The evening prior to our sea trial, I watch the movie Captain Phillips. My pupils do not leave the screen, mesmerized by the action. As a self-proclaimed scaredy cat with more fears than fingers, I often obtain excitement from dangerous situations. I don’t mean to make myself sound like some sort of weirdo (although I wouldn’t strictly deny it) to put it more clearly, I mean that despite the constant fear that everything’s going to hurt me: I still find pleasure in extreme airplane turbulence, or in this case the thought that my boat could be hijacked by a group of Somalian pirates. I closely follow Hanks’ characters thought processes, so that if the need arise my ‘what would Captain Phillips do?’ mindset could just save the day.
My first time at sea comes and I take my pride of place at my fender. My only instructions: “when given the word go, pull up the fender from the side and unhook the hook, the hook is heavy and if you drop the hook on the teak – you die”. Standing proudly, straight back and hands clasped eagerly awaiting their time to shine, the engines release their power: my smile continues beneath the cloud of black smoke that channels into my face. We float out to water and I do my thing – the hook isn’t at all as heavy as I expected from the seriosity of the warning. My trusty partner Lauren and I carry the fender to its spot and go back for the second, only to find it’s already been taken. Our contribution to the operation is over.
Days later I experience my first shower at sea. This time we are at sea for real, our first trip, the beginning of my first season as a Stewardess. To set the scene; I share with you the picture of our little cabin head. Heads are what we call toilets in the yachting world. Don’t ask me why. I have gotten over it now, it did sound funny when I first radioed the Chief Stew to tell her that I was ready for her to come and inspect my head. Our little bathrooms are so small that when you’re sitting on the royal seat and turn to retrieve a poo ticket (our Boson introduced me to that name and thought id try it out), your elbow knocks the roll into the bin. The glass door shower is a tiny cubicle, where once again your elbows will touch the sides when you wash your hair and the ONLY way to shave your legs is to stick your leg out of the door and rest it across the sink. Just to emphasize the ridiculousness of your bathroom activities, the mirror goes along the entire width of one wall, allowing you to see yourself wherever you are and whatever you are doing.
Lesson 1: You know when its early morning, you’re half asleep and you jump into the shower, you shut your eyes as the hot water runs over your sleepy face? NEVER shut your eyes in the shower at sea! Within a moment it was the glass wall of the shower that I felt flat against my face with the mirror laughing at me from behind, proudly displaying my nose pressed up against the glass pane. One thing was to be sure, that certainly woke me up.
Lesson 2 – Multi tasking. Another shower mishap sees me deep throating myself with my toothbrush as I stupidly attempt to wash my hair whilst holding my toothbrush between my teeth. That multitasking ability that us women are known to have? Forget it. Always keep one hand spare to steady yourself, catch the falling showerhead, shampoo or stop the glass doors from banging themselves into oblivion.
If you choose not to shower, then you are faced with the challenge of shaking yourself awake to beat that morning doziness, which at sea can be detrimental to your morning routine. A clumsy clown at the best of times, I for one am particularly inelegant in the mornings. When half asleep, balance and hand to eye coordination still in the land of nod: stepping into your trousers can be a dangerous task. I have bruises from tip to toe, some result of bashing my shins with the vacuum when carrying it up the narrow stairways, but plenty just from the journey from my bed to the bathroom (which by the way is less than two steps).
Days later I experience my first shower at sea. This time we are at sea for real, our first trip, the beginning of my first season as a Stewardess. To set the scene; I share with you the picture of our little cabin head. Heads are what we call toilets in the yachting world. Don’t ask me why. I have gotten over it now, it did sound funny when I first radioed the Chief Stew to tell her that I was ready for her to come and inspect my head. Our little bathrooms are so small that when you’re sitting on the royal seat and turn to retrieve a poo ticket (our Boson introduced me to that name and thought id try it out), your elbow knocks the roll into the bin. The glass door shower is a tiny cubicle, where once again your elbows will touch the sides when you wash your hair and the ONLY way to shave your legs is to stick your leg out of the door and rest it across the sink. Just to emphasize the ridiculousness of your bathroom activities, the mirror goes along the entire width of one wall, allowing you to see yourself wherever you are and whatever you are doing.
Lesson 1: You know when its early morning, you’re half asleep and you jump into the shower, you shut your eyes as the hot water runs over your sleepy face? NEVER shut your eyes in the shower at sea! Within a moment it was the glass wall of the shower that I felt flat against my face with the mirror laughing at me from behind, proudly displaying my nose pressed up against the glass pane. One thing was to be sure, that certainly woke me up.
Lesson 2 – Multi tasking. Another shower mishap sees me deep throating myself with my toothbrush as I stupidly attempt to wash my hair whilst holding my toothbrush between my teeth. That multitasking ability that us women are known to have? Forget it. Always keep one hand spare to steady yourself, catch the falling showerhead, shampoo or stop the glass doors from banging themselves into oblivion.
If you choose not to shower, then you are faced with the challenge of shaking yourself awake to beat that morning doziness, which at sea can be detrimental to your morning routine. A clumsy clown at the best of times, I for one am particularly inelegant in the mornings. When half asleep, balance and hand to eye coordination still in the land of nod: stepping into your trousers can be a dangerous task. I have bruises from tip to toe, some result of bashing my shins with the vacuum when carrying it up the narrow stairways, but plenty just from the journey from my bed to the bathroom (which by the way is less than two steps).