That evening Robert invited Marrissa and I to the Officer’s bar. It was a gesture of welcome in terms a drink,
“Just so you both know… You are not allowed in here unless you are invited by an officer. Since I am manager I am officer status and have the right to invite you inside. Since I am of an officer’s rank I also get to eat in the officer’s mess, so does Jose because he is the Assistant Manager. You two will eat in the standard mess because you are not officers you fall into the bracket of crew or as I like to call you ‘minions.’ The food for the officers is much better and we get to interact with the higher levels of management,’ said Robert smugly. “So what would you like to drink?”
Wanker!
Actually not just wanker! Fat wanker!
Hierachy and ego on ship is rife. A strong patriarch rules and rather than high five each other they bash dicks (actually I made up the last part!) There are strict guidelines of what you can and can’t do according to your rank. If you break a rule you are disciplined, which can mean more IPM or less priviledges.
So there we are in the officer’s bar, a dark wooden room with green velvet seats and silence. A bit of looking around and more silence. To the right of me two Russian officers play darts on a rolling ship while they drink vodka - was that health and safety? I had that image of a dart landing in Marrissa’s bottom creep into my mind. I had to hold back the smirk. I think I have become obsessed by the bottom but the truth is I am sitting quite far away from the others because the bottom is now spread out… God what I bitch I am but it seems to be creeping along the seat.
I glanced over at Jose, who obviously wanted to leave and be with his girl friend. In fact he wanted to be anywhere but there. He looked like he had a smell under his nose and was like the little boy who had been forced to be there. Robert, in the mean time broke the silence and talked endlessly about how great he was. I would give you the details but I was consumed by the image of bottoms with darts decorating them. Then for some reason the image of a porcupine wandered through my mind. I must have been tired. When I did switch into the conversation Robert purposely revealed he was desperately searching for a woman to hide the sausage with. I guessed he would have to find his sausage to then re-hide it. Or maybe he had hidden his sausage with himself.
I glanced at Marrissa who sat with her arms folded swinging her leg and staring at her shoe. It was apparent she was in a strop with me about the top bunk. Did I care? No I was having another realisation: I had made the biggest mistake of my life. Brilliant!
All of the above combined made the perfect ingredients for an evening of fun.
“So Marrissa have you worked on ships before?” asked Robert.
“Yeysss,” she replied.
She understood! Or did she?
“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Yeysss,” she said.
I gestured drinking action.
Robert watched curiously but remained silent.
“Cocacola light,” she said.
“Marrissa… what did you do on the other ship?” he asked.
“Marrissa take photo,” she said.
It was a miracle… I am so proud!
Robert sighed and studied her.
“What do you think of your cabin?” he asked.
“Yeysss.”
Jose glanced at Marrissa and spoke to her in Spanish.
“She thinks it is very small and she has the top bunk, that makes her very sad,” said Jose with obvious disinterest.
Robert glanced at Jose and then at me. We knew what he was thinking.
Thursday, 21 January 2010
Beneath the surface - passengers 13
Passengers.
Okay so how often do you see wheelchairs lined up in a corridor? Was I working on a floating rest home for the wealthy? The passengers were aged fifty to decrepit. Most of the men followed a strict code of visual conformity. During the day the uniform was beige Bermuda shorts, a white polo neck with expensive logo, long white socks and sun glasses that were larger than the man’s face. White hair, a dazed look and plenty of balding lead me to only one conclusion: cloning had taken place.
There was slightly more variety amongst the women. Some had white hair, died dark hair or bright orange hair, all of it arranged in a spectacular, gravity defying bouffants. How did they manage to get swimming hats on that? Hmmm which came first chicken or egg - buffont / swimming cap?
Again many of the ladies appeared dazed or as if they had been caught in a wind tunnel. Plastic surgery was rife on board and the general expression of pure g-force crossed with sheer terror would freak anyone out in the dark. During the day light hours I found passing by the swimming pool a bit of a concern too - some of those old dear’s implants were floating on the surface wrapped in old people skin. (Yes I know it is cruel but a breast should not reach the other side of the pool before the swimmer, nor should it float behind!)
When the female guest’s were dressed they too followed a strict rule: gold and white clothing accessorised with white diamante visors and giant sunglasses. It was like being present in an eighties golfing tournament. My favourite was the shinny leopard skin romper suits for the sexier and more daring of the women. They took great pleasure in strutting past the old men with a look of seduction. Wives would peer bitchily over the top of their sunglasses - to achieve this feat they required a step ladder.
That evening a decision had to be made, it was an important decision, one which caused numerous power struggles. Who got the bottom bunk? To make the process fair Marrissa and I sat in the cabin and stared at each other. After a while I waved a coin at her and pointed at my head and then my bottom. Maybe I shouldn’t have pointed at my bottom but how else do you say tails to someone whose English language is limited? I pointed at my head again and then at my bottom.
‘Si,’ she said when I was pointing at my bottom. I assumed she selected tails. Or maybe she wanted to see my bottom. Or maybe she wanted me to put my bottom in the sea? It could have been any but merrily she called the wrong side. It was tails. I showed her the result and she rolled her eyes and sighed. With a look of pain, I pointed at the bottom bunk and shrugged as if it was the only choice I could make. Marrissa’s face revealed complete and utter dejection. For the next few months Marrissa would have to climb up and down the ladder every time she wanted the loo, every time she wanted to lay on the bed and had further to fall if a storm hit. She also had less space, so if she got amorous it would be more difficult. I, on the other hand, had to live in fear of the bed collapsing and a huge arse crushing me to death. Which was worse? Arse crush or constant climbing? Either would result in night terror.
Retina Blue (Volume 1)
Okay so how often do you see wheelchairs lined up in a corridor? Was I working on a floating rest home for the wealthy? The passengers were aged fifty to decrepit. Most of the men followed a strict code of visual conformity. During the day the uniform was beige Bermuda shorts, a white polo neck with expensive logo, long white socks and sun glasses that were larger than the man’s face. White hair, a dazed look and plenty of balding lead me to only one conclusion: cloning had taken place.
There was slightly more variety amongst the women. Some had white hair, died dark hair or bright orange hair, all of it arranged in a spectacular, gravity defying bouffants. How did they manage to get swimming hats on that? Hmmm which came first chicken or egg - buffont / swimming cap?
Again many of the ladies appeared dazed or as if they had been caught in a wind tunnel. Plastic surgery was rife on board and the general expression of pure g-force crossed with sheer terror would freak anyone out in the dark. During the day light hours I found passing by the swimming pool a bit of a concern too - some of those old dear’s implants were floating on the surface wrapped in old people skin. (Yes I know it is cruel but a breast should not reach the other side of the pool before the swimmer, nor should it float behind!)
When the female guest’s were dressed they too followed a strict rule: gold and white clothing accessorised with white diamante visors and giant sunglasses. It was like being present in an eighties golfing tournament. My favourite was the shinny leopard skin romper suits for the sexier and more daring of the women. They took great pleasure in strutting past the old men with a look of seduction. Wives would peer bitchily over the top of their sunglasses - to achieve this feat they required a step ladder.
That evening a decision had to be made, it was an important decision, one which caused numerous power struggles. Who got the bottom bunk? To make the process fair Marrissa and I sat in the cabin and stared at each other. After a while I waved a coin at her and pointed at my head and then my bottom. Maybe I shouldn’t have pointed at my bottom but how else do you say tails to someone whose English language is limited? I pointed at my head again and then at my bottom.
‘Si,’ she said when I was pointing at my bottom. I assumed she selected tails. Or maybe she wanted to see my bottom. Or maybe she wanted me to put my bottom in the sea? It could have been any but merrily she called the wrong side. It was tails. I showed her the result and she rolled her eyes and sighed. With a look of pain, I pointed at the bottom bunk and shrugged as if it was the only choice I could make. Marrissa’s face revealed complete and utter dejection. For the next few months Marrissa would have to climb up and down the ladder every time she wanted the loo, every time she wanted to lay on the bed and had further to fall if a storm hit. She also had less space, so if she got amorous it would be more difficult. I, on the other hand, had to live in fear of the bed collapsing and a huge arse crushing me to death. Which was worse? Arse crush or constant climbing? Either would result in night terror.
Retina Blue (Volume 1)
Beneath the surface 12
The team.
On first impressions the photo manager appeared to be a decent bloke, on first impressions most men seem like decent blokes. He was rather portly, wore glasses and spoke with a strong Australian accent.
‘Hi I’m Robert. You must be Felicity and you must be Marrissa. So just to let you know… I expect you both to reach my high photographic standards.’
‘Yeyyyssss,’ said Marrissa.
Her interruption was quite untimely.
Oh no!
‘Marissa from Braaaaaaaaazil. Rio. Very Nice,’ she said.
Robert’s jaw locked while he eyed her curiously.
Silence.
Awkward silence.
Three invisible tumble weeds rolled past with a cold wind.
A grinning Brazilian grinned and… silence.
‘Right, I see. Erm…’ He coughed. ‘Erm… Felicity I have seen your work and I have also worked as a sports photographer. I had my own company too. I have a similar attitude to you. I do have my own way of doing things and expect you to adopt my methods. I am your manager and I am in charge. There is no room for manoeuvre. You will learn that I am the best and expect MY team to emulate me.’
I listened, I remained quiet. Was he a control freak or just a complete dick?
Ken and Linda had warned me about him: ‘you will find Robert a little odd, he has a huge ego so be careful. Just smile and get on with your job.’ Lynda advised.
It was apparent that Ken didn’t like him either. During one telephone call where Ken had been involved in a self admiring monologue and I was washing up, he mentioned that he was having a few issues with Robert. ‘You know Felicity I would like your honest opinion on him. He can be a bit of a bully but I know you won’t take it,’ he said.
The snake wanted my opinion on the man I was supposed to respect and take orders from. I had frowned, something wasn’t right. How could the director of a company put a new employee in such an awkward position? It made me a potential snitch and that made Ken an even greater shit.
‘So Ken employed you both. To be straight down the line I can’t stand the man. He’s an idiot and a liar - you’ll see. Unfortunately everything he told you to get you here was a lie. I suggest you try to enjoy yourself and forget about earning money. Look at it as an experience. You won’t make anything here but you will work your guts out for nothing. So be prepared because that is the truth.’
Marrissa just smiled and glanced about in a mental waft, ‘very ni…ce!’
Robert glanced at me purposely, I assume he was studying my reaction. I focused on creating my best poker face and revealed nothing other than sheer horror.
The last member of the team, the Assistant Manager, Jose was a good looking Columbian. He was tall, dark and amusing. Admittedly he had a look that suggested he was observing and at any moment could flip out. He had already been on the ship six months and sanity usually evacuated at four. He had been on the ship too long and something was out of balance. What was he holding back?
When Jose left Robert turned to me, ‘Jose was meant to go home two months ago. He is on the edge and the simplest thing tips him over. Just be aware of that and tread carefully around him. You know what it is like when you get to six months - you hate everyone and everything… So be nice.’
Robert was being truthful in such a confined space everything always became exaggerated. What’s more that meant he was going to loose it at some point. God I hoped it wasn’t at me.
I glanced at the team- what a random combination. I prayed we would work well together; however, my instinct was contrary. The truth was the team consisted of a huge ego, volatility, an unaware and an over analytical. In essence the perfect combination for conflict. What a joy!
On first impressions the photo manager appeared to be a decent bloke, on first impressions most men seem like decent blokes. He was rather portly, wore glasses and spoke with a strong Australian accent.
‘Hi I’m Robert. You must be Felicity and you must be Marrissa. So just to let you know… I expect you both to reach my high photographic standards.’
‘Yeyyyssss,’ said Marrissa.
Her interruption was quite untimely.
Oh no!
‘Marissa from Braaaaaaaaazil. Rio. Very Nice,’ she said.
Robert’s jaw locked while he eyed her curiously.
Silence.
Awkward silence.
Three invisible tumble weeds rolled past with a cold wind.
A grinning Brazilian grinned and… silence.
‘Right, I see. Erm…’ He coughed. ‘Erm… Felicity I have seen your work and I have also worked as a sports photographer. I had my own company too. I have a similar attitude to you. I do have my own way of doing things and expect you to adopt my methods. I am your manager and I am in charge. There is no room for manoeuvre. You will learn that I am the best and expect MY team to emulate me.’
I listened, I remained quiet. Was he a control freak or just a complete dick?
Ken and Linda had warned me about him: ‘you will find Robert a little odd, he has a huge ego so be careful. Just smile and get on with your job.’ Lynda advised.
It was apparent that Ken didn’t like him either. During one telephone call where Ken had been involved in a self admiring monologue and I was washing up, he mentioned that he was having a few issues with Robert. ‘You know Felicity I would like your honest opinion on him. He can be a bit of a bully but I know you won’t take it,’ he said.
The snake wanted my opinion on the man I was supposed to respect and take orders from. I had frowned, something wasn’t right. How could the director of a company put a new employee in such an awkward position? It made me a potential snitch and that made Ken an even greater shit.
‘So Ken employed you both. To be straight down the line I can’t stand the man. He’s an idiot and a liar - you’ll see. Unfortunately everything he told you to get you here was a lie. I suggest you try to enjoy yourself and forget about earning money. Look at it as an experience. You won’t make anything here but you will work your guts out for nothing. So be prepared because that is the truth.’
Marrissa just smiled and glanced about in a mental waft, ‘very ni…ce!’
Robert glanced at me purposely, I assume he was studying my reaction. I focused on creating my best poker face and revealed nothing other than sheer horror.
The last member of the team, the Assistant Manager, Jose was a good looking Columbian. He was tall, dark and amusing. Admittedly he had a look that suggested he was observing and at any moment could flip out. He had already been on the ship six months and sanity usually evacuated at four. He had been on the ship too long and something was out of balance. What was he holding back?
When Jose left Robert turned to me, ‘Jose was meant to go home two months ago. He is on the edge and the simplest thing tips him over. Just be aware of that and tread carefully around him. You know what it is like when you get to six months - you hate everyone and everything… So be nice.’
Robert was being truthful in such a confined space everything always became exaggerated. What’s more that meant he was going to loose it at some point. God I hoped it wasn’t at me.
I glanced at the team- what a random combination. I prayed we would work well together; however, my instinct was contrary. The truth was the team consisted of a huge ego, volatility, an unaware and an over analytical. In essence the perfect combination for conflict. What a joy!
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