California or Bust!

It’s official! I got my itinerary! I leave Honolulu, on United Airlines, Saturday, August 28th 12:45 p.m. I’ve been so excited, I can’t sleep more than two hours a night. My bags have been packed for weeks, but I’ve unpacked and repacked a dozen times.

Today, I’ll have to go through the tedious process of extracting myself from the vessel; filling out forms, obtaining signatures (sigh). My fellow crew members have shocked me with their heartfelt good byes and well wishes, it’s going to be harder than I thought to leave.

I’m glad I pursued this venture, but have NO desire to repeat it. I’ve met some admirable people, learned a lot, and had a few good chuckles, but I’m more than ready to go home!

I’m a little saddened that I’ve got to end my blogging. I kinda like spewing my thoughts into cyberspace. Many thanks to all of you shared my agonies and replied in kind. I’ll see you when I see you - take care!

Lava Shmava

Every Tuesday night (9:45p.m. - yawn) the ship cruises by a live lava flow. Creating the island Liehe. Passengers flock to the see this spectacular natural event. My roommate Dawn, badgers me to go see the beautiful formation of a new island and how gorgeous it all is blah, blah, blah . . .Oh all right, I’ll go!

I haul my saggy-draggy, tired ass up from deck 2 to deck 12, elbow my way through the crowds, and gaze out into the inky night to get a gander at the lava. I see, a bunch of really bright orange lights and tons of smoke. Dawn explains the “orange” is the actual lava and the “smoke” is steam from the lava flowing into the ocean.

oh

Okay, here’s the third thing I know for sure, I’m not a nature lover. I appreciate it, and admit it’s nice and all, but I don’t want to be sleep deprived to take a peek at it!

G‘night!

Aloha Week

A dear friend suggested I take pictures of the islands this week as I say good bye. While a great idea, I don’t actually get to see these islands. One island in particular, Hilo, I’ve never set foot on. I’ve seen a huge rusted building from deck 6, because that is our fire drill day and my muster station faces that side of the dock. But that’s all I’ve seen of Hilo.

Working in Hawaii, on a cruise ship sounds really glamorous. Now, let’s focus on the key word in that sentence ‘working’. There is no sightseeing, relaxation, or culture absorption. You WORK - period. I hear stories about some crew members being able to go to off shore excursions, which are offered to crew at an extreme discount, but these excursions are always offered during my work hours.

NCL does make an effort to have night time excursions for those who can’t make the daytime events. Twice now they’ve offered the same event, bowling and pizza. No thank you, I’m too clumsy to bowl and make pizzas all day long, everyday.

My new work schedule technically allows me 90 minutes to get off the ship in the mornings. Usually more like 74 minutes depending on if the gangplank is ready or if I have to wait for the passengers to disembark first.

The ship docks into a pier which is MILES from anything remotely touristy. I see many 18 wheelers, parking lots and highways. If I walk for about a 1/2 mile I can get to a strip mall. My precious 74 morning minutes are spent trying to get some fresh air in my lungs and natural Vitamin D on my skin, frantically check emails/blog and a tiny workout.

Once, I asked to switch schedules with a co-worker so I could have a Spa Day in Kona. After explaining what a Spa Day was to my supervisor, approval had to be sought through the Executive Chef. After approval, I worked the 3:30 a.m. - 12:30 p.m. shift, dashed to the cabin to shower and change, then wait in the hallway, until crew were allowed to finally board the tender (small boat) to Kona. I was 20 minutes late for my 1:00 p.m. appointment. The appointment takes an hour and then I immediately reboard the tender, back to the ship. Crew have to be on board 1 hour before the ship sails, otherwise you get a free ticket to a Warning Session. The ship sails from Kona at 4:00 p.m. Passengers are already lined up for the tenders at 2:30 p.m.. Passengers are first, if the tender is full I have to wait for the next available. This is a panicky dicey situation and I hate it.

Most evenings after work, I eat dinner, shower and read a book or watch a rented movie. The overnight evenings (Sun/Thurs) I’ll go out to a movie (Sunday) or go out to dinner (Thursday).

Anyhow, I did take pictures of what I see of the islands. I’ll share them with you, this should be mildly entertaining.

Physiognomy

I can’t pronounce this word (physiognomy) to save my life and I hope I’m using it correctly, as it accurately describes what I want to blog. The of metamorphosis of a person’s facial features as they navigate their way through a 5 month contract. Especially their first contract. It’s the “look” of someone’s face that tells you exactly their stage of metamorphosis.

PUPPY FACE: The first week on board every one is bright-eyed, smiling faces, chatty, and full of eager expectations. After the rigorous training, you are finally given a position, complete with uniform and schedule. The look of relief is palpable. You can’t wait to get in the middle of it all, be productive and fit in!

DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS: Somewhere between week two and four, it dawns on you, management is dangerously disorganized. Management’s attempts to hide the fact, result in constant condescension, threatened with write ups, taunted with “Warning Sessions”, generally keeping you in fear of losing the minuscule privileges you actually have.

Crew members act out or cope by indulging in excessive smoking, alcohol abuse and sex. Sex has many different forms, i.e., nonstop flirtations, sexual innuendoes, vulgarity and random copulating with anyone that stands still longer than 3 seconds.

Those eager puppy eyes have now been exchanged for vacant eye sockets. Their bodies “play act” by going through the motions to maintain some semblance of normalcy. This is unnerving and very disheartening to witness. Typically this is when the majority of people get fired due to over indulgences.

Deer in the Headlights stage lasts the longest until you’ve reached the 45 days to disembarkation. Then you morph again.

ZOMBIE: The acting out or “coping stage” has a vicious back lash. The everyday work day tedium, management’s bullying and overindulgences have literally pummeled the body senseless. Faces have taken on a grey pallor, eyes sunken and your gait is a 29 forward pitch at a rapid clip. My guess is the leaning and fast walking is your meager attempt to move the calendar forward. You’re on auto-pilot. Your auto-pilot has auto-pilot!

You’ve reached a level of deprivation, so deep you couldn’t find your nose if it was bright-red with a bell on it! Your body is crying out in agony. Constant headaches, nonstop cold symptoms, wierd rashes, feet and legs in searing pain. OUCH! You hurt!

Then you have the disheveled, disoriented, confused, “I’m rapidly spiraling out of control” moments. Jay said to me the other day, “Hi Lisa, mattress subtract cauliflower could possibly porcupine.” He had miss-buttoned his shirt, and in his shirt pocket I spied an unwrapped folded peanut butter and jelly sandwich! He wasn’t drunk or high just flat out exhausted. He was leaving in 23 days.

Next you start handing out verbal abuse, like it’s candy to Trick-a-Treaters. Yours truly has succumbed to the verbal abuse. She bellowed herself hoarse, for her co-worker to kiss her derriere! This statement was received with stunned and shocked faces. Fortunately, co-worker didn’t feed into my tantrum, he ignored me. Others have not been so lucky. I’ve seen people howling profanity into trash cans, swinging fists of fury into the thin air around them, wildly kicking a plastic straw, wrestling with crew members over a bottle of ketchup.

We’re a mess.

Name

Heaven knows I’m riddled with enough eccentricities, I should take medication from a PEZ dispenser and warrant a tailor made straitjacket. But, I’m just saying, name your precious child something that won’t invite rocks being hurled at them on the playground.

Granted, Lisa, is as dishwater as a name can get. So I have NO business pointing a finger and mocking someone’s name. What can I say? It was the 60’s, my African-American parents were desperately trying to assimilate, and the daytime soap opera “The Edge of Night” was mainstream.

Since I’m not a parent, I can’ t speak from experience, but I would guess serious thought is given to what you’d name your child. As said name will FOREVER be attached to your precious child. I realize, parents want their child to stand out from the rest and be original, but shouldn’t 98.5% of that be reflected in their personality not their name?

On board, I’ve come across a few humdingers. If given the opportunity I think the parents ought to be slapped twice. If you come from a different country, I expect your name to be a tongue twister and will do my very best to pronounce it correctly and not give you some silly ass nickname. But born and raised in the USA, uh, well . . .

Three dudes on board have begged us just to call them Q. As their first names are so unpronounceable and are too long to fit onto the name badges we have to wear. Shaquetta, Kwanza, Komika, Chajawana, and Sunshine . . . my eyes have rolled into the back of my skull.

Then we the alias. Their first names bore them so they go by their middle names

Thomas now Grant

Robert now Tyler

Richard now Dylan

Can you blame them?

Okay, I have to let this topic go. As I feel petty for bringing it up, but I couldn’t keep silent either. Where'd I put that PEZ dispenser?

Singing in Crew Mess

I have a deep attachment to music. I ALWAYS have a song running through my head. In times past, I’ve been known to break out in song, especially while working. For whatever reason, I NEVER make a peep in this kitchen. In fact, when people stroll through our kitchen, comments are made at how quiet we are. We all just stare mutely at the person and keep whizzing away at our tasks.

Lately, we are all really, really tired and several of us are leaving very soon. One day, I guess to break the droning fatigue, Mikey, starts singing the theme song to “The Jefferson’s”!? Then Chris chimes in with the next verse, I take off with the next and we all chime in together - it’s weird, but fun at the same time! We’re singing LOUD, flailing our arms, snapping fingers, and doing little jigs at our separate stations.

Then a fourth voice chimes in. I’m not paying it any attention, still doing a little shuffle in front of the fryer, singing. Mikey stopped singing and is furiously slinging bok choy onto the grill. That’s okay, Chris and I have got it, were leading up to “We finally get a piece of the pie”. Then Chris stops singing, and is grinning at me like its Christmas. I grin back and keep singing thinking he’s probably digging my vocals!!

The fourth voice ducks his globelike dome around Chris, looking at me and warbles out SUPER LOUD “We’re movin’ on up!” I stopped singing and gawk, it’s Mr. Aloha, Staff Capt. Ron!

As Capt. Ron zips out of the kitchen, I turn to the guys and ask, “How does HE know that song? That TV show was decades before he was born.” While Capt. Ron is an imposing figure, if he’s over the age of 35, I’ll eat my clodhopper shoes.

Minutes later Capt. Ron comes back to the kitchen to tell me he watched that show as a kid growing up. I asked him if he saw it on Nickelodeon. He said no, when it was originally broadcast. I found this incredulous. So I boldly asked, “How old are you?” He said, “41.”

Okay, he’s old enough. I ate clodhopper shoe for lunch that day.

Countdown!!

The countdown has begun in earnest. I’m leaving 8/28. I’ve checked the calendar 8,945,752,303,167 times to make sure the date really exists and it’s not August Fool’s Day, or Leap Year Day or some such nonsense.

Of the 17 people who started the same day as I, seven remain. Whenever, we see each other, we scream excitedly, high-five and shout how many hours/days to go! These exchanges leave me weak and faint. All have gone to HR to check their itineraries for their flights home. I can’t, yet. The overwhelming excitement and anticipation literally makes my palms sweat, heart race, vision blur and sphincter tighten. It’s very, very hard for me to stay focused on the day-to-day “normalcies” when I’m so amped up about going home. To give you an example, lately, ANY open door I see, cabin door, closet door, refrigerator door, bathroom door, a large trunk on its end - open, I immediately assume its an exit and I dart for it!! I’m THAT eager to get home!!

Your last week is referred to as your “Aloha Week”. My Aloha Week begins 8/22. My boss doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll be seeing the back of my head the majority of that week! Especially on Kona Wednesday! I adore Kona! There are so many people/things to say good bye to! My Kona swims, my treasured breakfast spot, my favorite waiter, the Basket Weaver, the locals who swim same time as I do, the “Bobbers”, my favorite esthetician. I’m REALLY gonna miss Kona, it’s a mega cool spot!

ALOHA!!

Chivalry is Dead

I don’t know where I got this silly notion, men open doors for a woman, allow her to go first through passage ways, or in general defer to a woman. Maybe it’s because that’s the treatment I’ve received all my natural life, until I got here!!

I’ve been trampled, elbowed, kneed, body slammed, shoved aside, and had doors slammed in my face!! I can’t believe it!! These dudes have ZERO manners. I look around at the other women on this ship and they seem to take the trampling, elbowing, etc., all in stride. C’mon girls, really? Are you okay with being treated this way?

Recently, I overheard one sous chef talking to another sous chef, about a cute, young Asst. Cook. The sous chef had asked the other if he had “waxed that, yet”. I’m pretty sure dude was asking if he’d had sex with her yet. Eeeewwww!!

That conversation, suddenly made things crystal clear to me why I’m daily reminding these guys to call me by my real name, why the men in authority on this vessel feel within their rights, to talk to me like I’m their hated ex-wife.

These men/boys have NO RESPECT for women or at the very least an extremely low opinion of women.

LAMB!

One thing, I will unabashedly admit to is, I’m a FOOL for lamb. I’ve been told I sometimes bleat in my sleep, “L-a-a-a-amb!” I can’t get enough of it! I crave lamb morning, noon and night. Which brings me to my real story . . .

Working in Crew Mess, I have more access to lamb, than a woman of my voracious appetite ought to have. Lamb loins, lamb roasts, racks of lamb show up daily, discards from other kitchens! I pounce on it like a rabid wolf. The few times I’ve gone to the ship’s restaurants (Lazy J Steakhouse & Jefferson’s Bistro), I of course, order lamb. I can order as much as I want for the same price - it’s CHEAP! and screamingly DELICIOUS!!!

This is one tiny perk I will sorely miss.

Two Things I Know for Sure

#1. I despise ALL Asian/Southeast Asian foods. And please don’t try to disguise it by calling it Thai, Japanese, Filipino, Vietnamese, Korean or Chinese. It’s ALL basically the same, tiny bits of meat, swirled around in a soy sauce base, surrounded by vegetables, perched on rice. I LOATHE IT!!! I used to occasionally dabble at eating beef & broccoli. Not anymore, especially after working in a kitchen where EVERYDAY, EVERY MEAL something has to be prepared that is Asian in some form, makes me nauseous!! It’s killing me!!!!!

#2. If you work on this cruise ship and are a size medium its mandatory to be under 5’4”. Now that I’ve shrunk some in girth I’m wearing a medium (men's) size uniform. As a result, the hems of my pants whiffle at mid-calf, arm cuffs flap around my elbows. I look like a retarded orphan in my filthy uniform! The Executive Sous Chef asked me if I could pull my pants down some to hide my non-regulation socks. I said, “Sure! You’d rather see my panties?”

To top it off, we just got word today, via PA chats from The Bridge, its a good idea to greet one another saying, “Aloha” as it promotes the “Aloha spirit.”

WHAT?!!

It’s not enough that I gotta wear this doll size, filthy, monkey costume, complete with paper hat, American flag neckerchief, name tag, S.T.Y.L.E. pen, thermometer, alcohol swabs, pad, pen and clod hopper shoes - Now I gotta bellow “Aloha” to the same 856 crewmembers I see every day, all day?!

That’s just great.

Aloha!

C'mon, Really?

About 3 weeks ago Dawn and I landed a new roommate, Mabry. God bless her, she’s a recovering methamphetamine addict, but one habit she can’t quite kick is nicotine. As is with all things surrounding NCL, there is a strict no smoking policy, mostly everywhere, but especially in the cabins! One day after work, I walk into the cabin and immediately smell smoke. Mabry steps out of the bathroom, and smoke is billowing around her! I can barely make out her features the smoke is so thick!

So I ask her, “Were you smoking in there?”

Mabry: “Oh, noooo.”

Me: “Did you light a match?”

Mabry: “No, I was cleaning the bathroom.”

Me: “Mabry, that’s cigarette smoke I see/smell.”

Mabry: “Let me check.” She then proceeds to walk in the miniscule bathroom flooded with smoke and sniff the air and proclaim, “I don’t smell anything. I promise you, I wasn’t smoking in there.”

She caught me on a slow reflex day, cause I should have called the bridge to report a fire in cabin #2215, that’s what we’ve been trained to do! Instead, I gave her the stink eye and went on about my business. The next day, I did have a discussion with Security, and Security must have said something to her, because now she’s giving me the silent treatment - like I care - one less liar I have to talk to . . .

On another note -

My new boss, Chris, tells me Friday, “We’re getting complaints that there aren’t enough proteins on the line at late night (11:30 pm- 1am), so we’re gonna have to change your work hours from 9:30am - 6pm to 10am - 6pm, with a 1/2 lunch.”

What my work hours have to do with enough food being on the line at late night, I don’t know or care and nor did I ask! It means I now have more time in the morning to swim on Kona Wednesdays! YIPPEEE!!!

My boss also shared with me, his hopes for world peace. I’ll pass this bit of information on to you, so you can better understand what brand of foolishness I’m dealing with.

His hope for world peace is for a hookah so large that only God could light it and everyone smoke from it once a week, to mellow everyone out. He said this with such conviction and optimism, I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’s a fucking idiot. Instead I asked, “What’s a hookah?” - NO, I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT IT WAS!!

I guess now would also be a good time to divulge the fact my boss also had a lengthy, heated discussion, with one of the servers, as to which super hero had special powers on their birthday . . . I’m not kidding.

27 days til I’m gone from this looney bin.

Lover's Spat

One day, skipping to work, I hear Tara, a 98 lbs. Texan screeching to a hastily retreating young man, "You're as stupid as a dirt sandwich!"

Now maybe it was the delivery in her country twang or as a chef, how ridiculous a dirt sandwich would be, but I literally laughed for 36 hours straight!

Miss Tara is my hero! I will now forever use that line - it slays me!!!

Change of Guards

My good friend, Capt. Buz is gone, along with F&B Dir. and Mr. Staff Capt. We now have a new troupe - Capt. Nesham (sp?) F&B Dir, Lazy Eyed Jay and Staff Capt. Ron.

Staff Capt. Ron has an irritating habit of bellowing "Aloha" when he sees me. This particular "Aloha" has many, many voice inflections that I don't understand, nor like. Since I don't know who this fool is, and only see a white shirt with a million gold stripes, I look at him oddly and say "Hello".

Last week I had passenger access (PAX) and went to see a show. After the show I'm high tailin' it to Pink's Champagne Bar to see the piano player. I'm elbow to elbow with passengers, navigating my way when this globe of a head pops out of nowhere and utters "Aloha!" Oh ya, its Staff Capt. Ron - again. I leap back 3 feet and squeak out "hi".

Somehow his "Aloha" made me want to take a shower and and don a nun's habit, and maybe call the police . . .

Name Calling

There is this young woman who works in “Utility”. She washes the stacks of dirty dishes/cups, 10+ hours a day! - bless her heart. One day she looks at me and says you look like my mother. She proceeded to show me a picture of her mother, and we do resemble each other somewhat. As a result, she now calls me “Auntie”. I thought how nice it was she thought of me as kinfolk. Since that day, there is a group of 20 Somethings who call me “Auntie”. I’m just rollin’ with it. I consider it as high praise and a demonstration of respect.

There is one young man in particular, though has NEVER called me Auntie, yet I had the rare privilege of standing as his Auntie. His mother died of a sudden heart attack, Friday. So I helped this dynamic, bright, fun loving, young man cope with his tragic grief by helping him with arrangements, packing his bags, and signing off the ship.

There is another woman who works on the ship and everytime I see her I swear I’m looking at myself in 15 years! We look that much alike. All staff have commented to either one of us about our “Twin”. So now we call each other “Sister Twin”. I like her immensely.

Then there is the Hawaiian/Korean/Filipino group that call me “Sister”. Not sure when this started, but I realize I’m just answering to it like I would my own name. It’s nice.

Wine Tasting!

I just discovered every Tuesday at 11 p.m. (crazy late for me) there is a Wine Tasting event for crew members!! You don’t have to request Pax Access in advance, and you don’t have to get permission from your supervisor. You almost feel like a free normal person.

The sommelier is very knowledgeable and thoroughly enjoys introducing us to the wine experience. For $10 we’re given 4 flights. Each week we’ve sampled a different wine: Sauvignon Blanc, Shiraz/Sarah and Sparkling Wines.

It is a lot of fun!!

Okay, there is a one major drawback. We HAVE to come in FULL uniform. That means for me I have to wear my chef’s coat and pants, neckerchief, name badge, S.T.Y.L.E. pin, thermometer, alcohol swabs, ink pen, notepad and black non-skid clodhopper shoes. I am cut a little slack, I don’t have to wear the silly paper hat!!

You’ve just read my laundry quandary, so you can only imagine I must look like a homeless person attending this thing.

More Laundry Issues

As a crew member of the galley, the window of opportunity I have to drop off 2 of my 3 filthy uniforms is on Tues/Thurs/Sun from 15:00-19:00 hrs. Now, I work from 9:30 to 18:00, theoretically, I have an hour to drop off my uniform before Laundry closes.

But there is this tricky little hiccup called “RED ZONE” and “DEPARTURES”. Red Zone times are random frequent times that the fire screen doors are closed and you cannot pass through certain areas until the doors are reopened by the Bridge, ( a.k.a. the Captain). Departures is when the fire screen doors are closed and you also cannot pass through certain areas until the doors are reopened by the Bridge.

The Laundry Room is sealed behind these fire screen doors.

Red Zone is always at 18:00.

Departure is always at 18:00.

Laundry Room staff disappear at 18:00-19:00.

My uniforms are so filthy, not only can they stand up on their own, they're doin' a little jig . . .

Laundry

The crew laundromats, while technically are free, are generating a shopping spree I wasn’t counting on!! All my clothes go into the machine one color come out another! The ship uses “recycled” water that leaves everything kinda dinghy, drab and somehow irreversibly misshapen!! So I had to trash several items, and buy new.

Buying new was a new experience . . .

Typically I shop at Barnum & Bailey and grab the medium size circus tent in my favorite color and call it a day! I tried that this time around, and they seem a little roomier than I remember, but hey, I haven’t got time to diddle, I’ve been wearing medium size circus tent for years! This is MY SIZE!! So I bought a bunch of items and marched confidently out the door.

Weeks go by, and its bugging me that my new medium size circus tents are swimming on me. So I worked up the nerve to go to a regular store, and try on Maternity stretch wear! These actually fit!! Without severely restricting blood flow and oxygen!!

So I guess, there is something to be said for diet and exercise. You work everyday 8+ hours a day, and when you have the time, wolf down a bagel, 3 tiny slices of pineapple for breakfast, a scoop of rice with curry over the top for dinner, you’re bound to lose weight!

It’s safe to say, I’ll be puttin’ the weight back on when I get back home . . .

Sick at Sea

My new employer, NCL, really frowns on you taking anytime off work, regardless of the circumstances. Last week I got the mother of all sickness!!! I had actually made peace with the fact that if I died, (and I fervently hoped that I would) it’d be okay. I missed two days of work and the other five days I barely worked 50 mins. Considering I’m paid microminimum wage, I can only guess that paycheck will be miniscule.

After a trip to the ship’s doctor, I received a packet of amoxicillan, 600 mg ibuprofen, jar of cough syrup, packet of sore throat lozenges. Nine days later, I feel better, though my energy level is extremely low, still feel really weak.

Needless to say, every other crew member has the exact same bug, so I can only imagine it will take many weeks for this thing to completely run its course.

(sigh)

9-1-1

Being at sea, in case of an emergency, when you dial 9-1-1, the 9-1-1 team is ME!! Well, not only me, but also my fellow crew members. There is the Medical team, Fire team, Lifeboat team, Pollution in the ocean team, Man Overboard team (this team is damn near wore out!) and Damage to the ship team.

Every Saturday at 4 p.m., I and about 60 other crew members have to help passengers practice a lifeboat/evacuation drill (PAX Drill). Each crew member and passenger is assigned a station and we go through the motions of putting on our lifejackets and point to where we’d board the lifeboat. Very similar to the airline’s “In Case of an Emergency” demonstration.

This all sounds well and good, except for the fact, I can’t find my way around this goddamned ship and passengers are relying on me to help them navigate their way to their safety station!!! Now, I ask you, how is that gonna work in case of a real emergency? It ain’t!! I pray to the powers that be, we never have a real emergency in my next 3 months at sea...I'm gonna have to dial 9-1-1!

Vampires

For the life of me, I don’t know why folks feel compelled to stay up past midnight. I mean really, what are you accomplishing? The few times I’ve scampered through the hallways from the club to my cabin, I see a lot of nonsensical conversations taking place, lots of standing around texting, running from cabin to cabin for follow up nonsensical conversation, or bored faces gazing at nothing! Then I get to deal with their saggy draggy asses the next morning complaining of how tired they are and want coffee and a Red Bull! - NOW!!!

My new friend, Jimmy, is guilty of the aforementioned behavior. When I asked him is it worth it. He was too tired to respond. He merely shrugged his droopy shoulders, rubbed his puffy red eyes and fumbled with his free hand for a Red Bull.

I have a suggestion, get your stupid self to bed!