Getting (un)comfortable
I saw the pizza boxes right away. Coffee, a banana, and a packet of jerky was breakfast as I shuffled then ran my way from friend's house to grove store (coffee, banana, jerky but no coconut water- the product we were missioning all the way past the Turnpike for) to airport check-in desk ("You are late, ma'am," he said in a Caribbean accent. "I will have to call to see if they will let you on the plane." My heart races) through the security (No feel ups. I mean pat downs. I kept running) to my gate.
So the pizza sitting on the table at the slightly past lunch time hour was a welcomed sight. Not that I'm the type of person that just walks into someones home, greets the family of strangers, and then asks for a slice.
That is unless I am working on a boat.
Then it is almost a sign that one is comfortable enough to jump right into the family that is the crew. (Besides, I'm pretty sure they offered first, but that's not important- the "Dig In" vibe was apparent from the moment I stepped inside)
I never used to be the kind of person to walk into someones home and grab a piece of fruit out of the fruit bowl or ask for a Coke. Even if I was hungry and a friend's grandma offered me a sandwich, I'd most likely politely decline. On land, that is still usually the case. But working on yachts the more comfortable you present yourself first off can determine how much interaction and comfort you will experience later on. It's not really an Alpha dog thing; as in asking for a piece of pizza is like pissing on the salon couch to establish territory (I am stew. This is my couch. Stay off with your engine dirty hands) or staring down your new pack (usually this results in no breaks, ironing duty, and dirty looks). Its more of a camaraderie thing: I am one of you. I may not sing "I like big butts" at karaoke or tell off color jokes at lunch time or be able to differentiate between a whale and reef shark, but I can roll with the punches guests may throw and watch bad TV in the crew mess with the best of them.
For me, it's not necessarily about fitting in. I mean of course I like to feel like part of the group, part of a larger community. Don't we all? And luckily (and sometimes frustratingly) this community is made up of a lot of individualists- so once you meet someone you can basically do your own thing and people get it. Yet what I like most about this type of job, especially this freelancing stuff, is that my "sit in the back of the room reading, shy, awkward 15 year old" self that often creeps back into my socialization patterns gets challenged. I get to throw myself into a new universe, a new family with different points of view and quirks, out of my comfort zone. I get to ask people what they've done, where they've come from, what their plans for the future may be.
I get to know more people.
Which can be hard in a land based life. Or at least more of an effort when sometimes your only human interactions all day involve a postal worker ("Stamps?" "No thanks.") and an overly chipper teenage cashier at Panera where you bought a cup of coffee to get out of the house and it feels good to be around people but you don't talk to any of them.
When you're thrown into a situation where you share a small space with five to thirteen other people 24/7, you're going to have to talk. And when you stay for a season or two, you join a family. An always transitioning mutating family, but in many senses a real family with love and hate and laughter and awkwardness and uncomfortable or hilarious dinner discussions.
When I leave some will be friends, others FB acquaintances, others someone I once worked with.
But in the present, it's all about the contact.
Contact with the water, with the salty air, with people, with emotions.
And with dusty Swiffers. It is a job after all.
So the pizza sitting on the table at the slightly past lunch time hour was a welcomed sight. Not that I'm the type of person that just walks into someones home, greets the family of strangers, and then asks for a slice.
That is unless I am working on a boat.
Then it is almost a sign that one is comfortable enough to jump right into the family that is the crew. (Besides, I'm pretty sure they offered first, but that's not important- the "Dig In" vibe was apparent from the moment I stepped inside)
I never used to be the kind of person to walk into someones home and grab a piece of fruit out of the fruit bowl or ask for a Coke. Even if I was hungry and a friend's grandma offered me a sandwich, I'd most likely politely decline. On land, that is still usually the case. But working on yachts the more comfortable you present yourself first off can determine how much interaction and comfort you will experience later on. It's not really an Alpha dog thing; as in asking for a piece of pizza is like pissing on the salon couch to establish territory (I am stew. This is my couch. Stay off with your engine dirty hands) or staring down your new pack (usually this results in no breaks, ironing duty, and dirty looks). Its more of a camaraderie thing: I am one of you. I may not sing "I like big butts" at karaoke or tell off color jokes at lunch time or be able to differentiate between a whale and reef shark, but I can roll with the punches guests may throw and watch bad TV in the crew mess with the best of them.
For me, it's not necessarily about fitting in. I mean of course I like to feel like part of the group, part of a larger community. Don't we all? And luckily (and sometimes frustratingly) this community is made up of a lot of individualists- so once you meet someone you can basically do your own thing and people get it. Yet what I like most about this type of job, especially this freelancing stuff, is that my "sit in the back of the room reading, shy, awkward 15 year old" self that often creeps back into my socialization patterns gets challenged. I get to throw myself into a new universe, a new family with different points of view and quirks, out of my comfort zone. I get to ask people what they've done, where they've come from, what their plans for the future may be.
I get to know more people.
Which can be hard in a land based life. Or at least more of an effort when sometimes your only human interactions all day involve a postal worker ("Stamps?" "No thanks.") and an overly chipper teenage cashier at Panera where you bought a cup of coffee to get out of the house and it feels good to be around people but you don't talk to any of them.
When you're thrown into a situation where you share a small space with five to thirteen other people 24/7, you're going to have to talk. And when you stay for a season or two, you join a family. An always transitioning mutating family, but in many senses a real family with love and hate and laughter and awkwardness and uncomfortable or hilarious dinner discussions.
When I leave some will be friends, others FB acquaintances, others someone I once worked with.
But in the present, it's all about the contact.
Contact with the water, with the salty air, with people, with emotions.
And with dusty Swiffers. It is a job after all.
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