No More Free Lunch!
By Jeannine Patané • 19 February 2007

     This always seems to happen. The dog got filthy, and you’ve just bathed and brushed it, but somehow the mutt manages to sniff out something foul like a dead fish along the beach. The dog’s sandy, dreadlocked fur is no longer freshly scented, but you know the dog is happy and content to roll in the stench by its crazy display of behavior. Well, right now I’m that satisfied dog; I couldn’t be happier to get my arms in a yacht's greasy bilge water.
     I’ve been in San Diego for two months, and almost every day has been an effort to make myself presentable. I put on makeup and clean clothes, as one usually does when seeking employment. I networked, passed out business cards, socialized, walked the docks and distributed resumes. The only thing unintentionally caught was a lot of free lunches, drinks and dinners, none that produced crew or day work for me. I didn’t want expensive meals for free; I wanted a wage earned through my work.
     Since I wasn't working, a lot of free time was available to spend throughout the community. I became familiar with the fortunate street folk who also had ample, flexible time outdoors in a pleasant-weathered city. Observing these peoples’ tactics to get their personal messages across, I revaluated the approach to my needs, and embraced the idea of writing my message on a piece of cardboard to display for passerby to read.
     The coffee shop usually had extra cardboard boxes during the morning hours, so I asked for a panel and a loan of their marker. I worded the sign with bold letters, pausing frequently to sip the delicious brew in front of me. “SEEKING TEMP/PROJECT WORK” At 6:30AM, I rode my bike to the harbor intersection and stood there with my sign in one hand, my coffee in the other. In less than one hour, I was invited into a shipyard to work on a superyacht’s remodel, and there was another captain’s card in my pocket for future work and possible crewing for a boat delivery.
     What I tried to accomplish for two months using conventional methods, I accomplished in less than one hour by changing my approach to the most concise message I could think of and I put it out there. For the captains that responded, only a maverick could quickly recognize what I had to offer, and only a maverick had the wisdom to immediately give me the opportunity and tools to be productive.
     The superyacht’s engineer put me straight to work cleaning the shop and engine room. Hardly any “handiwork” muscles were used since I arrived in California, but the sense of atrophy ended upon stepping onto the boat. When I had to carry 5-gallon buckets of bilge water over to the waste disposal area, I was tickled to use my “Alaska” muscles again, as I used to ferry honey buckets and water containers to and from the cabin's paths on a regular basis.
     “Amiga, you need the key?” a shipyard worker asked me.
     “Yes, I need to dump this,” I responded.
     He wanted to know what it was, oil or water. It was both, along with a fair amount of degreaser. He didn’t know which barrel to dump it in, so he asked his supervisor, who came over to look and ask me again what it was.
     “It’s from the bilge. Oil, water and degreaser.”
     He was unsure too, so his supervisor came over. At this rate, I was fixing to start a riddle, How many people does it take to dump a bucket of bilge water? If three or more people came over after that, I would have definitely whipped up, How many union workers does it take to dump a bucket of bilge water?
     Another shipyard worker who saw me carry the buckets asked, “Do you work out a bit at a gym?”
I’ve always found this inquiry amusing. “No, I just work.” That’s all it takes.
     I’m a swabbie here. I wear coveralls, but the sleeves and legs are rolled up because the garment is too large for my body. My hands, forearms and calves are covered in cuts and scratches. Black grease is embedded under my fingernails 24 hours a day. My hair is dull and gritty from sawdust residing in it. And you know what? I'm working to earn my food and drink, which makes meals taste exquisite. My muscles are toning up again through the aching and the soreness. I’m doing hard work that I enjoy and I’m howling like a happy, satisfied dog on a large shoreline full of oysters.