The day after my last day, it rained. Mostly softly but also with some vigorous downpours. My satisfaction with that situation reminded me that it’s important to decompress after an intense work experience. This job was more like Krohne and Hamilton Marine than like the Three Mile Harbor debacle or the horrifying Windham Falls unethical quagmire. I mostly like the people I worked with and, while I have a heavy dose of judgement about how the bosses handle their business, I’m not rooting for their misery. At the same time, I always wondered whether I would be able to support the catamoron charter industry. This kind of crewed charter, meals included, is so far outside my experience and so opposite from my dearest desires that it seemed likely that I’d pick up a paycheck or two, holding my nose the whole time, and then flounce out with my opinions intact. Instead, I ended up with a group of men (some sooooo young that I couldn’t help blinking with puzzlement at them sometimes) who were up to the task of boarding these shitty boats from pitching dinghies in ridiculous chop and acting as the experts in plumbing, electrical, engines, aircon, rigging, and so much more. It’s hard to be snooty when these guys were coming to me for the float switch and then going back out there, in all kinds of tropical weather, with their strippers and crimpers and butt connectors and all the same things that have kept me and James and Beluga Greyfinger alive and safe for so long. So many of us were liveaboards and not a one was on a catamoron. They’d seen the shoddy construction of these floating palaces and, perhaps I’m wrong but, I think they had higher standards than gaining expansive spaces that become[…]
Read more