When I was eighteen I took a job as a stewardess aboard a 120' private yacht. It was a decision made on a total whim. A girl I met had been working on yachts for years and she hooked me up with her crew agency. I interviewed with the captain on a Wednesday, moved aboard that Friday, and by Monday morning we were headed to Alaska from San Diego. My parents thought it was some drug running operation and came to the sad realization that they'd probably never see me again. Trying to talk me out of it would prove pointless. We said our goodbyes and I hopped aboard.
The first twenty-four hours underway were amazing. I stood watch with my fellow crew members, acquainted myself with the boat, settled into the tiny cabin I shared with the other stewardess and the chef. At some point during the second day of our journey I got a little bored. So I grabbed a book. Settled down into my bunk, which was in the bow of the boat. No windows, no fresh air. It was a little cubby of a cabin, slightly bigger than a walk-in closet. Totally cozy. I was in heaven.
And then fifteen minutes later my inner ear completely freaked the fuck out.
Think food poisoning, morning sickness, rotten shellfish and a cheap tequila hangover all at the same time. One minute I was in my bunk reading Memoirs of a Geisha, the next I was wishing I would die. At some point somebody found me and managed to get me into one of the guest cabins. The guest cabins were amidship, the most stable area of the boat. But it was far too late. Seasickness had taken hold. We hit a storm that night and pitched around in ten foot seas and I hugged that toilet for dear life, giving it everything I had and then a little more just because. The captain came down in the middle of the night and slapped an anti-seasickness patch on my arm. He brought news that the rest of the crew, with the exception of himself and one deckhand, were experiencing the same fun as me. He was giving us all patches because he was tired of running the whole shit show by himself. He was especially annoyed because we all lied in our interviews and told him we didn't get seasick.
He also brought news that he expected me to stand watch in the morning. Beautiful.
The next morning, I stumbled up to the bridge for my four-hour watch, feeling about two percent better. I shared watch with a deckhand, a nice enough guy who never shut up. I sat there for four hours listening to his bullshit and wishing he would die. He ate peanut butter crackers. He talked about crab fishing in Alaska and spared me not a single gory detail. He made me do the engine room checks, which basically entailed taking a walk around the two massive diesel engines and making sure they weren't on fire or anything. They belched diesel exhaust and after every check I'd hang over the side of the boat and drool. I was puked out. There was nothing left but guts. I'd crawl back up to the bridge and curl in a ball and dry heave while my watch-mate ate hard boiled eggs and told me his life story.
I survived my watch and stumbled back to my cabin and passed out. I woke up some twelve hours later starving. Somebody had dropped off a bowl of grapes and I devoured every single one of them. I took a shower and tried calling my mom. I went to the galley and made a sandwich. Oh sweet magical patch. I had never been so grateful in my life.
We made it to Vancouver in something like a week. It felt so awesome to be docked, to be able to get off the boat and call my parents. We went out for a celebratory crew dinner that night and someone broke the news to me. I'd have to remove the patch. And when I did I'd likely suffer side effects, a withdrawal if you will. Nausea, fatigue, weakness.
Sonofabitch.
They weren't joking. It took me a few days to detox from the patch. It was like being seasick all over again but we were in amazing Vancouver and I was wrapped around a goddamn toilet, too sick to explore the city.
It was enough to make a weaker person never want to step aboard a boat again. If my future husband was the lucky type I would've caught a plane home the moment I was able to stand without vomiting and sworn off boats forever.
But he isn't the lucky type. I waited until we were good and married, settled in suburban Colorado with a baby who had just turned one. "Hey," I said. "Don't you think it would be awesome to live aboard a boat?"
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