ordered the crew to evacuate but did not inform the passengers. Apparently he didn’t want to create a major panic. In the end the entertainment staff took responsibility and created a full scale evacuation. The emergency was initiated when the ship was hit by a huge wave which knocked a hole in the bow. The floors below flooded; above deck the passengers remained unaware. A number of guests noticed officers looking panicked heading towards the lifeboat, but since people resumed routine no one questioned what was taking place.
Admittedly the training was comprehensive but it still freaked me out that such disasters could happen to a massive cruise ship. In my time at sea I have experienced a grounding, explosions, fires, collisions and a bombing on land. Somehow we always got through… I considered everything I had experienced, I hoped that the Symmetry would be okay. Admittedly I had learned a lot in that training - if passengers acted like sheep take control and command them!
After training on how to survive a disaster I then returned to the gallery where I learned espionage. You might think I was joking but the gallery was next to the lecture theatre and the talk that day was how espionage worked. Brilliant! Could the day get better? I could unintentionally be trained on how to become a spy. How many people could say that?
Admittedly the lectures were very interesting. Although I was less enthralled by the hip replacement lecture but who knew when such information would be necessary. Hang on! Was there an agenda? Was I being subliminally trained to be a spy who did hip replacements as a decoy. Amazing!
Essentially there were three stages of espionage. The gathering of information, the analysis and the action through policy. That was the boring bit but I learned you could be tracked by mobile phone, even if you removed the battery. What’s more all your movements could be tracked over the previous two years… Somewhat freaky don’t you think?
The lecture was excellent but the ship was rolling. The Pacific was having a big wave day and the passengers were zig zagging all over the place. Some even rebounded off walls and chairs. You could often tell which guests were drunk because they were the only ones who maintained a straight line. Also, what I loved about imminent bad weather, was the sudden appearance of white bags around the ship. Obviously they were put out for potential vomit, yet the gesture was amusing. ‘Ah the bags have arrived,’ said Jose strolling past.
‘Vomitus projectilus maximus catchus,’ I said.
He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.
In the mean time the strangest thing I saw that day was a person in a wheelchair rolling back and forth with the motion of the ship. I didn’t know whether I should get involved and put on the break. After surveying the area for potential catastrophe I came to the conclusion the guest was content. Of course the proximity of the stairs was a bit of a concern but I worked out if there was a particularly large wave I had three seconds to get to them. I think I was becoming transfixed, I had to stop looking - the motion of the chair rolling made me feel queasier than the motion of the ship.
At seven thirty I took a shower while Marrissa remained in bed. She was out for the count and still snoring. I went for breakfast and then to the back deck (a covered crew area full of ropes and metal) to practice chi-kung. That was the only way to keep me sane. Chi kung balanced your energies and enabled you to quieten your mind and remain focused. Alternatively I could take a big stick and hit something. It seemed my choices were limited and I could not find a stick.
While I was practicing on the back deck I had what I call a ‘bubble’ moment. A bubble moment was when you hit an energy blockage or emotional suppression. The bubble burst and the suppressed feelings rose to the surface. In such moments I often retched and cried. On that back deck, when the bubble burst I began to feel very upset. It was very easy to struggle with emotion and suppress it; that would not help. With such a lack of privacy all I could do was pull up my hood, pull down my baseball cap and let it out. In that moment I realised my team consisted of great people - we could have had so much fun. It was time for us to forget that we had been mislead and have as much fun as we could. I had to live for the now and live as best I could. Anger would just make me ill so I had to be mindful of my thoughts and emotions.
I cleared my mind and continued my practice, I had to let go and surrender. Everything was out of my control. When I was complete I went and sat watching the bow waves. To my right was a punch bag. Something about it made sense. Glancing around I side stepped towards it. Smack! Whack, whack, smack! I knew where my anger could be released. Whack! Ken’s face.
Whack! I thought about Robert’s self amusement and imaginary tumble weeds rolling past. Admittedly he was doing his best. He was trying to motivate us against all the odds. Whack! He was putting in a huge amount of effort in to prove a point and make the ship money. Whack! He was fighting a loosing battle and the truth was the type of photography we were providing was considered worthless. Whack, whack, WHACK! We had been given the incentive to churn out images: quantity over quality. Whack! Whack! How would Robert feel that day? Dealing with angry moods in a confined space was not good for anyone. God I hoped he’d got laid the previous night. I hoped the Swedish stewardess had developed a sudden ‘thing’ for him. That would at least put a smile on his face and the illusion of tweeting birds, floating flowers and sunshine songs would emanate from his very being as he skipped the corridors. It was possible; he had gone to the Ship’s barbeque where the Swedish stewardess was prime game (not in terms of barbequing). Of course this was reality and unfortunately I had seen her flirting with one of the waiters. Could there possibly have been a miracle? Please… Please… Please! Whack! Whack! My knuckles were red, but God did I feel better! Somehow I had to get hold of some bag gloves then I could release my fury on a regular basis on an inanimate object! WHACK!
More ship’s training.
Marrissa and I had more emergency training. To say it was disturbing was an understatement. The original film showed us how to deal with an emergency. In such a panic situation only six out of ten passengers actually reacted. Imagine a real emergency and how you would react. For me survival instinct would always kick in.
According to the training many of the passengers fell into a state of shock. What’s more it took one guest to panic and their behaviour resonated creating panic amongst the other guests. In a crowd emergency situation there was always a wise guy who thought he knew better or who would complain. His behaviour would ‘infect’ the other guests and make them question what they were advised to do. That individual had to be separated from the rest otherwise lives would be endangered.
The safety officer was the kind of man who was straight down the line. A cow was a cow not a black and white, grass chewing ruminant. What’s more he had experienced two emergencies and survived. The first was when a giant wave caused an engine black out. The waves were so massive that crew and passengers were thrown all over the ship like ping pong balls. Why did I just think of Thailand when I wrote that?
‘One of the crew was thrown two decks from a balcony,’ he said. ‘When I asked the fellow officer to hold a towel to the crew member’s head to curb the bleeding he said NO! He did not want to be near blood, he could get AIDS.’
What a caring individual. It turned out that even though the stewardess was completely damaged and laying on deck, she managed to press the towel into her own head.
‘What has the world come to?’ he said shaking his head.
Further into the training he played us a scene of a ship sinking.
‘The Greek officers don’t care about the guests and are usually the first off the ship. I know. I worked with Italian and Greek officers. In our emergency they deserted the passengers. There were only a few of us left to help,’ he said honestly. ‘The ship did not completely sink but we were close,’ he said folding his arms - remembering.
I couldn’t help but mimic and crossed my arms and legs. I didn’t like what we were being told. The DVD showed a young stewardess fighting through thick smoke to check all the staterooms. She tied a white towel to all the handles of all the cabins she checked. Once she had completed the search she could then go to her muster station. In terms of time and reality - she would die. Had anyone else noticed? Training in efficient death.
Something about the film triggered my memory of one of my previous ships. It collided with a submerged rock in Antarctica and what did the passengers do? In a state of panic they attended the buffet. What was even stranger was how not one single passenger asked me what was happening? It seemed they were in denial or extremely hungry. Wouldn’t you be curious as to why the expedition leader was standing in a passenger area wearing a bright orange survival suit looking shifty? I would.
During the disaster the officers told us to not make the emergency look like an emergency. There I stood wearing the orange survival suit, a woolly hat - reading a newspaper. It was definitely not an emergency - the reading of a newspaper stated that. The harsh reality was the survival suit enabled me forty eight hours survival. The passengers had five minutes survival time if they fell in the water fully clothed. Was it any wonder that I made my decision to return to land five years ago?
If an emergency took place the guests were initially directed to the muster stations. Muster stations were usually a lecture theatre, a lounge or a cinema. Once inside a role call was made and the passenger names were checked off the manifest. Those who were not present were reported to the bridge and a crew member was sent to find them. Everyone had to be accounted for. In an emergency there was no lift usage. Since many of the guests used wheelchairs or ‘strollers’ specific crew members were allocated to those guests; but what was expected? Did the crew carry the buggers to safety? For a pittance of pay a cruise line expected so much of the crew.
I noticed within the film a repetitive message - in fact there were five or six repeats. ‘Often crew and officers make heroic acts in emergencies,’ the voice said.
‘Often crew act heroically to help guests!’ It said a few moments later.
‘We should be able to cope with all emergencies,’ said the overly American voice. They seemed to have forgotten ‘we don’t want you to think for yourselves.’ Or, ‘you’re your life should be sacrificed for a cruise line who thinks its okay to treat you like shit!’
The problem was that the staff were taught through repetition and it seemed the messages were drummed into them.
During the break I went to the Safety officer, ‘so what is with the subliminal messaging?’ I asked.
He studied me and considered his answer, ‘the company has been taking on cheap uneducated labour to cut costs. The messages in the film are there purposely,’ he said.
Something made sense, cheap staff would be grateful for the inadequate conditions and would not question what was taking place. They would ignorantly accept being fed and having a bed. They would be grateful for anything they were given - but would they sacrifice their lives?
The training continued. It was interesting how often faced with an emergency most people maintained their routine. As an example one guest continued to gamble: one passenger was due a pay out from a slot machine. When rounded up for evacuation she refused to leave the one armed bandit until she won. It seemed that money was more important than life.
It was odd being fed examples of disasters. Take for example the Sun vista - a fire in the funnel resulted in the ship being evacuated. The lifeboats were not maintained and many of the lifeboat engines failed. The crew had to row the lifeboats to safety. When a ship sunk it caused a suction which could effectively pull the lifeboats down with it. That was why lifeboats and life rafts had to maintain a safe distance. Ideally at least one and a half ship’s lengths was necessary.
The Oceanus in 1991.
The Captain ordered the crew to evacuate but did not inform the passengers. Apparently he didn’t want to create a major panic. In the end the entertainment staff took responsibility and created a full scale evacuation. The emergency was initiated when the ship was hit by a huge wave which knocked a hole in the bow. The floors below flooded; above deck the passengers remained unaware. A number of guests noticed officers looking panicked heading towards the lifeboat, but since people resumed routine no one questioned what was taking place.
Admittedly the training was comprehensive but it still freaked me out that such disasters could happen to a massive cruise ship. In my time at sea I have experienced a grounding, explosions, fires, collisions and a bombing on land. Somehow we always got through… I considered everything I had experienced, I hoped that the Symmetry would be okay. Admittedly I had learned a lot in that training - if passengers acted like sheep take control and command them!
After training on how to survive a disaster I then returned to the gallery where I learned espionage. You might think I was joking but the gallery was next to the lecture theatre and the talk that day was how espionage worked. Brilliant! Could the day get better? I could unintentionally be trained on how to become a spy. How many people could say that?
Admittedly the lectures were very interesting. Although I was less enthralled by the hip replacement lecture but who knew when such information would be necessary. Hang on! Was there an agenda? Was I being subliminally trained to be a spy who did hip replacements as a decoy. Amazing!
Essentially there were three stages of espionage. The gathering of information, the analysis and the action through policy. That was the boring bit but I learned you could be tracked by mobile phone, even if you removed the battery. What’s more all your movements could be tracked over the previous two years… Somewhat freaky don’t you think?
The lecture was excellent but the ship was rolling. The Pacific was having a big wave day and the passengers were zig zagging all over the place. Some even rebounded off walls and chairs. You could often tell which guests were drunk because they were the only ones who maintained a straight line. Also, what I loved about imminent bad weather, was the sudden appearance of white bags around the ship. Obviously they were put out for potential vomit, yet the gesture was amusing. ‘Ah the bags have arrived,’ said Jose strolling past.
‘Vomitus projectilus maximus catchus,’ I said.
He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.
In the mean time the strangest thing I saw that day was a person in a wheelchair rolling back and forth with the motion of the ship. I didn’t know whether I should get involved and put on the break. After surveying the area for potential catastrophe I came to the conclusion the guest was content. Of course the proximity of the stairs was a bit of a concern but I worked out if there was a particularly large wave I had three seconds to get to them. I think I was becoming transfixed, I had to stop looking - the motion of the chair rolling made me feel queasier than the motion of the ship.
Beneath The Surface 22
After Marrissa’s response Robert gave us a twenty minute break. Just as we were leaving the cabin the phone rang.
‘Hello. There is no body here,’ I answered.
‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘Either one of you can have another twenty minute break and then swap. It’s not too busy and you both worked hard today.’
‘We have twenty more minutes… Although one must go up and then we swap,’ I said quickly.
She understood and shook her head.
‘I have a really good idea you go and I stay here!’ I said cheekily.
‘No I better, you go…’ she said back.
We had sussed each other out and in Marrissa’s mind I still owed her for the top bunk.
When I returned to the gallery I glanced out of the window, the rain had returned. Unfortunately Robert had plans for us to make a final lap of the decks.
Whilst standing in the gallery I wrote my diary and glanced out of the window. The rain had calmed and at that precise moment Robert emerged from the darkroom with a camera. It was clearly understood what I had to do.
When I arrived on deck it hadn’t stopped raining, a few moment later Marrissa arrived.
‘Why we photograph again?’ she asked.
I shrugged.
‘He say we stay up here until leave Panama,’ she said.
Two hours outside in the rain photographing empty decks resulted in a total of fifteen pictures.
On our return I saw our takings: six hundred dollars. For all those hours of hard work I had earned a total of twenty dollars - just over one dollar per hour! Brilliant. Where was the motivation in that?
The problem with cruise ship photography is that it is commission based. That was your motivation to hassle the passengers for a photograph. In normal life people booked me and paid a handsome fee for bespoke portraiture. It was odd to say the least to actively force people to be photographed. Madness.
That evening Jose seemed more relaxed. Robert had gone for a break and Marrissa was re-arranging all the photos. Jose and I watched some of the old women dancing with the gentleman hosts.
‘They’re all at it,’ he said. ‘Dirty old buggers,’ he said in his unique accent.
‘What are they at?’ I asked.
‘Sex Felicity - sex! Some of them have offered to pay me for sex too,’ he said matter of factly.
Thank goodness I was not drinking at the time otherwise liquid would have shot out of my nose.
‘What?’
‘It has happened quite a few times, some have slipped me notes and whispered that I could make a good tip,’ he said.
‘You’re joking?’
‘No Felicity, it’s not worth joking about. They ask me to come to the room. Some even know that me and Alida are together and they still ask,’ he said.
He was so honest and matter of fact about it. I understood the old dears would notice an attractive and charming Columbian, but to ask him outright for sex. I couldn’t get over it. Where’s the theatre? You want have sex? I’ll tip you!
‘One even asked me how much I made per month, I told her and she said I could pay you enough to cover your whole contract,’ he said.
‘What she offered you a hundred dollars?’ I said with a smirk.
Jose gave me a jestful shove.
‘Have you ever considered it?’ I asked.
Jose shook his head, ‘it would be like sleeping with the batman’s joker in female form and do I want nightmares for the rest of my life?’
‘I guess not,’ I replied. ‘You could always use a paper bag with eye holes,’ I said.
‘More like a plastic bag with no holes,’ he replied.
‘Jose!’
‘You know what the waiters get propositioned all the time,’ he said.
‘Do they… You know?’
He shrugged, ‘Who knows? I don’t pay attention to such things. You do know that if you are invited to a cabin and are found inside you can be fired?’
Admittedly that was in the Sparkle essentials training. What they had failed to say was, ‘do not shag guests - even if they offer to pay you!’
That afternoon I ran into Colin in the atrium, I had met him the morning I was practicing chi gung. He too was practising Tai Chi. He was a dark haired man in his sixties. He had a wonderfully calm but professional atmosphere.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Good afternoon,’ I replied.
‘Ah you don’t have to be formal with me,’ he said.
‘Colin I have to formal with all the guests, remember I serve you,’ I said.
He nodded, ‘I haven’t seen you out on deck practising,’ he said.
‘Oh I have been working, plus I practice in the crew area whenever I can,’ I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t allowed.
‘Well I was going to suggest we practice together but I guess it isn’t possible,’ he said. ‘Anyway I have to admit that I am perplexed.’
‘About what?’ I asked.
‘Well what makes Felicity - Felicity?’ he asked.
‘Well I guess I am a professional photographer who practices yoga, chi kung and meditation. That is the way I release my stress and remain calm.’
‘But why are you here? It doesn’t add up,’ he said honestly.
‘I wanted to spend the English winter travelling and this opportunity came up,’ I replied.
‘I think there is more to it than that, something about you is mysterious. I have an intuition about it but I can not work it out and it is bothering me,’ he said looking flummoxed.
He was right, but I was hardly going to say I’d had a hard time splitting up with my boyfriend and that the Foreign Legion had been equally as tempting.
‘So Colin what makes Colin colin?’ I asked - the perfect distraction.
He smiled, ‘played at my own game.’
‘Colin is a retired business man who now likes to luxuriate, play golf and practice Tai Chi. He has worked hard all his life to enjoy the finer things, now that the finer things are affordable!’
‘And?’
‘And that is all. Simple, straight down the line and not mysterious at all. By the way there is something going on with you. You are not all you seem are you? A person doesn’t get to sixty and have no sense for people,’ he said with a wink.
His wife emerged from the boutique with numerous bags, ‘honey this is Felicity, the photographer who does the chi kung.’
‘Oh Colin has been talking about you,’ she said.
‘Did you buy anything nice?’
‘Two scarves, a couple of polo shirts and a sweater,’ she said looking ‘shopping’ pleased.
Colin glanced at his wife, as if asking permission. ‘Erm Felicity is there anyway you could join us for dinner?’
I shook my head sadly, ‘unfortunately there is a division between staff and guests. So as much as I would love to I am not allowed.’
Colin frowned, ‘how about asking the hotel manager?’
‘I think it’s possible, but first we would have to ask my manager,’ I replied.
Colin studied me, ‘I guess that would be where the difficulty lies. Hmm. Would you like to have dinner with us?’
‘Honestly, in ‘real life’ I would love to; but since I am staff I have to behave as staff,’ I answered.
A curious smile graced his face, , ‘I think something is beginning to add up now.’
‘Honey we have to get ready for dinner,’ said his wife.
‘It was lovely chatting with you Colin and lovely to meet …’
‘Elayne,’ he said.
With that the pair held hands and walked in the direction of the lift. In a daze I wandered back to the gallery. It was so humiliating to not be ‘allowed’ to dine with guests. Can you imagine saying that in real life? Sorry I am not allowed to have dinner with you? I am not allowed…
The rest of the evening was spent in a quiet gallery. I jotted down notes to transfer to my laptop in my cabin. Once in the cabin Marrissa climbed up to her bunk and fell asleep instantly. I quietly typed up the last part of the diary to the rhythm of Marrissa’s snores. I laid in the dark, with my curtains closed. I laid thinking about the diary; I wondered how glamorous ship life now appeared through the writings. I read back over some of the writings. It already sounded horrific, still I intended to stick to the plan and reveal the whole truth. Marrissa just farted and rolled over- I guess there had to be boundaries on the truth.
During the last hour I attempted to adjust my mind set using affirmation. I searched for positives and realised there had been some good moments. The guests were great; some had even asked for my business card. I had no problem with giving them it. Essentially I was freelance- so why not? Plus I had no allegiance to a company that lied; strangely their lies had set me free. Thoughts of the other ship sailed into my mind. Could it be worse than the symmetry? Actually it didn’t matter - if it was my last contract maybe it was a chance to push myself to the limit. How much could I take?
‘Hello. There is no body here,’ I answered.
‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘Either one of you can have another twenty minute break and then swap. It’s not too busy and you both worked hard today.’
‘We have twenty more minutes… Although one must go up and then we swap,’ I said quickly.
She understood and shook her head.
‘I have a really good idea you go and I stay here!’ I said cheekily.
‘No I better, you go…’ she said back.
We had sussed each other out and in Marrissa’s mind I still owed her for the top bunk.
When I returned to the gallery I glanced out of the window, the rain had returned. Unfortunately Robert had plans for us to make a final lap of the decks.
Whilst standing in the gallery I wrote my diary and glanced out of the window. The rain had calmed and at that precise moment Robert emerged from the darkroom with a camera. It was clearly understood what I had to do.
When I arrived on deck it hadn’t stopped raining, a few moment later Marrissa arrived.
‘Why we photograph again?’ she asked.
I shrugged.
‘He say we stay up here until leave Panama,’ she said.
Two hours outside in the rain photographing empty decks resulted in a total of fifteen pictures.
On our return I saw our takings: six hundred dollars. For all those hours of hard work I had earned a total of twenty dollars - just over one dollar per hour! Brilliant. Where was the motivation in that?
The problem with cruise ship photography is that it is commission based. That was your motivation to hassle the passengers for a photograph. In normal life people booked me and paid a handsome fee for bespoke portraiture. It was odd to say the least to actively force people to be photographed. Madness.
That evening Jose seemed more relaxed. Robert had gone for a break and Marrissa was re-arranging all the photos. Jose and I watched some of the old women dancing with the gentleman hosts.
‘They’re all at it,’ he said. ‘Dirty old buggers,’ he said in his unique accent.
‘What are they at?’ I asked.
‘Sex Felicity - sex! Some of them have offered to pay me for sex too,’ he said matter of factly.
Thank goodness I was not drinking at the time otherwise liquid would have shot out of my nose.
‘What?’
‘It has happened quite a few times, some have slipped me notes and whispered that I could make a good tip,’ he said.
‘You’re joking?’
‘No Felicity, it’s not worth joking about. They ask me to come to the room. Some even know that me and Alida are together and they still ask,’ he said.
He was so honest and matter of fact about it. I understood the old dears would notice an attractive and charming Columbian, but to ask him outright for sex. I couldn’t get over it. Where’s the theatre? You want have sex? I’ll tip you!
‘One even asked me how much I made per month, I told her and she said I could pay you enough to cover your whole contract,’ he said.
‘What she offered you a hundred dollars?’ I said with a smirk.
Jose gave me a jestful shove.
‘Have you ever considered it?’ I asked.
Jose shook his head, ‘it would be like sleeping with the batman’s joker in female form and do I want nightmares for the rest of my life?’
‘I guess not,’ I replied. ‘You could always use a paper bag with eye holes,’ I said.
‘More like a plastic bag with no holes,’ he replied.
‘Jose!’
‘You know what the waiters get propositioned all the time,’ he said.
‘Do they… You know?’
He shrugged, ‘Who knows? I don’t pay attention to such things. You do know that if you are invited to a cabin and are found inside you can be fired?’
Admittedly that was in the Sparkle essentials training. What they had failed to say was, ‘do not shag guests - even if they offer to pay you!’
That afternoon I ran into Colin in the atrium, I had met him the morning I was practicing chi gung. He too was practising Tai Chi. He was a dark haired man in his sixties. He had a wonderfully calm but professional atmosphere.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Good afternoon,’ I replied.
‘Ah you don’t have to be formal with me,’ he said.
‘Colin I have to formal with all the guests, remember I serve you,’ I said.
He nodded, ‘I haven’t seen you out on deck practising,’ he said.
‘Oh I have been working, plus I practice in the crew area whenever I can,’ I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t allowed.
‘Well I was going to suggest we practice together but I guess it isn’t possible,’ he said. ‘Anyway I have to admit that I am perplexed.’
‘About what?’ I asked.
‘Well what makes Felicity - Felicity?’ he asked.
‘Well I guess I am a professional photographer who practices yoga, chi kung and meditation. That is the way I release my stress and remain calm.’
‘But why are you here? It doesn’t add up,’ he said honestly.
‘I wanted to spend the English winter travelling and this opportunity came up,’ I replied.
‘I think there is more to it than that, something about you is mysterious. I have an intuition about it but I can not work it out and it is bothering me,’ he said looking flummoxed.
He was right, but I was hardly going to say I’d had a hard time splitting up with my boyfriend and that the Foreign Legion had been equally as tempting.
‘So Colin what makes Colin colin?’ I asked - the perfect distraction.
He smiled, ‘played at my own game.’
‘Colin is a retired business man who now likes to luxuriate, play golf and practice Tai Chi. He has worked hard all his life to enjoy the finer things, now that the finer things are affordable!’
‘And?’
‘And that is all. Simple, straight down the line and not mysterious at all. By the way there is something going on with you. You are not all you seem are you? A person doesn’t get to sixty and have no sense for people,’ he said with a wink.
His wife emerged from the boutique with numerous bags, ‘honey this is Felicity, the photographer who does the chi kung.’
‘Oh Colin has been talking about you,’ she said.
‘Did you buy anything nice?’
‘Two scarves, a couple of polo shirts and a sweater,’ she said looking ‘shopping’ pleased.
Colin glanced at his wife, as if asking permission. ‘Erm Felicity is there anyway you could join us for dinner?’
I shook my head sadly, ‘unfortunately there is a division between staff and guests. So as much as I would love to I am not allowed.’
Colin frowned, ‘how about asking the hotel manager?’
‘I think it’s possible, but first we would have to ask my manager,’ I replied.
Colin studied me, ‘I guess that would be where the difficulty lies. Hmm. Would you like to have dinner with us?’
‘Honestly, in ‘real life’ I would love to; but since I am staff I have to behave as staff,’ I answered.
A curious smile graced his face, , ‘I think something is beginning to add up now.’
‘Honey we have to get ready for dinner,’ said his wife.
‘It was lovely chatting with you Colin and lovely to meet …’
‘Elayne,’ he said.
With that the pair held hands and walked in the direction of the lift. In a daze I wandered back to the gallery. It was so humiliating to not be ‘allowed’ to dine with guests. Can you imagine saying that in real life? Sorry I am not allowed to have dinner with you? I am not allowed…
The rest of the evening was spent in a quiet gallery. I jotted down notes to transfer to my laptop in my cabin. Once in the cabin Marrissa climbed up to her bunk and fell asleep instantly. I quietly typed up the last part of the diary to the rhythm of Marrissa’s snores. I laid in the dark, with my curtains closed. I laid thinking about the diary; I wondered how glamorous ship life now appeared through the writings. I read back over some of the writings. It already sounded horrific, still I intended to stick to the plan and reveal the whole truth. Marrissa just farted and rolled over- I guess there had to be boundaries on the truth.
During the last hour I attempted to adjust my mind set using affirmation. I searched for positives and realised there had been some good moments. The guests were great; some had even asked for my business card. I had no problem with giving them it. Essentially I was freelance- so why not? Plus I had no allegiance to a company that lied; strangely their lies had set me free. Thoughts of the other ship sailed into my mind. Could it be worse than the symmetry? Actually it didn’t matter - if it was my last contract maybe it was a chance to push myself to the limit. How much could I take?
Monday, 15 February 2010
Beneath the surface 21
Panama Canal 15th November.
At six in the morning it became apparent that the day was going to be brutal. We began at six and were likely to finish at ten thirty. Hardly an incentive for a happy dance. Marrissa and I gathered our cameras and made our way up on deck. At six fifteen it was already humid. When we arrived Robert was already up on deck wearing his white polo neck, blue shorts and Australian hat. His glasses had steamed up and his stomach flopped over his belt. It was apparent he was knackered but struggled to appear enthusiastic. The Panama canal was always a complete drudge for photographers. What was worse was Robert had to motivate a team who sensed they were not going to make money that cruise.
‘Good morning!’ he said in a strong Australian accent. ‘Well today is the perfect day for us to make money. What you both have to do is get as many shots of the guests with the Panama canal in the background as you can. You will keep circulating the decks and shooting the guests on every lock and against every interesting background. Now you don’t give them a choice. I don’t want to hear you ask can I take your picture - it is get together right there now,’ he said waving his arms and ushering us together. Click. ‘See how easy it is?’
It was particularly easy to give instructions when you weren’t taking the pictures. What I found strange was that usually on the Panama canal the photographers left the ship, chartered a car and drove to each of the locks. While on the locks we always photographed the ship and the passengers passing through. The Captain would announce, ‘if you look at the locks you will see the ship’s photographers, smile and wave.’ I used my four hundred lens to capture them smiling and waving. The fact that I had left the ship and was on the Panama canal always became a talking point.
‘So how did you get off the ship when we didn’t dock?’ they would ask.
Actually I was once left behind in the Panama canal. When I saw the ship sailing into the distance I had to charter a speedboat to catch up. The pilot boat that usually took me back did not turn up, what’s more the Captain had forgotten me. When the Captain noticed me waving at them to slow down so I could join the ship, the Captain kindly announced I was about to risk my life jumping from a speedboat onto a ship. Of course that drew some passenger attention - they thought it was all part of the entertainment. So there I was waves splashing in my face, a back pack of camera equipment and a leap to make onto a knotted rope. I took a deep breath, launched myself and climbed the knots. I don’t remember the climb but I do remember my heart thudding in my chest. I made it. That cruise I was considered a celebrity.
‘You’re very brave,’ they would say.
‘How very James Bond,’ said another.
‘You do that kind of thing all the time?’ said others.
‘Does the lift go up as well as down?’ Incidentally that was just a general comment which happened to be on the same day. I thought I would include it.
While I coated my face in suntan lotion Robert went and cordoned off an area on the top deck at the front of the ship. It was the best location to photograph the guests the front of the ship and the locks. It was an idea that I had not seen on any of the other ships I had worked on. When we arrived at the first lock he would round up the guests and photograph from the best vantage point.
‘What is the plan for today by the way?’ I asked Robert before he absconded.
‘We will finish shooting around five, get changed into evening uniform and have something to eat. We will then return to the gallery for six,’ he said.
‘What time does the gallery close tonight?’ I asked.
‘Ten thirty,’ he replied.
I glanced at Marrissa, she glanced back. The look on our faces revealed our thoughts.
‘Right then you two go and get on with it,’ he said brightly. ‘I want at least one hundred pictures from each of you.
I pointed at my lens, it was steamed up. The contrast between the ship air conditioning and the humidity often caused a steamy lens. The thing was you couldn’t simply wipe it with a lens cloth because the steam would instantly return. All we could do was wait for the lenses to clear and that could take any amount of time.
Once the lenses were clear the photographic factory began. Unsuspecting guests gazed out at the lush greenery and Marrissa and I would tap them on the shoulder.
‘Get together and smile!’ Click.
Marrissa and I hot dogged about the deck.
‘Hello, very nice!’ click.
I found Marrissa intriguing, as did the guests. It seemed her lack of English was in actual fact working in her favour. She was actually brilliant with guests and without having a strong English understanding she could use the fact that she actually did not understand the concept of no. I passed by at one point and had to contain a smirk.
‘No we don’t need a picture thank you,’ said one couple politely.
‘Yeyssss, nice sunshine,’ she said with a huge grin.
‘It’s okay…’ they said.
‘Ohhhh okay, very nice, smile!’ Click.
After two laps of the deck my facial muscles ached from my fake smile. Marrissa glanced at me, frowned and rubbed her jaw. ‘Pain,’ she said.
I nodded.
I applied more factor fifty sun tan lotion and Marrissa pointed, ‘like mayonaise,’ she said.
She glanced up at the heavens and pointed, ‘rain,’ she said.
She began to dance - a hippy bottom dance.
‘Marrissa?’
‘Rain dance! No photo,’ she said with a big smile.
She was correct, the first giant tropical rain drops fell. We protected our cameras and glanced at each other. We were both wearing white t-shirts and if we did not get to shelter is would be a wet t-shirt contest photo-shoot. We dashed inside and went down to the lab where Robert was printing pictures. He made a loud sigh when he saw us.
‘It’s raining, we just thought we would come down. Can we get a drink?’ I asked.
He nodded, all was not well.
‘Robert is something going on?’
He studied me, his eyes revealed upset but he shook his head. I wondered whether he was going to cry.
‘You have no idea of the pressure that I’m under Felicity. They want us to make money but what do we do? These people come on the ship year after year. They have had all the photos they need. What more can I do? Look at the diversity of our work and the quality. Still they don’t buy,’ he said raking his fingers through his hair.
In that moment something made sense about Robert, he was under extreme pressure, he was responsible for how much money the photo concession made. He was running against a wall and expected to produce a miracle. As much as he was frustrated he was doing his best in the face of adversity. ‘When things get really bad I play this.’
Were things really bad?
After sipping a diet coke Marrissa and I noticed the rain was calming. We studied each other too long, she was considering not mentioning the sun was coming out so we could relax.
‘Marrissa and Felicity,’ said Robert calling us into the darkroom. ‘This will motivate you,’ he said pressing the play button on his MP3.
The cheesiest song about Sunshine filled the darkroom walls and Robert waved his hands to accompany the music. I glanced at Marrissa whose smile evolved into a grimace.
‘It is my motivation song,’ he said.
‘Very… Nice,’ said Marrissa robotically.
‘Right get back out there and I will be up to photograph the sectioned off area. Felicity I would like your help. See me at the front of the ship in twenty minutes.’
‘Erm Robert where is Jose?’ I asked.
Robert studied me, I had definitely asked the wrong question.
‘Felicity… I will be honest with you. Jose is on the edge, he has been extended and unless I give him some space he’s going to flip out. He has done it a couple of times before and just completely lost it. We need to get him through the next two months without him loosing it. He works well with the printing and on formal, but photographing the decks makes him very angry,’ he said with a sigh.
I frowned, so to get out of photographing something I had to appear very angry? I could do that, actually no I couldn’t.
Back up on deck Marrissa and I did another round of photographs until I joined Robert at the front of the ship.
‘Drag people over for the perfect shot,’ he said, standing on a pedistall so he could provide the correct angle.
I felt like a market stall holder. Get your ripe apples! Lovely ripe apples… Pound a pound. Get them ‘ere!
‘Sir/Madam - the perfect location for a photograph is over there with Robert,’ I said as if they should know him. Some of the couples I approached I had already photographed three times. Shall I feign Sporadic Amnesia?
I soon realised that what I was saying had to be shorter, ‘if you would just like to step over there,’ I said. Robert could do the rest.
It was amazing how when you told people what to do they often did it. It was all about having an authoritive voice.
After a couple of hours of rounding people up it was lunch time. Robert was beaming. ‘Look, such a beautiful shot. Beauty - full! They have to buy it. Look Felicity look at what a Beut these are,’ he said showing me the back screen of the camera.
I wouldn’t say they were beautiful but they were pretty good. It turned out the rounding up had resulted in two hundred pictures taken of couples. That meant around fifty percent of the passengers had been photographed, if we had not photographed the same couples twice. That figure teamed with Marrissa and my deck shots was a lot of guests photographed.
After a half hour lunch of food that was unrecognisable we returned to the lab. Jose was sitting printing with a prickly atmosphere. Marrissa and I picked up the piles of pictures and displayed them in the gallery. They were ready for the guests to buy. God I hoped they would buy, we were paid purely commission, so no sales meant no wage! Imagine.
After our success on decks, if I was manager I would at least have said well done. Nothing.
The pictures were set up in the gallery and… Nothing. No guests. Robert glanced out of the window. ‘We’re coming to the next lock. Do another lap of the decks - there might be some people you missed,’ he said handing us each a camera.
I was not allowed to question, but Marrissa glanced at me with a frown.
I sensed that our constant pestering was likely to piss the passengers off. What’s more we still had another week of them. After a lap of the decks Marrissa and I stopped off at the ice-cream bar. No-one was around so one of the waiters slipped us a cookies and cream cornet each. We ate our luxury nibble in a secluded area where no-one would see us.
‘Nice no?’ said Marrissa.
‘Very nice,’ I said.
‘Make fat,’ she said slapping her thigh.
‘A minute on the lips a life time on the… erm Ships,’ I said realising I was about to allude to the bottom.
‘Yeysss,’ she said tucking in.
She smiled.
‘I no understand why we photograph more,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know Marrissa.’
‘What happening with Jose, why he no photograph?’ she asked.
‘He is angry,’ I replied.
Marrissa did not respond, instead she seemed to be working out what was really going on. She was astute, she might not have perfect English and I did not have perfect or any Spanish, but I sensed she was very aware.
‘There big problem here,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘No one happy. That bad,’ she said.
I tended to agree with that.
When we returned to the gallery Robert stood with a report in hands smiling.
‘We have already sold more pictures this cruise than the whole of last cruise,’ he said.
What?
Had they only sold two photos last cruise? Something was not adding up. What was going on?
Marrissa glanced at me and yawned.
Robert shook his head, ‘you can do that in six months,’ he said.
‘When we have time off boss?’ she asked.
He shook his head, ‘there is no real time off. You are here to work,’ he said.
The expression of an angry child graced her face, ‘no time off? I no slave! I no in prison. I do no bad! We have time off or we no work!’
Respect.
That was the hidden Marrissa I had noticed the first day I met her. I knew there was something volatile that would rear its head if she did not have her way. I sensed as time wore on there would be fireworks. I realised in that moment she was struggling too. We were both on a treadmill but Marrissa was on the same ship for six months. That had to be worse didn’t it?
At six in the morning it became apparent that the day was going to be brutal. We began at six and were likely to finish at ten thirty. Hardly an incentive for a happy dance. Marrissa and I gathered our cameras and made our way up on deck. At six fifteen it was already humid. When we arrived Robert was already up on deck wearing his white polo neck, blue shorts and Australian hat. His glasses had steamed up and his stomach flopped over his belt. It was apparent he was knackered but struggled to appear enthusiastic. The Panama canal was always a complete drudge for photographers. What was worse was Robert had to motivate a team who sensed they were not going to make money that cruise.
‘Good morning!’ he said in a strong Australian accent. ‘Well today is the perfect day for us to make money. What you both have to do is get as many shots of the guests with the Panama canal in the background as you can. You will keep circulating the decks and shooting the guests on every lock and against every interesting background. Now you don’t give them a choice. I don’t want to hear you ask can I take your picture - it is get together right there now,’ he said waving his arms and ushering us together. Click. ‘See how easy it is?’
It was particularly easy to give instructions when you weren’t taking the pictures. What I found strange was that usually on the Panama canal the photographers left the ship, chartered a car and drove to each of the locks. While on the locks we always photographed the ship and the passengers passing through. The Captain would announce, ‘if you look at the locks you will see the ship’s photographers, smile and wave.’ I used my four hundred lens to capture them smiling and waving. The fact that I had left the ship and was on the Panama canal always became a talking point.
‘So how did you get off the ship when we didn’t dock?’ they would ask.
Actually I was once left behind in the Panama canal. When I saw the ship sailing into the distance I had to charter a speedboat to catch up. The pilot boat that usually took me back did not turn up, what’s more the Captain had forgotten me. When the Captain noticed me waving at them to slow down so I could join the ship, the Captain kindly announced I was about to risk my life jumping from a speedboat onto a ship. Of course that drew some passenger attention - they thought it was all part of the entertainment. So there I was waves splashing in my face, a back pack of camera equipment and a leap to make onto a knotted rope. I took a deep breath, launched myself and climbed the knots. I don’t remember the climb but I do remember my heart thudding in my chest. I made it. That cruise I was considered a celebrity.
‘You’re very brave,’ they would say.
‘How very James Bond,’ said another.
‘You do that kind of thing all the time?’ said others.
‘Does the lift go up as well as down?’ Incidentally that was just a general comment which happened to be on the same day. I thought I would include it.
While I coated my face in suntan lotion Robert went and cordoned off an area on the top deck at the front of the ship. It was the best location to photograph the guests the front of the ship and the locks. It was an idea that I had not seen on any of the other ships I had worked on. When we arrived at the first lock he would round up the guests and photograph from the best vantage point.
‘What is the plan for today by the way?’ I asked Robert before he absconded.
‘We will finish shooting around five, get changed into evening uniform and have something to eat. We will then return to the gallery for six,’ he said.
‘What time does the gallery close tonight?’ I asked.
‘Ten thirty,’ he replied.
I glanced at Marrissa, she glanced back. The look on our faces revealed our thoughts.
‘Right then you two go and get on with it,’ he said brightly. ‘I want at least one hundred pictures from each of you.
I pointed at my lens, it was steamed up. The contrast between the ship air conditioning and the humidity often caused a steamy lens. The thing was you couldn’t simply wipe it with a lens cloth because the steam would instantly return. All we could do was wait for the lenses to clear and that could take any amount of time.
Once the lenses were clear the photographic factory began. Unsuspecting guests gazed out at the lush greenery and Marrissa and I would tap them on the shoulder.
‘Get together and smile!’ Click.
Marrissa and I hot dogged about the deck.
‘Hello, very nice!’ click.
I found Marrissa intriguing, as did the guests. It seemed her lack of English was in actual fact working in her favour. She was actually brilliant with guests and without having a strong English understanding she could use the fact that she actually did not understand the concept of no. I passed by at one point and had to contain a smirk.
‘No we don’t need a picture thank you,’ said one couple politely.
‘Yeyssss, nice sunshine,’ she said with a huge grin.
‘It’s okay…’ they said.
‘Ohhhh okay, very nice, smile!’ Click.
After two laps of the deck my facial muscles ached from my fake smile. Marrissa glanced at me, frowned and rubbed her jaw. ‘Pain,’ she said.
I nodded.
I applied more factor fifty sun tan lotion and Marrissa pointed, ‘like mayonaise,’ she said.
She glanced up at the heavens and pointed, ‘rain,’ she said.
She began to dance - a hippy bottom dance.
‘Marrissa?’
‘Rain dance! No photo,’ she said with a big smile.
She was correct, the first giant tropical rain drops fell. We protected our cameras and glanced at each other. We were both wearing white t-shirts and if we did not get to shelter is would be a wet t-shirt contest photo-shoot. We dashed inside and went down to the lab where Robert was printing pictures. He made a loud sigh when he saw us.
‘It’s raining, we just thought we would come down. Can we get a drink?’ I asked.
He nodded, all was not well.
‘Robert is something going on?’
He studied me, his eyes revealed upset but he shook his head. I wondered whether he was going to cry.
‘You have no idea of the pressure that I’m under Felicity. They want us to make money but what do we do? These people come on the ship year after year. They have had all the photos they need. What more can I do? Look at the diversity of our work and the quality. Still they don’t buy,’ he said raking his fingers through his hair.
In that moment something made sense about Robert, he was under extreme pressure, he was responsible for how much money the photo concession made. He was running against a wall and expected to produce a miracle. As much as he was frustrated he was doing his best in the face of adversity. ‘When things get really bad I play this.’
Were things really bad?
After sipping a diet coke Marrissa and I noticed the rain was calming. We studied each other too long, she was considering not mentioning the sun was coming out so we could relax.
‘Marrissa and Felicity,’ said Robert calling us into the darkroom. ‘This will motivate you,’ he said pressing the play button on his MP3.
The cheesiest song about Sunshine filled the darkroom walls and Robert waved his hands to accompany the music. I glanced at Marrissa whose smile evolved into a grimace.
‘It is my motivation song,’ he said.
‘Very… Nice,’ said Marrissa robotically.
‘Right get back out there and I will be up to photograph the sectioned off area. Felicity I would like your help. See me at the front of the ship in twenty minutes.’
‘Erm Robert where is Jose?’ I asked.
Robert studied me, I had definitely asked the wrong question.
‘Felicity… I will be honest with you. Jose is on the edge, he has been extended and unless I give him some space he’s going to flip out. He has done it a couple of times before and just completely lost it. We need to get him through the next two months without him loosing it. He works well with the printing and on formal, but photographing the decks makes him very angry,’ he said with a sigh.
I frowned, so to get out of photographing something I had to appear very angry? I could do that, actually no I couldn’t.
Back up on deck Marrissa and I did another round of photographs until I joined Robert at the front of the ship.
‘Drag people over for the perfect shot,’ he said, standing on a pedistall so he could provide the correct angle.
I felt like a market stall holder. Get your ripe apples! Lovely ripe apples… Pound a pound. Get them ‘ere!
‘Sir/Madam - the perfect location for a photograph is over there with Robert,’ I said as if they should know him. Some of the couples I approached I had already photographed three times. Shall I feign Sporadic Amnesia?
I soon realised that what I was saying had to be shorter, ‘if you would just like to step over there,’ I said. Robert could do the rest.
It was amazing how when you told people what to do they often did it. It was all about having an authoritive voice.
After a couple of hours of rounding people up it was lunch time. Robert was beaming. ‘Look, such a beautiful shot. Beauty - full! They have to buy it. Look Felicity look at what a Beut these are,’ he said showing me the back screen of the camera.
I wouldn’t say they were beautiful but they were pretty good. It turned out the rounding up had resulted in two hundred pictures taken of couples. That meant around fifty percent of the passengers had been photographed, if we had not photographed the same couples twice. That figure teamed with Marrissa and my deck shots was a lot of guests photographed.
After a half hour lunch of food that was unrecognisable we returned to the lab. Jose was sitting printing with a prickly atmosphere. Marrissa and I picked up the piles of pictures and displayed them in the gallery. They were ready for the guests to buy. God I hoped they would buy, we were paid purely commission, so no sales meant no wage! Imagine.
After our success on decks, if I was manager I would at least have said well done. Nothing.
The pictures were set up in the gallery and… Nothing. No guests. Robert glanced out of the window. ‘We’re coming to the next lock. Do another lap of the decks - there might be some people you missed,’ he said handing us each a camera.
I was not allowed to question, but Marrissa glanced at me with a frown.
I sensed that our constant pestering was likely to piss the passengers off. What’s more we still had another week of them. After a lap of the decks Marrissa and I stopped off at the ice-cream bar. No-one was around so one of the waiters slipped us a cookies and cream cornet each. We ate our luxury nibble in a secluded area where no-one would see us.
‘Nice no?’ said Marrissa.
‘Very nice,’ I said.
‘Make fat,’ she said slapping her thigh.
‘A minute on the lips a life time on the… erm Ships,’ I said realising I was about to allude to the bottom.
‘Yeysss,’ she said tucking in.
She smiled.
‘I no understand why we photograph more,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know Marrissa.’
‘What happening with Jose, why he no photograph?’ she asked.
‘He is angry,’ I replied.
Marrissa did not respond, instead she seemed to be working out what was really going on. She was astute, she might not have perfect English and I did not have perfect or any Spanish, but I sensed she was very aware.
‘There big problem here,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘No one happy. That bad,’ she said.
I tended to agree with that.
When we returned to the gallery Robert stood with a report in hands smiling.
‘We have already sold more pictures this cruise than the whole of last cruise,’ he said.
What?
Had they only sold two photos last cruise? Something was not adding up. What was going on?
Marrissa glanced at me and yawned.
Robert shook his head, ‘you can do that in six months,’ he said.
‘When we have time off boss?’ she asked.
He shook his head, ‘there is no real time off. You are here to work,’ he said.
The expression of an angry child graced her face, ‘no time off? I no slave! I no in prison. I do no bad! We have time off or we no work!’
Respect.
That was the hidden Marrissa I had noticed the first day I met her. I knew there was something volatile that would rear its head if she did not have her way. I sensed as time wore on there would be fireworks. I realised in that moment she was struggling too. We were both on a treadmill but Marrissa was on the same ship for six months. That had to be worse didn’t it?
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Beneath the Surface 20
Cartagena, Columbia
For the first time since arriving on board I was actually able to leave the ship. Of course there was a catch: I had to go on tour. Any potential ‘time off’ was actually spent working. Not only did I have to join the tour but I was expected to hassle the guests and photograph them whilst on tour. The previous night I got to bed at midnight and was up at six to be on the pier for seven. ‘Mysteries Of Religion,’ was the tour Robert chose on my behalf. I assumed he researched all the tours and came to the conclusion to send me on one the tour I would most dislike.
As with all cruise ship tours we raced about the city on the coach. Guests photographed points of interest through the window. Eventually we arrived at a fort where we actually got to walk for a short while. Everywhere we went the local sellers attempted to sell us emeralds, coral necklaces and local designed t-shirts. It was apparent that Cartagena was poor. What was lovely was that the people did not actually hassle you, unlike some of the Asian countries where they pulled at your clothes. In Cartagena once you said no that was it, there was no continued persuasion. Although, there was a conveyor belt of people pushing the same products. Why sell exactly the same thing? Although two oddities did capture may attention: a weathered old man with a slow moving sloth and a dressed up donkey. They were actually quite amusing and attracted the guests to pay a couple of dollars to be photographed next to them.
You know what? They tour might have been dull but my group was made up of a wonderful group of guests. The majority were in their seventies and had a real sense of humour. After trapsing up and down a fortress and being lead through the old town, one of the old men pulled me aside because he had a story to tell. ‘You know you have reminded me of something and I have to tell you,’ he said waving his friends over.
‘Do you roller blade?’
‘No,’ I responded.
‘Well I was walking Miami’s waterfront and a young woman your height rollerbladed past. She tripped and as a perfect gentleman I caught her on the way down and held her in my arms. You’re cute she said,’ he smiled and glanced at his pals for effect.
‘When a woman calls you cute you know that you’re old. At my age the mind makes promises that the body can’t keep. Of course I wanted to say to say to that young lady that I was actually simply handsome and horny! But being a gentleman I kept it to myself.’
His cronies about him laughed. What a random story, still he was a gentleman with one of those cheeky faces. He was someone who always had a story to tell. I would keep a look out for him on board.
‘So Felicity you like working on the ship?’ he said.
‘I like the travel and seeing new place,’ I responded.
‘I imagine travelling the world for free is one of the best things a young person can do,’ he said.
I wasn’t the type to share my issues. Dignity and integrity was paramount and you never shared gossip with guests.
‘I certainly recommend seeing the world,’ I responded.
‘Can I have a look at the photographs you have taken?’
I handed him the digital camera. He and his group look stunned. ‘Oh you’re a proper photograher?’
I nodded.
‘From now on we will be your photographic fans. Is that okay with you?’ he said.
Of course it was okay, in fact I loved it!
They were so sweet, the passengers on the ship were as diverse as two people could be. Some were self-made, others were from wealthy families and the majority were American. I learned very early on that when working with Americans it was always wise to blow your own trumpet very hard and very loud. So at any opportunity I was ready to discuss my previous professional life, who knew who I was going to meet? My ego was obviously scrambling to make the situation better. If it worked at least there was benefit to me. If that was the case then why did I feel guilty? I had spent my life pleasing others and now I felt like a prisoner in luxury who was suppressing the cruel truth. That truth protected others and not me. Making a deep sigh I realised I had to shift all the negativity out of my mind. I felt so ungrateful when so many people would have given anything to live such an adventurous life.
On the drive back I gazed out of the window and considered my work, my new job and the fact I was trapped. Robert’s angry red face flashed through my mind. The more time I spent with him the more it became apparent his control and power issues were based on feeling out of control and unloved. It was my opinion and he was under pressure, but still everyone chooses their behaviour. What’s more I sensed he was in desperate need of rumpy pumpy. Everything he said was turning into an innuendo. I made a loud sigh, the reality was he was obsessed with a twenty something Swedish stewardess. Jose had pointed her out when she passed through the gallery. I hoped she would oblige him.
Upon return to the ship Cartagena revealed how climate change was taking affect. When the tide was high part of the city flooded. We are not just talking a little bit of water we are talking about two foot. Most of the time only four wheel drive vehicles could make it through. Quite a few cars had broken down amongst the torrent. Drivers were climbing out of windows and wading to safety. Unfortunately the mess of cars caused a massive traffic jam and the ship was due to depart in an hour. Brilliant! No doubt it was going to lead to more trouble.
The ship’s security officers stood on the gang way. I had fifteen minutes until I had to be at work. There was a system in place that the crew had to wait for the guests to go first. Even though I had to be at work I had to wait for eight bus loads of guests to swipe through the security system. I could feel that knot forming in my intestine. I was going to get shouted at for something that was not my fault. When I did arrive on the gangway the security guard glanced at me. ‘You are not listed on tour. You are late which means your card can be locked for a port,’ he said.
‘I was on tour, that is why I am carrying this flag. Please ask the tour team,’ he studied me.
‘I will let you off this once, but if you are late again there will be another day of ‘jail’.
Punished for no misdemeanour. How fair was that?
Once onboard I ran to my cabin and changed into my evening uniform. I did not have time to shower. Even though I rushed I was still five minutes late.
‘Where have you been? If there is one thing I can not stand… That is my staff being late!’ screamed Robert.
‘I was on a tour, you put me on that tour. How could I help a bus being caught in a flooded in the city centre? You know I could not help that,’ I responded.
‘Do not… I mean do not…ever answer me back! I am your manager! You are not to question me you understand? Late is late and we are open until ten so you won’t get a break,’ he said.
‘So I had to go on tour, get up at seven and now I will work until ten without a break?’
When would I eat?
‘Ship life honey. You either hack it or leave!’ he said storming into the darkroom and slamming the door.
Rage.
What was I doing? It was so unfair.
Marrissa witnessed the onslaught, looked sympathetic and shrugged.
I didn’t need to live my life like that. I was not happy. The hours we were working were ridiculous. So far, from the day I began I had worked two fifteen hour days without breaks. Was it worth it for seven days a week? I felt awful - I didn’t need to be there - I could go home and work in an office. I was already close to resigning. It was so frustrating not being able to just walk off the ship. They had my passport and I was trapped.
For the majority of the evening I was silent, brewing. I talked to guests while my mind churned. Finally Marrissa patted me on the shoulder. ‘Felicity Robert no nice man. This no nice ship. I leave Rio in two month. I no like company - it disaster. I will survive. Felicity I left good job on other ship… I paid more, I speak espanol and work with happy people. Ken lied me too. Not nice. I sad. I know you sad. You angry but you no stay. You better than this! Disaster!’
Later that evening Marrissa snuck me some sandwiches and cookies from the mess. We were both trapped on the same ship, we had to support each other. What else could we do?
For the first time since arriving on board I was actually able to leave the ship. Of course there was a catch: I had to go on tour. Any potential ‘time off’ was actually spent working. Not only did I have to join the tour but I was expected to hassle the guests and photograph them whilst on tour. The previous night I got to bed at midnight and was up at six to be on the pier for seven. ‘Mysteries Of Religion,’ was the tour Robert chose on my behalf. I assumed he researched all the tours and came to the conclusion to send me on one the tour I would most dislike.
As with all cruise ship tours we raced about the city on the coach. Guests photographed points of interest through the window. Eventually we arrived at a fort where we actually got to walk for a short while. Everywhere we went the local sellers attempted to sell us emeralds, coral necklaces and local designed t-shirts. It was apparent that Cartagena was poor. What was lovely was that the people did not actually hassle you, unlike some of the Asian countries where they pulled at your clothes. In Cartagena once you said no that was it, there was no continued persuasion. Although, there was a conveyor belt of people pushing the same products. Why sell exactly the same thing? Although two oddities did capture may attention: a weathered old man with a slow moving sloth and a dressed up donkey. They were actually quite amusing and attracted the guests to pay a couple of dollars to be photographed next to them.
You know what? They tour might have been dull but my group was made up of a wonderful group of guests. The majority were in their seventies and had a real sense of humour. After trapsing up and down a fortress and being lead through the old town, one of the old men pulled me aside because he had a story to tell. ‘You know you have reminded me of something and I have to tell you,’ he said waving his friends over.
‘Do you roller blade?’
‘No,’ I responded.
‘Well I was walking Miami’s waterfront and a young woman your height rollerbladed past. She tripped and as a perfect gentleman I caught her on the way down and held her in my arms. You’re cute she said,’ he smiled and glanced at his pals for effect.
‘When a woman calls you cute you know that you’re old. At my age the mind makes promises that the body can’t keep. Of course I wanted to say to say to that young lady that I was actually simply handsome and horny! But being a gentleman I kept it to myself.’
His cronies about him laughed. What a random story, still he was a gentleman with one of those cheeky faces. He was someone who always had a story to tell. I would keep a look out for him on board.
‘So Felicity you like working on the ship?’ he said.
‘I like the travel and seeing new place,’ I responded.
‘I imagine travelling the world for free is one of the best things a young person can do,’ he said.
I wasn’t the type to share my issues. Dignity and integrity was paramount and you never shared gossip with guests.
‘I certainly recommend seeing the world,’ I responded.
‘Can I have a look at the photographs you have taken?’
I handed him the digital camera. He and his group look stunned. ‘Oh you’re a proper photograher?’
I nodded.
‘From now on we will be your photographic fans. Is that okay with you?’ he said.
Of course it was okay, in fact I loved it!
They were so sweet, the passengers on the ship were as diverse as two people could be. Some were self-made, others were from wealthy families and the majority were American. I learned very early on that when working with Americans it was always wise to blow your own trumpet very hard and very loud. So at any opportunity I was ready to discuss my previous professional life, who knew who I was going to meet? My ego was obviously scrambling to make the situation better. If it worked at least there was benefit to me. If that was the case then why did I feel guilty? I had spent my life pleasing others and now I felt like a prisoner in luxury who was suppressing the cruel truth. That truth protected others and not me. Making a deep sigh I realised I had to shift all the negativity out of my mind. I felt so ungrateful when so many people would have given anything to live such an adventurous life.
On the drive back I gazed out of the window and considered my work, my new job and the fact I was trapped. Robert’s angry red face flashed through my mind. The more time I spent with him the more it became apparent his control and power issues were based on feeling out of control and unloved. It was my opinion and he was under pressure, but still everyone chooses their behaviour. What’s more I sensed he was in desperate need of rumpy pumpy. Everything he said was turning into an innuendo. I made a loud sigh, the reality was he was obsessed with a twenty something Swedish stewardess. Jose had pointed her out when she passed through the gallery. I hoped she would oblige him.
Upon return to the ship Cartagena revealed how climate change was taking affect. When the tide was high part of the city flooded. We are not just talking a little bit of water we are talking about two foot. Most of the time only four wheel drive vehicles could make it through. Quite a few cars had broken down amongst the torrent. Drivers were climbing out of windows and wading to safety. Unfortunately the mess of cars caused a massive traffic jam and the ship was due to depart in an hour. Brilliant! No doubt it was going to lead to more trouble.
The ship’s security officers stood on the gang way. I had fifteen minutes until I had to be at work. There was a system in place that the crew had to wait for the guests to go first. Even though I had to be at work I had to wait for eight bus loads of guests to swipe through the security system. I could feel that knot forming in my intestine. I was going to get shouted at for something that was not my fault. When I did arrive on the gangway the security guard glanced at me. ‘You are not listed on tour. You are late which means your card can be locked for a port,’ he said.
‘I was on tour, that is why I am carrying this flag. Please ask the tour team,’ he studied me.
‘I will let you off this once, but if you are late again there will be another day of ‘jail’.
Punished for no misdemeanour. How fair was that?
Once onboard I ran to my cabin and changed into my evening uniform. I did not have time to shower. Even though I rushed I was still five minutes late.
‘Where have you been? If there is one thing I can not stand… That is my staff being late!’ screamed Robert.
‘I was on a tour, you put me on that tour. How could I help a bus being caught in a flooded in the city centre? You know I could not help that,’ I responded.
‘Do not… I mean do not…ever answer me back! I am your manager! You are not to question me you understand? Late is late and we are open until ten so you won’t get a break,’ he said.
‘So I had to go on tour, get up at seven and now I will work until ten without a break?’
When would I eat?
‘Ship life honey. You either hack it or leave!’ he said storming into the darkroom and slamming the door.
Rage.
What was I doing? It was so unfair.
Marrissa witnessed the onslaught, looked sympathetic and shrugged.
I didn’t need to live my life like that. I was not happy. The hours we were working were ridiculous. So far, from the day I began I had worked two fifteen hour days without breaks. Was it worth it for seven days a week? I felt awful - I didn’t need to be there - I could go home and work in an office. I was already close to resigning. It was so frustrating not being able to just walk off the ship. They had my passport and I was trapped.
For the majority of the evening I was silent, brewing. I talked to guests while my mind churned. Finally Marrissa patted me on the shoulder. ‘Felicity Robert no nice man. This no nice ship. I leave Rio in two month. I no like company - it disaster. I will survive. Felicity I left good job on other ship… I paid more, I speak espanol and work with happy people. Ken lied me too. Not nice. I sad. I know you sad. You angry but you no stay. You better than this! Disaster!’
Later that evening Marrissa snuck me some sandwiches and cookies from the mess. We were both trapped on the same ship, we had to support each other. What else could we do?
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