I need to vent.
I was either fired or I quit today. I am not really sure which. I was definitely assaulted by a cranky old man I could have easily killed (and been justified in doing so. Yay Florida!) except that I am wrong hue and would have been locked away. My heiney couldn’t take it.
I’m not Jason’s mom, for fuck sake.
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| How my day started. |
It was another morning of me having to find out whether we were going out today.
That is in a constant state of flux due to myriad reasons. He is a shitty boat mechanic who refuses to spend the money to get his boats properly repaired by a professional.
Hell, I have had to be the fucking rudder when the steering (a chronic issue) went out at the same time as our starboard issue (also, chronic problem). I had to keep my foot pushing the rudder one way so the port engine would keep us straight. A guest even whispered in my ear, why doesn’t he just have us towed in?
I have learned not to ask sensible questions, I said.
Couple the boat issues with a Capt who has the communication skills of a two year old and, holy fuckballs, it was a challenge everyday.
The day before yesterday I was told to call the next day whenever I get up.
Is there a time you want me to call by?
No, we’re either not going out or, we are going out later if the weather clears up.
I woke up at 0529 to several missed calls and text messages and voicemails. Apparently, he also came and honked his horn in my driveway. I sleep with earplugs so… suck on that.
Anyway, it was decided we were going out and I was at the boat by 0600. No breakfast, no lunch packed and no water on board. That last part was something the Capt is supposed to supply.
Got home with a touch of sun poisoning and dehydrated. I sucked it the fuck up and pressed on. And ate pizza.
Last night I asked if we were going out today. He said he wasn’t sure but would let me know.
He did not.
Long story shorter, I got up, ate, took the mutts out, ran to the big boat (at the harbor) to get the ice buckets, ran back to his house to get the ice, ran back to the dock and loaded the ice on his little boat parked in bfe, ran to take a shit, got the rods we needed from the big boat to take to the little boat, got yelled at for taking too long and that I need to get up earlier.
The problem is logistics and piss poor communication.
What?
I said, the problem is logistics and communication.
The fucking problem is you need to get here sooner.
I snapped. You need to back the fuck off or find someone else you can shit on!
Get the fuck out of here, then!
At which point I threw down the rods I was holding and he swung and hit me in the back of my head and yelled, don’t throw my fucking rods!
I was looking down when he connected and now I was looking up, hands up ready for a scuffle. I had one of those flash thoughts, dock full of Southern white guys, a small Southern town, all white, Southern cops.
Move the fuck out of my way or I can move you.
He moved. I left.
Behind my back he screamed some shit about not ever deck-handing in Mexico Beach again.
Ohhh, burn.
I remember he once told me I was embarrassing his company. He wasn’t wrong. I have since realized the irony of his inability to look inward and realize just how much he embarrasses himself and his company.
Stay away from Mexico Beach Charters, boys and girls. You’re as likely to get stranded in the deep blue sea as catch anything.
Titty sprinkles!
