Earlier this year when I was hired to work on this boat I was under the impression that my job would be to write about or “chronicle” a brutal twelve-day open water voyage across the Pacific Ocean. But like many of the financial opportunities that I’ve found online, this one is very much different from what was initially presented.*
Was it wrong of me to expect to be paid? Money? In dollars? Well it turns out that my “compensation” is taking the form of a “coupon” for five weeks’ free use of a giant outdoor public tanning salon and a non-refundable marine transport fuel tax credit.
But this is not just about money or the tax credits. As a career-obsessed workaholic, I thought I’d be able to effortlessly work my way up through the ranks of the organization. I figured it’d be pretty straightforward to get promoted to (at a minimum) Rear Admiral by the end of the trip. Was I being unrealistic? Well as it turns out the whole outfit is rife with nepotism and there’s very little room for advancement. It seems like everyone is someone’s wife or someone’s husband or sleeping with the Captain.
And as for the work I’m going to be doing, well let me tell you. Scraping barnacles of the bottom of a forty-foot catamaran while sharks and octopuses circle the boat waiting for the perfect time to pounce is *not* my idea of a collaborative work environment.
Some of you are rolling your eyes right now and I can hear your complaints already:
“You have a free place to stay.”
“It’s not winter where you are. ”
“Sharks don’t pounce, stupid.” and,
“Shut up, Jason.”
Whatever I don’t care. The point is I shouldn’t be operating an ice scraper in the middle of summer in any capacity. No one should. It’s just plain wrong.
And if it ever happens to you, you’ll understand.
My barnacle remover.
*I recently discovered my Nigerian Prince is not a prince. Hell he’s not even from Nigeria.
Die Hard Three 
The dreaded Rear Admiral!
Every time I throw in a reference like that, I wonder if people get it. Thank you Jeff!