jacketwatch

You might think that after the Costa Concordia tragedy in January 2012, people would have more respect for the muster drill. For the most part, on the majority of our cruises since that time, I have noticed an alertness among the passengers that wasn’t necessarily there before. Passengers WANT to know what to do in case of a ship emergency. Ships have stepped up their drills and passengers are paying attention.
At least that’s what I’d observed – until I boarded Royal Caribbean’s Brilliance of the Seas last month. As we stood in our respective lines out on deck, I was stunned by the rudeness of others. While the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker with detailed emergency instructions, people were thoughtlessly talking all around me, paying no attention whatsoever, and making it impossible to hear anything. I left the drill not knowing any more than I did when I arrived. Imagine how frustrating that would be for a first-time cruiser.
Fortunately, there are detailed instructions outlined in the cabin literature, as well, so it’s a good idea to review these with your cabin mates on the first day. However, there’s no substitute for a good visual presentation.
If you think you’ve experienced enough muster drills and are only there because it’s mandatory – like many of us, please at least have the common courtesy to remain quiet so your fellow cruisers – those who REALLY want to know the emergency procedures – will be able to listen to and hear the instructions.

*Warning: profanity implied within (only implied, but we’re talkin’ about sailors here…)
New York Stock Exchange on a Sunday night.
Bourbon Street on a Monday morning.
Cruise ship kitchen on a galley tour.
All are silent, empty sights unable to convey the absolute bedlam and pandemonium perpetrated there daily. The echoes have died, the detritus of maelstrom removed: ticker tape swept, bottles recycled, grills scraped. I understand the desire to join a galley tour, but it really is useless in understanding the function of the place. For cruise ship galleys are not about equipment, nor layout, nor routine. They are not about the useless statistics guides boast of, of zillions of dishes served in mere minutes, etc. Cruise ship galleys are about the workers sweating and swearing and stealing within.
Swearing and stealing? THAT never happened at the chef’s table inside the kitchen, you say. Yeah, and I’m sure your teenage kids behave exactly the same when you’re gone as they do when you’re watching. Galley tours are organized groups pulsing through shiny stainless steel corridors like blood pumping through a healthy heart; meal times are a violent cardiac arrest, with bodies straining against blockage. As time ticks by the heart palpitates and everyone and everything pushes harder, louder, more erratically. But bodies pooling by the front line have nowhere to go. Pressure rises and things turn ugly. Eventually at every meal something will rupture and waiters will scamper and steal every which way, like internal bleeding.
Too graphic a metaphor, you think? Hardly. It’s a jungle in there. Cruise ship waiters squabble over hash browns like hyenas fighting for scraps stolen from a lion’s kill. It’s survival of the fittest. I will never, ever forget the first time I was assigned to pick up the hot food at breakfast in the dining room on Carnival Conquest. I had been given sixteen orders simultaneously. So had everyone else. Simultaneously.
“Hi, chef,” I began, “I need, uh, six orders of eggs over-easy, two with pancakes, one with bacon, one with pancakes and bacon, two with sausage and bacon, and one with pancakes, sausage, bacon, and hash browns. I need two orders of eggs over-hard with pancakes and sausage, and…”
“New boy, out of my way,” interrupted another waiter. He bellowed, “SIX OVER-HARD, PANCAKES, BACON, BROWNS! Let’s go!”
“Hey, Filipino,” an Indian waiter chided. “Leave the guy alone. Chef, ignore him and the American. Help a fellow Indian. Give me four scrambled, two with browns, four with….”
“Rasclat, get your hands off my pancakes!”
“Hey!” everyone cried as a Bulgarian butt in.
“Those are my hash browns, you bastard! I need four scrambled, two with bacon, one with sausage, and one with browns.”
“F@*# you! Chef, are those my hash browns?”
“Kiss my ass, Euro-boy. Colonize someone else!”
“Hey, why are you giving him my eggs?” I asked. “America never colonized anybody.”
“You bomb everybody. Take my oil but not my eggs!”
“What blood clot took my over-easies? Chef, lay those eggs faster!”
“Do I look like a chicken to you? You know any black chickens, motherf@*#er?”
“Get your f@*#ing jelly off my tray, a$#hole!”
“How you say chicken in your white-monkey language?”
“F@*# you!”
“No, f@*# you!”
“F@*# you both. Were are my sausages? Not the f@*#ing links, the f@*#ing patties, blood clot!”
At that point everyone dropped civility and the language turned truly ugly. The kicker? Breakfast in the dining room involved only about 10% of the waiters aboard. Enjoy the tour, ‘cause you sure as Hell don’t wanna be in there during a real dinner.

What do you say to a group of thirty scared, exhausted, but excited people who have flown 5,000 to 10,000 miles from home to start a new job at sea? What words can simultaneously console both a macho Bulgarian man and a timid Indonesian woman? Upon joining Carnival Fantasy’s restaurant training, I heard the following spiel, more or less, and found it engaging.
“Let me welcome you aboard,” said the trainer. “We are going to have a lot of fun, and we are going to do a lot of work. I guarantee this will be a new experience for all of you. It will not be easy. Let’s start with why you are here. You’re all here for the same reason: money.
“So to make money, you first need to learn about serving Americans. It doesn’t matter what things were like back home. The majority of cruisers are American, so you need to learn what they like and what they don’t like. Americans are the easiest people to serve in the world. They’re not interested in fine service. They eat out all the time there, so being in the dining room is not a special occasion for them the way it is for most of us. So they don’t want a servant: they want a friend. They will ask personal questions about you and your family. They’ll ask where you’re from, but don’t be upset if they don’t know where that is. Most won’t.
“This is an American corporation with American guests, which means American standards. That doesn’t mean you must eat hamburgers every day, but it does mean washing with soap and water every day. I’m from India, for example, and lots of Indians smell bad because they don’t use soap. That may be fine back home, but it can’t happen here. America means deodorant.
“And ships mean English. In guest areas always use English. Even if you are talking about cricket scores in your native language, Americans will assume you’re talking about them. Nobody knows why. I guess it’s their big sense of personal identity.
“Now let me tell you a true story. A waiter from the Philippines once had a table of old ladies who refused to leave after lunch. He needed them out so he could set up his station for dinner. Finally they ordered more coffee, which was long gone. He had to brew more. It meant he was going to miss preparing for his dinner guests, which probably meant hard time for the second seating, too. He stormed away swearing in Tagalog, using very bad words. He assumed he was safe. But one of the ladies was married to a military man stationed in the Philippines. She understood every word and told the hotel director. The waiter was forced to apologize and was sent home the very next port, mid-cruise.
“Carnival has over sixty nationalities that get along very well. If we don’t, we get sent home. That means no money. If you fight with anybody because he’s different, you will be sent home. No money. Even if someone hits you and you don’t fight back, you are both going home. Carnival takes it that seriously. Revel in learning about the world, but don’t forget why we are here.
“Look around,” he said. “These strange foreigners are all here, just like you, for the money. And though it may not seem like it now, by the end of training these strange foreigners will feel like family.” He was right. When the four weeks were up, there was not a dry eye in the class.
By Brian David Bruns, author of national best-seller Cruise Confidential.
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I’m talking about a man of a different sort. A bird whisperer. The Bird Man of Conquest. I prefer the latter name because it evokes the cramped, sparse living conditions of Alcatraz. That’s closer to a crew’s experience than, say, comfy suburbanites with enough expendable income for professional pet counseling. I’m not judging, but rather reminding that American attitudes towards animals are puzzling to the majority of the world. American pets are part of the family, receiving the same affection and accommodations as our children (certainly mine, anyway!). But many people around the world coexist with animals in a way I can scarcely conceive. I saw some of it on Conquest.
We were docked in Montego Bay. The sun shot through the clouds in bold shafts, I remember, and the air was heavy with moisture. Those of us in the Lido restaurant denied shore leave were consoled by the nearby presence of damp green tree tops, mottled with shadows yet lively with colorful birds hopping to and fro. It was a quiet afternoon of dazzling beauty. Apparently we were not the only ones dazzled. A solitary bird, perhaps lured by the scent of food, had flown into the restaurant.
He was a small, gaily-colored little bird. The poor guy fluttered about, unable to find the exit, confused by the overhanging mezzanine that refused to act like a jungle canopy. He zig-zagged through the dining room, zipping this way and that, growing more and more agitated by the minute. We gleefully kept the doors open and tried to herd him towards freedom. There was much laughter, but we were ultimately unsuccessful. After a while, now flapping in pure desperation, the bird disappeared deeper into the galley. Suddenly we realized the little burst of joy that gave us a much-needed break in an otherwise rigid, exhausting routine had probably done so at the expense of his life. It was a sad moment.
“I’ll get him,” said a waiter confidently. He was from Indonesia. His name was Bambang.
“If he couldn’t figure out how to escape through all these open double doors,” I said doubtfully, “How can you expect to herd him through the small doors of the galley and the corridors?”
Bambang just smiled and asked, “May I go after him?”
Like I would say no. But then again, this could easily have been an excuse to sneak a cigarette while on duty. (I’ve had waiters literally claim their mothers’ death just to get an extra smoke). Nary five minutes passed and out from the galley came Bambang. We clustered around him, but he gave us a silent head-shake to keep us at bay. For perched upon his finger, tiny chest heaving, was the bird. Bambang strode to the nearest exterior doors, whispering softly to his new companion. He even caressed it with gentle strokes of the back of his fingers. Once outside, the bird flew off to its native Jamaica.
“I’m from a small village in the jungle,” Bambang explained simply before returning to soiled plates and silverware. I was awestruck. Could I have made the transition Bambang had? Before ships he had not only been one with nature, but likely lived entirely defined by its caprice. How utterly different his life must have been, before this one of tight metal walls, recycled air, and artificial light. I was reminded that each crew member, regardless of duties or labels, was indeed an individual treasure. And it gave me hope that I could maybe, just maybe, hope to someday control my cats.
By Brian David Bruns, author of national best-seller Cruise Confidential.
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I had a question come in about "Ship Life" for crew:
Larry asked, "Do you get days off and how many hrs. a day does the crew work?"
All positions for crew are different, but there is actually 3 different levels of workers on the ship. Crew, Staff, and Officers.
Crew are like cabin stewards, servers, cleaners, and most people you do not see on the ship.
Staff includes entertainment, sales and guest service positions, spa workers, and kids department.
Officers are always the italian looking guys in formal white outfits.
We all had different lifestyles in our little floating island... different places to eat, some places others couldn't go into, and hours/responsibilities aboard the ship.
The "crew" definately works the most hours throughout the day, and when you see a cabin steward always working it is important to know that they do work hard, but not as much as you think they do. Most Guests see a steward and think that they are the same person, and always see them through out the day, but the stewards work about 5 - 6 hours a day with no full day off. They have a 12 hour period of time that they work but take time off in-between when the guests are back in their room. They do get time to get off the ship and enjoy many of the ports.
Entertainment staff has it pretty easy only working about 5 hours but spread out throughout the day, and usually get a full day off a week. I would probably say some of the hardest workers on the ship are spa, guest services and shore excursions, and the kid watchers. They work about 8 - 10 hours a day everyday with very little breaks. So make sure your extra nice to these workers.
Officers, well what can I say, they have it pretty easy... Large cabins, and work about 4 hour shifts a day driving the boat (which is a HUGE task) They can pretty much do what ever they want on the ship and above security in some cases.
So as it looks like we are slaves on board ship, we are certainly not. Crew parties, night after night of crew bar until 2 am with $1.25 beer, and the rest of the night out on the front of the ship under the stars. Week after week of crew activities, games, and cheap excursions. Ship life is great in its moderation... working on board a ship for 9 months would be death, but 4 - 6 months is not so bad as long as you have a few months between the next contract.
Hope this answered your question. if you have any questions about working on a ship please let me know, and stay tuned to my next blog which tells some nail bitting stories about getting to the ship too late!!! YIKES, I have some good ones.... so until then follow me on facebook www.facebook.com/thedannyblackpage (like the page and send me a message telling me you read this and ill send you some free downloads)