HomeI started my yachtie job last week. I am a stew, which is short for stewardess, on the yacht in the pic. I'm in charge of haus-frauing, bartending, cocktail serving, food serving, ordering floral arrangements and buying provisions. My mettle was tested on Friday night when we had a very formal dinner cruise for a party of ten. Yikes! It's hard work and long hours now in peak season, but it's a lot of fun and the three crew guys I work with are awesome and funny. Out of respect for the owner's privacy (plus the fact that I will be signing a confidentiality agreement soon), I don't want to say the name of the yacht, but it's a sweet 101-foot floating palace.
Even our crew quarters, which remind me of camp with bunkbeds and a teeny little shower, are pretty nice as far as crew quarters usually go. However, the captain's so cool that he lets me sleep in one of the swanky guest staterooms whenever one is available. When we're full, I share a room with captain and cheffie. Above is my sleeping cocoon. I love it, but it wouldn't be ideal for those who are claustrophobic. It's not even high enough to allow for sitting up in bed. Luckily the ceiling is soft padded leather because sometimes I forget.
This is the view of my new neighborhood from my new floating home. I especially love the CAR perched atop the boat down the dock from us. What do they do, pull into a harbor and call 1-800-CRANE ME to take it off? The rich never cease to crack me up.
On the other side of us is Jimmy Buffet's megayacht. Strains of Margaritaville are not wafting through the air, thank God. Instead, the owners of the yacht in the slip next to us left last night and in what is obviously celebratory jubilation, the crew has trance music pumping loud right now. Woo!
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