Crosseyed and Painless

(Part 3 of something that happend to me some time ago)

Our good deal waiting tables on the largest city afloat (at the time)
supposedly extended to our hours.

As the managements way of saying thank you for helping them out as such
short notice, we were given light duties. We only had to serve breakfast
lunch and dinner. We were being excused from serving Afternoon Tea.

My idea of saying thank you would have been to let us off at the next port

However, once you were used to the routine the hours weren't that bad. Two
hours for breakfast, three for lunch, and say, four for dinner. So you got
some time off in the afternoon and between 11pm and 7am, your time was
your own.

"What do you do?" I asked,

I was curious as to the options, sunbake, swim, write?

"No mate" my roomie tells me.

"The pool is only open from 8pm. The only deck with seating and sun
is funnel deck, called so for obvious reasons, and the bar opens at 7pm"

He paused to take another drag from his cigarette.

"Do what everyone does, sleep"

And so the routine was set. Get up, work a bit, sleep, work some more,
get drunk, pass out, get up in time for breakfast. And don't get seasick.

Seasickness is not really a problem. The sea moves, you get sick, no
problem. But as Captain and Doctor alike will tell you, it is all in the
head. If your brain can see where your stomach is going, you'll be fine.

This, naturally, calls for fresh air and a window, two things that don't
exist for crew. So instead you just have to tell your brain to ignore
what your stomach is saying, assume your ears are faulty and plod on
regardless. It takes some time to get used to, but if you keep yourself
busy it works.

If it doesn't work and the hangover is just too much there are toilets
conveniently placed near all the danger zones with that reassuring wet,
slippery floor that tells you you are not the only one.

You are, I guess, all in the same boat.

Even now, many years later, I can still recall that one morning, after we'd
had a very nasty bender the night before, when one of our customers, the
bastard, decided that they wanted kippers for breakfast. We had to take
turns to go out there. We could only last 5 minutes before one of us
wanted to hurl.

Looking back now, I can, at best say, that it was an experience. I got
off lightly with just a taste of what i could have committed myself to.

A standard contract was 7 days a week for 3 months. Free room and board in
the finest post industrial steel spaces the Empire has to offer and
everything for sale is duty free.

If you need a free passage across the planet and can get used to the
unchanging routine and disgusting hours, the job is not particularly bad.
It's a cheap way to live.

If you actually care about your sanity, you should probably consider
driving a taxi.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled programme.

The ship that shagged me

At this point in time I would request that you don't ask how
it happened. I don't know.

Friday afternoon I was contemplating an eggplant foccacia and by lunchtime
Saturday I had checked in for 5 days hard labour and was contemplating
suicide.

I had signed on as a waiter, Sydney to Fremantle. Good money, huge tips,
excellent experience and street cred. 'You should do it', they said. I
should have trusted my first instincts and told them to get stuffed, but
no, I had had to say yes.

It was broken to us gently (of course). We were shown into the boardroom,
filled out forms etc, allowed to smoke, relax, get numb. Then we were
shown around the facilities. The two dining rooms that sat 500 each (this
was where we were to work).

We were shown the other more lucrative Princess and Queen's Grills, for
the full fare paying passengers. The penthouse suites, with direct access
to the Queen's grill so the folk never have to mix with the other
passengers. The casino (one day someone will explain to me how a roulette
wheel works on a ship), the bars, the theatre, TV studio, bank, night
club, gym, sauna, spas, pools, Harrods... I was just endless.

Then we were led to the staff quarters.

'Through here' our guide said, He opened a solid steel door and the carpet
stopped, the wallpaper stopped, the ceiling stopped, everything that was
not needed for ultimate survival had been removed, you know, chairs,
tables, windows. There were just Bare steel walls and bare steel floors.

On the back of the door were 2 signs:

Please wipe you feet before
entering passenger accommodation

and:

Please keep this door closed
to avoid the smell
entering passenger accommodation.

Our guide also chose this point to remind us that under no
circumstances were we allowed in passenger areas, except when
on duty

"Full facilities are available in the crew area", He said

Yeah, right. We had access to all the mod-cons including a crew mess and
a bar. The bar was, of course, showing all the signs of having never
been cleaned since the maiden voyage. Wood benches, linoleum on
the floor, complete with cigarette burns, and no windows. It was also the
most popular room on the ship because it supported the most popular
pastime : Getting Drunk.

'Fine' we said, 'OK' we said, 'we can handle this..'

Offshore employment, tax free, food and lodging included, duty free bar
prices, beer at 60c a can. Sure everything's in US dollars, but we can
handle that, our wages will cover us right?

Nope.

Apparently, we got the good deal. Apparently.

We were going to be paid $20 a day and, since we were on for such a short
time, another $38/day in assumed gratuity. The normal wage, we found out
later, was about $12 per day.

We, were of course, welcome to any tips we could make in the restaurant.
But, and the whole reason I was here in the first place, The bulk of the
guests were locals from Sydney who were jumping on the opportunity to
ride the great beauty on one of her first trips around the Antipodes.

The problem here is that on the QEII all meals are included so,
knowing myself and any other full blooded tight arsed Australian,
if I'd just forked over $1800 for 5 days 'First Class' travel only to
find that my cabin is two feet above the waterline, I'm stuck on
the one table in the dining room for the whole trip, and it's 50
feet from the nearest window, with nothing to do all day
but sit eat drink and read, I'd be bloody glad I didn't have to pay
for dinner (if you could call it that)

In fact I'd probably be pissed off at paying $25 for
a bottle of nasty white burgundy and buggered if I was going to leave a tip.

On a transatlantic crossing you can earn over $2000 in 5 days, But you are
also mostly dealing with Americans who 'respect your right to smoke', but
not your right to do it at your leisure. Those are the sort of people who
would tip you if you don't cough in their direction. Two Grand - easy.
But on the Australian leg of a world tour - Buckleys.

Poor, Tired and Starving, we made the best of our days.

I'll tell you more later.

Going down on Her Majesty

Recently I had a conversation that digressed into the topic of Cruise liners.
This led me to recall an experience I once had...

Despite what people may tell you. Regardless of any advertisement
featuring happy smiling people enjoying a horn-o-plenty of earthly
delights on the high seas, Whatever they say, it is all lies. This is not
a luxury liner, this is not the greatest experience you can have in one
lifetime, it is, though words escape me when it comes to expressing the
true nature of the QEII - Hell Afloat.

The fact that it is not painted black with barbed wire on the gunwales,
flames spewing forth from every port-hole and a large sign painted on the
side in blood, saying 'this is not a good idea' only leads me to confirm
the sadistic nature of the management.

To be concise, in a way that only one of the bard's supporting characters
could be, If you wanted to create the ultimate prison, from which escape
was 100% impossible, where life was miserable beyond imagination, and
pestilence ran through the ranks to the point where to repent and confess
to all number of sins (both true and untrue) was the only means of
retaining ones sanity and certification of human existence. Well, just
try your average ocean going vessel.

I guess this is why the founders of my once great nation (Australia) ended
up where they were. If I was given the choice of six to nine months miles
from anywhere on a ship, followed by spending the rest of my life in an
unknown land with no known means of support or survival or, option number
two, just spending the rest of my life stick on a ship, miles from
anywhere (which, if you can't swim, means the middle of the Thames) on a
ship. I'd offer to tow the thing. (This also makes me suspect that to
let any Australian on a ship is just the English way of reminding us how
lucky we are). However I digress.

Many years ago, when I was stil young, foolish and in desperate need of
spare change, the QEII rocked into town. It arrived with the offer of
cheap passage and a call for extra crew. Foolishly I not only applied for
the job, I accepted it when I made the grade. I was not a waiter on the
worlds finest luxury liner.

Looking back, I can now offer this sage advice.

If you get a job on said ship, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ACCEPT IT.

Don't even contemplate a passage, do not get on, do not think 'holiday',
do not think 'relaxing option', do not pass go and do not collect $200.

Think, (and burn this forever in your brain) 'Most disgusting example of
Eco-Terrorism and capitalist exploitation imaginable'. Better still
think, as a colleague so aptly surmised, "SURREAL".

Let my try and paint you a mental picture here.

On my few hours off when I wasn't seasick and there was still some
daylight, I Headed to the outdoor staff area on 2 deck (which was under
the passenger 1 deck, so tanning was a no go), I could hear what sounded
like recorded explosions. Being the curious sort I leaned over the edge,
resisting the temptation to just throw myself overboard, to see what was
going on above me.

What I saw were bright orange clay pigeons were being cast into the sea
whole. Having been shot at electronically, as some sort of sacrifice to
the resources that were being exploited to make this whole thing
possible, they cast into the depths.

Out to my left the horizon was lined with half a dozen of the Bass
Straight oil rigs, lighting up the sky as they burnt off excess gas as
some reminder of the consumption that was keeping this circus afloat.

Everywhere you go walk your nostrils are assaulted by a stale smelling
blend of Chanel #5 and sea salt. It would remind you of your
grandmother's house, if gran also happened to be first mate to the Dread
Pirate Roberts.

A feeling of death is always on the mind, like the ship is one huge
vampyric beast, I would lie awake at night wondering if the splashes I was
hearing were from the dessicated remains of the engineering crew being
cast overboard in the dead of night.

In the public areas it is deathly silent, even during the day, the staff
are moving through secret passages below the waterline. Not even Muzak
can survive. The life blood of everything is consumed by the dead and
dying who lie passed out on the leather lounges, exhausted from a hards
days breathing, desperate to make their final days become final weeks.

It would make a great retirement option for those not so loved ones you
can't wait to get rid of, if it wasn't for the fact that for every
bloated, dying passenger, there were two dead waiters.

Surreal indeed.

I'll tell you More in a few Days.