First Impressions

I woke up when it was still dark outside.  My phone said it was 3:30 in the morning, and I had a flight to catch in three hours.  I had been unemployed for the last three months while staying at my aunt’s house in St. Petersburg, Florida, and I had grown accustomed to easy days when I woke up whenever I pleased.  But now this idyllic, carefree life would change by the end of the evening. 

My two previous adventures taught me not to be nervous for an abrupt transition.  I had come to crave fresh environments and sleeping in foreign beds, and I was excited to be traveling again.  Mostly by happenstance, I discovered a wanted ad for Norwegian Cruise Lines, and I filled out an application with little hope I would actually land the job, but somehow I did.  I will be working as an assistant waiter onboard the cruise-ship Pride of America which sails around the Hawaiian islands as long as I pass my training course.  Unlike my two previous blogs posted after my journey, this blog recounts my experiences as they happen. 

After a smooth landing in Baltimore, I spotted a man holding a sign that read Norwegian Cruise Lines.  A group of twenty-somethings with a smattering of middle-aged men greeted one another and exchanged small talk.  I scoped out the cast in solitude with my headphones on. 

In the past I have felt pressured to socialize aggressively from the start as though I were a speed-dater intent on making a strong first impression.  I had thrown myself into a fray of strangers in Ghana and in London where I tried to establish connections early before cliques solidified and didn’t require any fifth wheels.  But now I have accepted my preference of laying low at first and then gradually becoming more intimate with select individuals.

A bus collected us at the airport, and we escaped the city and burrowed into the arboreal remoteness until we reached a Coast Guard training facility in Piney Point, Maryland.  During the ride, I sat next to Cody, a stout college student from Michigan.  He is taking a year off from school to decide if he wants to study business or chemistry, so he has accepted a position onboard as a dishwasher.  I categorize him in the Cross-Roads file. 

 

I’m beginning to sense many of my fellow coworkers are using this opportunity to save money while thinking about what happens next in life.  We sign on to work seven days a week for five months straight.  After completing one tour, we get five weeks off, but many choose not to return to the ship, whereas others remain employed for years.  A question of duration puzzles all of us.   

I view this job as a free way to see Hawaii and also as a challenge to adapt to a highly regimented lifestyle.  Norwegian Cruise Lines has a massive list of rules and regulations, most of which are extremely reasonable for the safety of everyone onboard.  But I have my grievances with a few rules. 

Girls must wear their hair in buns while in public spheres.  They can wear one set of earrings, not two nor three.  Guys can have no facial hair, not even five o’clock shadow.  If you shave your head, you must maintain your sleek baldness.  Guests cannot see the process of regrowth.  We also cannot disclose our shoulders or calves near passengers.

Workers should appear professional, not as slobs, but when taken to extreme measures, rules reveal disgusting truths.  Since the ship only cruises around Hawaii, the workers must be U.S. citizens, but many of the people in my training class come from many ethnic backgrounds.  We have Filipinos, Puerto Ricans, and a woman of Columbian background.  They are forbidden to speak foreign languages in public places under the assumption that the eavesdropping guests will assume they’re being ridiculed. 

The numerous rules aggravated me because they affirmed that we are servants at the mercy of those with the money.  The stubble clinging to my chin is not going to fall into anyone’s salad, yet this is the explanation we are given.  The real reason that my immigrant coworkers must speak English is because many cruisers are old and likely to harbor racist thoughts.  Facial hair and immigrants worry diners, and this anxiety could risk the company money.  I must change my habits to assimilate to the standards of strangers richer than me.  Failure to comply with these rules results in termination.  If I want money, I am powerless and must concede.

     

I am overwhelmed by all the rules, and the observable demarcation between working class and leisure class seems like a recipe for frustration.  I am certainly not accustomed to a regimen with such meticulous scrutiny, especially since I spent the last three months largely doing what I pleased, when I pleased.  This strict lifestyle, which includes random room inspections, does not seem ideal long-term.  I typically shy away from militaristic neatness and outdated puritan policies, but I am curious to see Hawaii and to try living onboard a ship. 

So I’ll buy a razor and eliminate all the stubble.  I will quiet my frustrations for this unique opportunity and view this excursion as a challenge.  Perhaps the rules will cease to be an issue as they become common background noise.  I may shake my habit of being frequently late, but I do not wish to lose my laidback personality, in Hawaii of all places.