Beneath the surface 11

Laden with uniform sackage I was escorted through endless off-white corridors to my new cabin. I opened the door and there it was: a room so small that a Wendy house would have looked like a mansion next to it. One person could barely live in those conditions, so of course there was going to be two of us. To enable this dramatic feat the two of us were allocated bunk beds. Interestingly when you sat up on the bunk your forehead hit the roof. The dimensions of the mattress were just slightly wider than your body so you had to roll on the spot should you wish to turn over.

To enable privacy a thin floral curtain could be drawn around the bed. Admittedly a hamster could probably reside in such a space and be relatively content. However, I was not a small rodent and the cabin was not designed for human inhabitation! What was worse was I had to share it with a huge bottomed woman in her forties. That bottom could be described as a couple of ferrets in a sack but that would an understatement more like buffalos in a sack - is that bitchy or truthful? The latter. What bothered me was how, if the two of us were in the cabin, would I get past? What if she got the top bunk and it collapsed and I got suffocated by a giant arse? Oh here comes the imagination… God what if her bottom touched both sides of the cabin? What if she got elephantitus and her bottom got so big over night that I was trapped against the wall by a giant bottom? What if… Oh God! I never thought I would arrive at the grand age of thirty four and be in that situation; especially not when I left a lovely spacious apartment in Bournemouth. What have I done?

At times like that you had a choice - cry or laugh. I had to turn my mind around: it was all part of the adventure. If I began with a negative mind set I would go mad. I had to see the bright side: a giant bottom in a confined cabin was all part of the adventure and I had no rent! It could have been worse - the phillipinos lived in cramped conditions with six to a cabin, it was inhumane. If I began the contract with a negative mindset I would go mad. I had to be like a Zen master and focus.

Standing in the confines of that cabin I smirked, ironically people envied my ‘luxurious’ life. Surely if they witnessed this they would have a re-think! If I attempted to swing a cat, it would suffer concussion mid-oscillation. The fact I could stand with my hands on both walls made it clear how tiny that cabin was. I would have loved to have seen my friend's faces if that was their new home for the next six months. No doubt their faces would have contorted to same expression as dropping their toothbrush down the toilet.

Okay time for the mind switch: focus on the good. What was good about the cabin? It was well organised. Everything was designed for time efficiency. The cupboards were compartmentalised and could hold a couple of socks and a pair of thong knickers before they reached full capacity. The beds had curtains for privacy and they were generous in their provision of two pillows. Nowhere in the cabin were bars so essentially it was not a prison. Oops slight negative realisation - the only ‘privacy’ was behind a floral curtain designed for the 1920’s bed and breakfast. And you could see over the top of that curtain. What’s more privacy space is approximately six foot five by two foot. The same size as a coffin.

The last time I returned to land after being at sea for years I slept on the floor for a couple of years. Through the trauma of being in a confined space for such a long time I had to be as far away from the ceiling as was physically possible. I had forgotten the confined space thing. Thank God I didn’t get claustrophobic.

Bright orange life jackets were kept in the space above our cupboards. They were a constant reminder that the ship could sink and that you had to be prepared for emergency. Talking of emergencies, when we walked past the luggage loading bay there was conflict. Two of the local luggage loaders were screaming at each other.
‘Man you are shit!’ said one.
‘Fuck yourself and fuck your fat, fucking, stinking mother,’ the other responded.
Welcome to Miami!
When I walked past the conflict stopped and the men tipped their hats. Once I was further down the corridor one turned to the others, ‘man… Those lucky bastards on board get some fit wholesome women. They look like they’re fed properly and wear perfume.’
Why not announce that over the tannoy?
‘Fuck off,’ said one assuming I was out of ear shot. ‘That bit of pussy wouldn’t purr at you!’
‘Fuck she would…’
It was getting pretty heated but that was normal. Is was strange what took place below deck - away from passenger’s prying eyes. That is it… Passengers do not witness what is going on beneath the surface…. That is it. That is what I will call this diary - Beneath the Surface!

Outside the cabin the crew area resembled a hospital, all stark and off white. There were hard grey floors and doors leading to endless corridors of uniform crew cabins. There really was a prisonesque feeling to it, although it was a prison where the inmates had their noses rubbed in luxury and a façade of glitz.
The decks below us were full of crew cabins, then below those the engine rooms and laundry. The laundry always fascinated me because it was so vast. Consider how many sheets, table cloths and towels a ship with one thousand guests and five hundred crew consumed in a day. Needless to say the laundry was in constant use. Chinese men washed endless towels and bedding in a steam imbued metallic environment. They were robotic in their motion and never seemed phased by the endless piles of laundry to be cleaned. It was fascinating; albeit depressing. Their lives consisted of endless piles of dirty sheets and no recognition for slave labour. I could never comprehend it. What people did to earn money was beyond me and no doubt their families believed they lead glamorous lives visiting far off shores when in fact they washed shitty sheets and soiled towels.
Sadly, the previous year one of the potato peelers jumped over board and died. It seemed that twelve hours a day peeling potatoes was too much. He didn’t have the money to get home so was trapped peeling piles of potatoes for oblivious guests to consume. Realising his choices were removed it seemed there was only one option left.
Sometimes it is hard not to focus on the negative stories but I had to accept the situation as it was and fulfil my intention: write the truth about ship life and earn money from photography. I had six months and I intended to enjoy myself. Making a loud sigh I realised I had to accept that everyone present was there through choice and were doing the best with what they had. I had to stop judging and analysing because I had made the very same choice. I was there to work! I had to suck it up and deal with it!