A Dream Job; Only IN Yachting

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The alarm clock on your cell phone goes off and the sounds of clubstyle music blare out like a ginormous out of control megaphone on dust. You your eyes begin to squint and you wince a bit as the realization hits you: today you are flying for your first assignment upon the great seas of the world.

You cough out the sputum, smack your desert dry lips and jump and tumble to your feet in anticipation as to what your new adventures will bring. You sift through the dirty clothing on the floor, on the dresser, under the bed and in the damper (a hamper that always has that sort of unclean smell and dampness you just can’t seem to get rid of). Viola…you have found that sexy pair of underwear that is surely a necessity as you venture out onto the dangerous waters of the globe. Stumbling downstairs you kick several beer bottles laden with cigarettes down and the putrid liquid coats the floor as you side slip catching yourself on the rickety wooden rail and fall-bumble into the foyer of your not so neat and straightened crew house. A smirk crosses your face as the hangover begins to thump at your brain like a choo-choo train drum putting the smackdown on your adrena medulla. Running to the refrigerator you side-slip again on an unknown green substance left behind by one of your accommodating crew house mates and find the loose handle to be a pinch hard to open, giving it a tug it flies open and a carton of milk drops out and with cap missing begins to pour out on the floor.

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You rummage around hand slapping things to the side in search of something to put in the superflat stomach of yours, running across an open yogurt container that has a blackish-green beard inside, a half eaten hot dag slathered with ketchup, mustard, onion and relish now crusted, and a burnt half eaten, with mouth impressions in it, grilled cheese sandwich made with hydrogenated oil produced and processed feux cheese. Not the best way to start the day so you opt out and find a bottled water with bubbles in it and slimy hand cream on the sides, you slam it and hope that you don’t catch anything. Quick coldish hot shower, adorn yourself with cheap walmart-style make up FF look with dampness on the hair, stuff the backpack with whatever you think you may need, not forgetting the phone cord and plug. Beep, beep, beep is heard outside and a rebel yell from an island style raspy voice and out the door you fly slamming the door behind you without a final walk through for your belongings….little did you know that on the dresser under a messy pile of what evs you left your passport with pizza crust hiding this super valuable identification key to your success.

Whew…you remembered and back you fly, taxi turning about with screeching tires with the one so bald in the back you slide on dry pavement. Head still pounding, yet never allowing that frown to overtake that pretty chiseled perfect for yachting face, unfortunately over made up and starting to schmear a bit. Up you go, grab, run, slide and slam your foot in the taxi cab door somewhat regretting last night after you nabbed another deckhand wanna be and getting the plow of your life.

Back to the races, hurrying now, shooing the cabbie on barely understanding his jibberish over the holy station playing on the radio….holy cow….”am I doing the right thing”, the red flags, the red flags what to do.

Recomposed you begin to sober up to the realization and pushing away the fears of those first day jitters, you carry on. To the airport the cabbie flying through red lights and stop signs just to get you to what you believe may be your destiny. Thoughts of STCW class and all the hot guys you met, in your world, you can hardly contain yourself as the hormones rage and you become almost delirious with thoughts of wild sex, drunken debauchery and all the wonderful things your girl mates told you yachting was all about. The quest of the ocean, the conquest of the studs and the delirium of the lifestyle, you were ready for anything. Not remembering any names just faces of those that helped you get to where you think you are going, your head reeling again from the night before and the riotous celebration that ensued, yet somewhat regretting it now and wondering if you are going to make it to the boat, and make it in the world of yachting. Your partying lifestyle not yet catching up with you but nipping at your sexy black pumps, one of which you left in the bottom of the crew house closet yet not prevalent to you. The ride in your mind’s world takes FOR EV ER!!! Finally you arrive, look into the rearview mirror one last time, overtip the cab dude and nearly forget your one of three suitcases, clearly over packed, your adrenaline mounts.

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With a quick smile you exit and grab your goods and down the docks you go to meet your new home, your new lifestyle and your new mates, hopefully for the next year. Looking rather disheveled and half a shiite eating grin on your face you run into the bosun on the bow as you approach the glorious vessel. He is a fine handsome gent with an Aussie style slur and you get a bit gaga until you realize he is gay.

Ok, no worries on to the next, out from around the corner now comes the lead deckhand, a hair beasty looking dude with steel blue eyes and a Romanesque face, strong arms and chest yet thin legs. You shriek a nice hello out and he smiles back and waves you towards the side of the vessel where some metal staircase will bring you aboard. You begin your trek up the steps and the bosun barks at you to take off your shoes, you nervously back down the steps and drop them off on the finger dock. A few quick hellos, a misstep and plunk you go straight into the water.

An instant later…you awake from your dream and the sounds of over partied crew mates laying about snoring fills your ears, a smile walks across your face. and you think to yourself welcome to yachting newbie.

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