Tuesday, May 12: Five Days Left on Land
As excited as I was about the prospect of moving to L.A. and “going for it,” I went to bed last night at peace with my decision to
honor my commitment and report for duty on The Ship this Sunday for another six-month hitch as “The Fun Dude.”
The L.A. Comedy Scene has waited 22 years for me to arrive, it can wait another six months.
I need to work another contract, save some more cash, buy a car and formulate a plan. Besides being an entertainment host aboard a cruise ship is a blast and I’m great at it.
But as soon as I woke up this morning I realized there was more to my reluctance to go back to sea than some confusion over what direction I want to take my life and career in.
I had a major league panic attack this morning. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t breathe. The thought of having to spend the next six months sharing a tiny cabin with another man, working 10 hours a day on five hours of sleep and not having adequate time to myself to pursue my goals as a writer and a performer filled me with dread.
But to be perfectly honest, it all comes down to sharing a cabin. Part of the reason I never moved to L.A. in the past is I couldn’t picture myself sharing an house or apartment with another person. Now here I am in my 40’s having to share a tiny room with another dude on an opposite work schedule from mine and sleeping in the top bunk—the new guy, which I’ll be, always gets the top bunk!
For six months!
Each cabin has one set of bunk beds. One desk one chair. Which means onl one of you can set up our laptop at the same time. And each cabin has only one clothes locker. Each crew member gets half of it to stuff all his belongings in. Everything except his suitcase. Those we store in the middle of the cabin or off to one side for the duration of the contract. That’s right, you have to live with your suitcases right there with you.
For six months!
Today I realized that I simply did not recover from the trauma of sharing a cabin with a roommate from hell during my last contract. I roomed with the karaoke host and although we became great friends, I woke up at six in the morning and he slept till 2 p.m. It was an absolute nightmare sharing a cabin together. I could not get more than 4 hours of sleep a night. And some days I worked from 9 a.m. until 1 a.m. with few breaks.
So I was totally freaking out today and simply did not think I could handle life at sea—no matter how much I love my job—for six hours, let alone for six months.
What should I do, should I show up at the pier on the 17th, knowing I might go completely nuts or pack up my crap and move to L.A. and start following my dream?
Go to L.A. with no car, no job, no health insurance and a savings account depleted by a four-month hiatus between contracts and a credit card with two grand worth of debt on it? Or get back on The Ship and live rent-free, eat free food, enjoy free healthcare, have fun and save up some more money?
It would be a no-brainer if it weren’t for the cabin situation. I love being The Fun Dude but I simply can’t perform at my best if I don’t get my rest and privacy.
Will it be better this time? Will I luck out and get a great roommate? Will I kick butt on the job, meet a lot of great people and walk of the ship six months from now knowing in my heart that The Ship is where I truly belong?
Emotionally drained and still shaking, I decide to call The Boss at the Company in Miami and come clean about my misgivings. The Boss is a super smart and ultra sensitive guy who worked the ships for years as a dancer and is a fountain of wisdom when it comes to ship life.
Although I knew that calling him and being totally honest was the right thing to do, I didn’t realize how understanding and how accommodating The Boss would be.
The Company is a great cruise line to work for. Every superior I’ve ever dealt with over the past two years has shown genuine warmth and support anytime I asked for help with a problem. Hotel Directors. Captains. Head Pursers. Talent Bookers. Cruise Directors. Assistant Cruise Directors. I’ve yet to meet one person in authority over me that doesn’t work their butts off and doesn’t do whatever they can to look out for their subordinates.
So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when The Boss talked me down off the ledge by telling me how much I mean to the Company and that we have several options. I can either give it a shot and see how it works out or postpone my contract until I feel I can handle it. Should I choose the former, I’d be free to take a leave of absence should ship life prove to be too much for me. And then be welcome back anytime. Should I choose the latter, there would be no strike against my record.
Then The Boss surprised me again. He told me to take a day or too to think it over. He also gave me his private cell number just in case I was freaking out after hours and needed to talk.
Wow!
I feel better now. Think I’ll walk down to the donut shop and swallow a custard éclair whole.
As excited as I was about the prospect of moving to L.A. and “going for it,” I went to bed last night at peace with my decision to
honor my commitment and report for duty on The Ship this Sunday for another six-month hitch as “The Fun Dude.”
The L.A. Comedy Scene has waited 22 years for me to arrive, it can wait another six months.
I need to work another contract, save some more cash, buy a car and formulate a plan. Besides being an entertainment host aboard a cruise ship is a blast and I’m great at it.
But as soon as I woke up this morning I realized there was more to my reluctance to go back to sea than some confusion over what direction I want to take my life and career in.
I had a major league panic attack this morning. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t breathe. The thought of having to spend the next six months sharing a tiny cabin with another man, working 10 hours a day on five hours of sleep and not having adequate time to myself to pursue my goals as a writer and a performer filled me with dread.
But to be perfectly honest, it all comes down to sharing a cabin. Part of the reason I never moved to L.A. in the past is I couldn’t picture myself sharing an house or apartment with another person. Now here I am in my 40’s having to share a tiny room with another dude on an opposite work schedule from mine and sleeping in the top bunk—the new guy, which I’ll be, always gets the top bunk!
For six months!
Each cabin has one set of bunk beds. One desk one chair. Which means onl one of you can set up our laptop at the same time. And each cabin has only one clothes locker. Each crew member gets half of it to stuff all his belongings in. Everything except his suitcase. Those we store in the middle of the cabin or off to one side for the duration of the contract. That’s right, you have to live with your suitcases right there with you.
For six months!
Today I realized that I simply did not recover from the trauma of sharing a cabin with a roommate from hell during my last contract. I roomed with the karaoke host and although we became great friends, I woke up at six in the morning and he slept till 2 p.m. It was an absolute nightmare sharing a cabin together. I could not get more than 4 hours of sleep a night. And some days I worked from 9 a.m. until 1 a.m. with few breaks.
So I was totally freaking out today and simply did not think I could handle life at sea—no matter how much I love my job—for six hours, let alone for six months.
What should I do, should I show up at the pier on the 17th, knowing I might go completely nuts or pack up my crap and move to L.A. and start following my dream?
Go to L.A. with no car, no job, no health insurance and a savings account depleted by a four-month hiatus between contracts and a credit card with two grand worth of debt on it? Or get back on The Ship and live rent-free, eat free food, enjoy free healthcare, have fun and save up some more money?
It would be a no-brainer if it weren’t for the cabin situation. I love being The Fun Dude but I simply can’t perform at my best if I don’t get my rest and privacy.
Will it be better this time? Will I luck out and get a great roommate? Will I kick butt on the job, meet a lot of great people and walk of the ship six months from now knowing in my heart that The Ship is where I truly belong?
Emotionally drained and still shaking, I decide to call The Boss at the Company in Miami and come clean about my misgivings. The Boss is a super smart and ultra sensitive guy who worked the ships for years as a dancer and is a fountain of wisdom when it comes to ship life.
Although I knew that calling him and being totally honest was the right thing to do, I didn’t realize how understanding and how accommodating The Boss would be.
The Company is a great cruise line to work for. Every superior I’ve ever dealt with over the past two years has shown genuine warmth and support anytime I asked for help with a problem. Hotel Directors. Captains. Head Pursers. Talent Bookers. Cruise Directors. Assistant Cruise Directors. I’ve yet to meet one person in authority over me that doesn’t work their butts off and doesn’t do whatever they can to look out for their subordinates.
So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when The Boss talked me down off the ledge by telling me how much I mean to the Company and that we have several options. I can either give it a shot and see how it works out or postpone my contract until I feel I can handle it. Should I choose the former, I’d be free to take a leave of absence should ship life prove to be too much for me. And then be welcome back anytime. Should I choose the latter, there would be no strike against my record.
Then The Boss surprised me again. He told me to take a day or too to think it over. He also gave me his private cell number just in case I was freaking out after hours and needed to talk.
Wow!
I feel better now. Think I’ll walk down to the donut shop and swallow a custard éclair whole.
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