Mary Ann And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
This is a recap of our first few days as first-time sailboat owners and an homage to one of my favorite authors (if you’ve never read her poem “True Love” you should). I hope no one is offended – I’m certainly no Judith Viorst!
Mary Ann And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
I woke up in the backseat of a Prius this morning. Have you ever tried to sleep in a prius? It was a very long 6 ½ hours. I’m cranky and achy and a little bit hangry. The professor doesn’t eat breakfast, so I had to settle for a questionable looking burrito from a questionable looking gas station. Guess how many times you have to stop for gas when you drive 397 miles and your tank only holds $8 worth of gas? I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
It’s November and I’m already sweating. I just realized I packed a week’s worth of sweaters, blue jeans and flannels, but it feels like August. I don’t even have a hair tie.
I think I should have stayed home.
The marina didn’t have a 45-foot slip for us, so they put us in a 55 foot one, and are charging us extra so I drank an extra cup of their complimentary coffee.
When I was going up the rickety, metal, portable stairs with the sign on them that said, “Do not use stairs” I lost my balance at the top and after staggering forward very ungracefully for what seemed like an eternity, almost face planted myself onto the cement sidewalk. The Professor said he was worried I was going to fall off the dock into the water.
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
We were late getting on the boat because it took longer than we thought it would take to get our paperwork sorted. We said we’d meet Paul, our broker, at ten and it was already noon.
I took my shoes off when we got to the boat because they were black and the boat is white. I was walking barefoot on deck and stubbed my toe on the stainless-steel block, or turnbuckle or whatever it’s called. I think my pinky toe is broken.
I decided it would be safer for me to sit and wait in the cockpit. I was very thirsty and very hot and the only thing to drink was a bottle of water we had left behind on our last visit. So, I drank it.
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Paul got there and opened up the boat for us. It had a peculiar smell that reminded me of the travelling carnivals that show up in town every so often. It wasn’t a good smell though, like funnel cakes or popcorn. It smelled a lot like a Port-o-Potty. Paul said, “Yeah, boats tend to be smelly like that.” He suggested we flush the toilet with water from the shower because ocean water reacts with urine and makes your head stink. The head is what they call the bathroom on a boat, not that melon between your ears.
Paul is a good guy. I’m glad he’s our broker. He is helping us move our boat out of the sales slip and into one in the next marina over. He has a lot of sailing experience, and we didn’t have any problems. When we got to our slip, he leaped off the boat and tied her to the dock.
It suddenly occurred to me that at some point I was going to be the one jumping off a moving boat to secure her to a floating dock. I can’t even walk up a stationary set of stairs.
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Paul was very helpful, showing the Professor how to secure all the lines and sharing lots of helpful sailing tips. I’m sure they could have talked a lot longer, but I wasn’t feeling very well. I didn’t know if it was because of the mystery meat burrito, the hastily gulped complimentary coffee or the warm, stale water from the plastic bottle we left sitting out in the hot sun for a week. None of them felt like wise choices in retrospect. My stomach was cramping, and I really needed to find a restroom. Correction, not a restroom, 5 restrooms. In the short distance it took to walk back to our Prius I stopped three times. Then twice more on the way from the parking lot back to the boat. Oh wait, then again at the drugstore where the professor took me to get me some Imodium. 6 restrooms.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
When we got back to the boat we opened all the hatches to air her out and cleaned her up as much as we could. We cleaned a coating of dust off the cabin fans so we could run them. We took out all the bedding left by the previous owners and brought in our own. We wiped and washed and Febreezed, a lot!
By then it was dark so we decided to gather our stuff and head to the showers. I had my toiletries in an empty grocery sack in one hand and a bag of trash we were taking off the boat in the other. The dock is two feet lower than the deck of the boat. There is a foot wide gap between them. The Professor stepped off first and as I reached for his hand I heard my toiletries slide out of my bag and plop into the water. My toothpaste, toothbrush and soap all sank to the bottom. I fished out my towel and underwear, and we threw them in the dumpster on the way to the car.
I’m having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
By the end of the night, we were pretty tired, and I was surprised that the pullman berth felt as big as it did and that thirty-year-old mattress was as comfortable as it was. I liked how the boat rocked and creaked and it didn’t take long to fall asleep.
I woke in the middle of the night from a dream…it was a crisp, clear, night with a starlit sky stretched over a deep blue ocean on which I was bobbing up and down on its rolling surface…in a Port-o-Potty.
I opened the door to the salon and almost gagged. The Professor had closed the “door” to the boat, which happens to be the largest hatch and biggest source of fresh air.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
The next day we went first thing to the marina store where we bought a new electric flush toilet and enough PVC to replace all the water intake and sanitation lines on the boat. It was going to be a weeklong project.
I said I should probably have stayed home this week.
While I took everything out of the galley cabinets and washed them, and scrubbed the inside of the cabinets, the professor worked on the toilet and hoses. We had to keep stopping to get this part and that because things were the wrong size or misplaced or just missing.
Towards evening the sky started to look dark and the Professor said it was supposed to rain all night so we’d have to close up the hatches. I said I was going to a hotel.
He said I should have stayed home.
I’m having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
The Professor decided to go to the hotel with me even though I said he didn’t have to. It had been a long and stressful couple of days and we were worn out and tired. We drove twenty minutes out of our way for a room with good reviews –rated an 8 “for cleanliness and friendly staff”. The Professor didn’t want to drive that far but it was $50 less than the hotels near the marina so I insisted.
The first room they gave us wasn’t made up. The second room was hot and stuffy, and the air conditioner wouldn’t come on. The third room smelled musty, the bed sank in the middle and there was no way to stop the bright light from streaming under the doorway and through the gaps in the curtain. I think I slept better on the Port-o-Potty boat.
It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (or two).
Unfortunately, some days are like that. Even at home.