Jess, bless her, is always happy to humour me. The Afro-american girl behind the counter is less inclined and looks ready to do away with perfunctory niceties - I wonder if she remembers me. "So you are telling me everything in the store, everything, one dollar?!" It astounds me.
In vain, I continue my survey hoping to discover a Dollar Tree employee aware of a hidden product in store, holding a greater sale price than a single dollar, without success. We have been here many times. Apart from an amazing array of "our version" perfumes and cosmetics we found one selling frozen goods as well as floor to ceiling canned goods. If we had the fortitude to survive canned ham, fish and frozen chicken dinners daily, we would be a great deal less inclined to search for employment. Plagued by recalls, I am cautioned against the "hot melt mini glue gun" - prone to short circuiting causing burns, and a particular candle set - often producing excessive flame. Still, the allure of a spice rack and dry goods cabinet stocked for less than a twenty has meant we are comfortable investing with a blind eye towards lead paint, sharp edges and shorter circuits. "And how much is this one?" I enquire expectantly. She is now, unpleasantly, not smiling. Jess is walking away. "A dollar! Ha! You couldn't even buy the materials!"
Days go by fast here. We have been nearly a month in Florida. We spent this last week scanning web pages, newspapers and crew agency window fronts. Whenever we leave the house, finding work is paramount. Opportunities exist everywhere - Stories abound of potential yachties being plucked from the pub, the beach, even the grocery store (sadly not at the Dollar Tree). Jess is now a finely tuned job seeking machine. Casual conversations are scanned for any indication they may prove to be our ticket aboard. Banks, bathroom's, and bar stools are fair game. I can't speak to the Indian gentleman who owns the Stop & Shop without thinking he is only an Ice-T sale away from leaning over the counter and offering us ascension to employment nirvana.
We routinely revisit the places we have deposited our photo bearing resumes ensuring we remain ahead of the competition. A newcomer opens the binder and pins her offering on top before glancing knowingly at us before retreating - the door closes and she is relegated in the hope that the next person to visit will be our new boss, or within hours, we too will be swallowed up in a sea of hopeful faces. Jess works hard at following up with agencies and updating web pages - I run to the store for more Ice-T.
Sunburn comes quickly with my complexion. Barely awake when our flatmate offered a day of work washing down a beautiful 105 ft Hatteras M/Y, I neglected to take any measure to combat a scorching hot Florida sun. The battle was over before lunch. Kept busy with the chamois and attempting to manoeuvre about the deck, the sizzling was inevident until the captain gasped and asked if my lady-friend was heavy handed. Surprised at his mock concern and now starting to feel the tingle, I couldn't help wondering - had he met Jess? First aid instructors ensured we are now versed in the treating of sunburn and burning humiliation - with cold beer. I had only one day of work but was looking forward to the weekend.
"Four Loko. Banned in five states and soon to be off the shelves in the Sunshine state - One can is equivalent to four beers, two Redbulls and a shot of espresso. You keen?"
We have difficulty deciding what is a good idea once we've committed to having a good time. Generally this leads to adventure. At Sunrise Marina we found a very accommodating group of revellers - A Mad Hatter theme with crazy hats, jello shots, and a fantastic pasta salad. Unsure of the events that followed, extensive photographic evidence indicates we spent some time downtown in America's Backyard (cheap and cheesy) where Jess again embarked on her quest to master the hula hoop - with much more success than our last public attempt. In the Irish bar there's a particularly odd snap of me sporting a bright pink hat with breasts - inevitably traded for the mistletoe hat I'd left home with. Having planned a BBQ the next day my phone was littered with texts from people I have no recollection of meeting, kindly assuring me they'll bring some sausages. The local cab driver, quick to realise the stench of intoxication, ensured the trip home went from 5 minutes and $8, to 45 minutes and whatever was left in our wallets.
"Four Loko?"
"Again? really?"
Assuming that one should try everything twice it should be no surprise that Saturday's BBQ was a big event. Jess made up a pasta salad surpassing the one tasted the night before - her vegetarian cooking skills boosted by a short stay from a vegan chef. Many of the sausage bearing unknowns turned out to be great people - we listened keenly as they offered stories of sea cows, crossings and commercial diving. Later, Jess began a decent rendition of a lisa loeb track, the Four Loko beer pong tournament had ended with me clearly in need of practice and something to hold onto, the sausage bearing guests slipped away with the promise of contact should they hear of work opportunities.
Rain washed the empty plastic cups into the pool, we watched from inside, happy not to have to spend Sunday cleaning the yard. Little was done today as the remaining house mates recovered from the highly-caffeinated-super-strong-malt-liquor binge. There is reason college kids around the country are ensuring the giant cans are being pulled off the shelves faster than you can say..."Where's my boobies hat?"
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