The Dock:
The tourists are bobbing through this town like apples in a barrel of water. They want to know where the nearest Starbucks is, the post office, the Chinese restaurant, and the Diamond Shop. They see me in a bright green shirt and I am their gateway to this entire city, above and beyond my job which is to get people from the cruise ship to my boat. Selfie sticks, wifi, the best coffee shop, and where the shuttle picks them up: I wonder if I walked around any other town, if people would assume I knew things because I wear bright green and a name tag. Not only that, but tourists stream off of those cruise ships expecting that I know about every single tour that’s offered on this island. Oh, the float planes? Those are over there. Crab Feast? Look for the people standing over there. It’s early, maybe they aren’t out yet. My sign says “Misty Fjords and Wilderness Explorer” but it might as well say “Anything you need to know, ever.”
Tourists are the worst brand of human. They’ve shut their minds off and want to be told where to go, what day it is and whose responsible for all this rain. Why didn’t we cancel the tour because of the rain? We live in a rain forest. I’ll let you think that through, Mr. Smith.
The Crew:
Suzanne is 75. Her accent is as thick as chowder, originally from Cape Cod Massachusetts. She has lived in Ketchikan for 13 consecutive summers and dock-repped with my company for 9. She lives with her husband Joe in Florida during the winters (for 20 years now). She cannot hear the radio so well but she knows the dock like the back of her hand. She reminds you “Don’t forget: you are the one who is in control.”
Johnathon is 20 and sports a buzz cut on three sides with curly blonde hair cascading from the top. He wears an occasional man bun, which I told him Nana calls “a knot on your head.” He is pretty calm and will delegate for you to do any task you may be closer to (will you do me a huge favor and throw this napkin away?”). When he wants to emphasize something, he says the words with nonchalance through a small slit in his lips and moves his head from left to right like he is doing the dance from Thriller. You know the one.
Kristi, My Ride-or-Die Dock Rep, is a Ketchikan native who knows the docks very well. She used to work for a bus company on the dock, so she knows everyone and training came very naturally to her. She is not one for attention, but she relates when you bitch about something or find something real annoying. We share a love of lattes and will go on field trips to retrieve them as necessary.
Jess: the actual boss. Her baby Olivia is due on June 8th so our days together are numbered. She is relaxed, pleasant, loves a good laugh and is probably the best boss I’ve ever had (at least, that’s how things are looking). I’m trying to figure out the best way to tell her that without seeming like a suck-up or like I’m trying to earn a raise.
40 minutes before our boats depart, we all put on our radios and headsets. “Check Check” “Loud and clear” someone will say and we usually just do this for each other as we walk out the door in bright green jackets, rain boots and expedience. Suzanne and I are the most expedient as Kristi and John are more laid-back. Jess is 8 months pregnant so I don’t know her normal walk is.
I’ve learned how every part of the dock works. I’ve done the “late person” position, collected tickets 3 times, and welcomed the boats back. Honestly, there’s not much to the job. We go to the office and do the restocking, man the phones, man the radios, “settle” with the shore excursion representatives from the cruise ships and run errands for the office in Big Bertha (the white company van, which we cleaned at the only car wash in town the other day and Jess ordered us any coffee/smoothie beverage of our choice).
As dock rep, I prefer to do tickets because that person communicates with our boat over radio. I like greeting everyone and taking their tickets, then directing them to the St. John or the St. Nona (we haven’t sent any tours out on our smaller boat yet, the Sea Lion). It’s actually more hectic at times than it seems because you have to keep a sturdy count of all the passengers, not to confuse ship comps with our company comps, crew out of uniform and ship guests. As front person, you communicate with the shore ex’s (shore excursion reps), you confirm the passenger number and you get the green light for our boat to leave the dock.
Yesterday we had two ships (at Berth 1 and 2) and our first group coming off the Norwegian Jewel, and their shore excursion tickets are a thick yellow perforated ticket that we take the smaller part of. With freezing fingers, the radio going off in my ear and a group of tourists with one kid and two infants, I was collecting the tickets and finding I could only rip one at a time. Total count was 49 and as I set down my last 9 tickets (I rubber band them in groups of twenty) the top two flew off and down below. Suzanne comes over and I have to deliver the bad news. We’re radioing with the boat who is supposed to depart within 60 seconds of receiving the last passenger. I’ve given them the green light from the shore ex and the St. John is still sitting on the dock. I’m sure we’ve collected the 49 but I’ve only got 6 instead of 9 in my last pile and I see two tickets on the dock below. One is in the water, facedown like the said end of a belly flop at summer camp and the other is sitting nearby on the dock, threatening to take flight and dive in.
I count again. I’ve got the 6, see the two, where is the third?
I see Suzanne has booked it down to the dock and is belly down on the cement reaching for the ticket in the water. She’s grabbed the one on land and manages to coax the swimming ticket to her other hand.
48 tickets and we need 49.
Suzanne tells us to walk inside as we collect the final numbers from the captain (49 plus 6 crew). I account for the comp from our company who is a training native artist (this counts as crew out of uniform). I spot the last ticket, sitting on the dock.
Jess tells me that we sound good on the radio, calm in the midst of the ticket nightmare, and I’m thinking to myself- I know this is a big deal when we lose a ticket because the cruise ships only pay us if they have the tickets, but it’s just a ticket…
We spot the last one and we know there’s no way to get at it. I snap a picture of it to provide as evidence of sale to the Shore Ex and we walk back to the office, debriefing from the incident.
Suzanne and I count and recount the 47 and head back to the Shore Ex (whom Suzanne knows well) Janette. All 97 pounds and 5 feet of Suzanne says “We had a night mayor” (can you hear the New England?) Janette says “Oh no- what happened?” and when Suzanne explains about the ticket, and we show her the photo, Janette laughs and says not to worry! As long as you got all 49, we are fine!