The Big Island is next--first the rainy and overcast Hilo (the state's second most populated city behind the capital) and then Kona, famous for its coffee and clear waters ideal for snorkeling. From Kona we hit the high seas on the longest stretch of our journey as we head northwest to Kuaui, also known as the Garden Island so called for its bountiful vegetation. We have another overnight in Nawiliwili, where the beach and the bars are only a five minute walk from the ship.
Finally we return to Honolulu to drop off the passengers in the morning and then pick up a fresh batch of paying customers at noon. How can anyone be even remotely disappointed with this itinerary? You've got the big city of Honolulu with its unique mixture of skyscrapers, lush greenery, ornate palaces of the former Hawaiian monarchy, Pearl Harbor, and, of course, the beach at Waikiki. If you walk a few miles outside these tiny cities, you can find yourself hiking in the vast wilderness nestled between the verdant volcanic peaks. You could rent a car and drive on the rugged unpaved roads up to the crater. Hop on a free shuttle to see Rainbow Falls.
Or take that same complimentary shuttle to Black Sand Beach in Hilo to swim with the turtles. From the ship you can watch humpback whales splash playfully. Ukelele music, fresh pineapples, monstrous swells, a cozy beach under a radiant sun: these options are always readily available. When surrounded by this every single day, how can anyone be sad? It happens, I assure you, and it happens a lot.
Many of my coworkers complain endlessly about working long hours. They whine about needy guests with specific (and inconvenient) requests. They bicker about nitpicking managers and lazy employees and the subpar food in the crew mess and the disfunctional driers that take two hours to dry a soggy load fresh out of the broken washer that won't drain. The list is endless.
To be fair, I am guilty of bouts of pessimism as well, and the lifestyle has its difficulties. Working every single day for five months straight is strenuous. To be surrounded by cranky employees can be emotionally draining. And the guests can be frustrating, too, when they leave a table piled high with dirty dishes of half-eaten food. Laundry is often a hassle. I have to check several laundrettes to find an open washer, and often the floor is covered with water as a result of my fellow shipmates who don't understand that the water must drain before opening the door. The food is often disgusting, and the managers can be a bunch of nagging slave drivers. But, hey, let's look at the bright side.
The job is simple, and we are paid reasonably well for exerting little effort. I don't pay for rent, utilities, meals, or laundry. Everything I need is free, and I can save up a lot of money in a short period of time. The work schedule may be repetitive and monotonous, but Hawaii never gets old.
I've heard of the island blues from a Kenny Chesney song called "Round and Round." The country singer remarks that we always want to be somewhere we're not. Even if you're on a sunny beach in Hawaii, it is possible to feel stuck on an island and to feel trapped in a seemingly endless circle of repetition. Our continuous loop around the world's most isolated archipelago is a perfect microcosm of our own battles against boredom in our daily routines.
Happiness has nothing to do with location. Millions of tourists visit Hawaii each year to escape the harshness of winter, but the sandy beaches, colorful fishes, and rocky coastline views won't solve your problems. Beauty alone cannot shatter pessimism. A sad sack can be miserable anywhere just as an optimist can be exhilarated in unfavorable conditions.
Life onboard the ship has taught me the importance of maintaining a high morale. Working with so many irritable people can be stressful, if you let their depression affect your mood. I tune them out. I have come to expect a certain amount of chaos in the workplace, so I am not upset when things don't go my way. I do my best to avoid obstacles, overcome challenges as quickly as possible and flee toward comfort. Moments of discomfort are inevitable, but fleeting. Once the conflict is in the past, there is no need to reopen a wound. I let go of every mistake and rejoice that I survived another day. I have survived every day of my life so far, and that fact comforts me to believe I can endure my current struggle. I will crawl into bed yet again and wake up to a new day.
I took this job because I was curious to work on a cruise ship, but I also wanted to rapidly save money to pay for a three month hike on the Appalachian Trail. When I'm working a triple shift, my feet are aching, and I get an eight-top and must wait thirty minutes for their entrees inside a steamy kitchen full of irritated line cooks and impatient waiters, I imagine myself plodding down a quiet and shaded path surrounded by nobody but the trees. Having a goal helps me wake up in the morning, eager to earn money and then get off the ship to play.
When guests ask me what I think about working on the ship, I can never give them a simple answer. Overall, I am giddy inside to have this opportunity. I never imagined myself being here, and the unplanned nature of this adventure only amplifies the thrill. I love being able to say, "The company paid for my flight," because it makes me feel like I occupy an important position, even though I'm only delivering food. Some rich person finds me significant enough to buy me a plane ticket.
I love opening doors that have signs saying RESTRICTED ACCESS: CREW ONLY. I love climbing up the stairs, listening to the metallic clang of my footfalls reverberate as I pretend I'm fleeing the Pirates from the movie Captain Phillips. I love interacting with guests who come from all over the world. I love miming and pointing to menu selections with Japanese tourists who speak no English. I love practicing my French with Montrealers and Tahitians who laugh at my ridiculous wording and inevitable mistakes. I love wearing sunglasses to work as I bus tables in the outside lounge and tell a guest, "This is easy living, brother. Check out the view from my office."
I try to have fun at my job. I'm not performing manual labor; I'm playing a game: How fast can I run to the kitchen and round up these appetizers? My job is a workout. I carry heavy trays and bus tubs, so there is no need to hit up the gym. My job is social hour, a cultural center, and a Zen dojo.
I provide the best service I can in a sincere manner, and I try to make life easier for my coworkers by emitting a positive attitude, but I don't take the job too seriously. I do whatever it takes to survive each day. I do what I can when I can. I'm not Superman, and I'm not a nuclear physicist. If I bump into someone and shatter a tray full of wine glasses, I grab a dust pan and sweep up the fragments and throw them away. I forget about my mistakes, failures, embarrassments of yesterday, and I don't even think about tomorrow.
When I clock out, I don't care if my coworkers were slacking or if my managers pestered me. That is their nature, and I cannot change that, so I may as well make peace with their habits. I don't want to relive those moments of annoyance, and I don't want to share my negativity with someone who doesn't want to hear my complaints. Complaining is a waste of time when you're off the clock.
I soak up the precious moments between shifts and forget about the job. My free time seems to stretch onward to eternity because I focus entirely on the present moment. I immerse myself into a novel. Music sounds sweeter. The sunlight revives me.
The ship sails onward in its endless loop as I search for new details amidst the growing monotony. As we leave port, I realize that's one more day finished, and I'm that much closer to going home. I'm always aware of the time on my watch, the days I have left on my contract. I also realize that when I'm older I'll look back on these days. I don't want to recount stories of constant nagging. I'd rather have stories worth retelling.
Great story Braeden. I enjoy reading about your job; although I miss talking with you as we drive up Sycamore Street. You always make me laugh. I'm glad you are doing well and taking this opportunity to see the world.
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