Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

Through the ever evolving job description I’ve acquired, I now drive clients around on their whim. For many who know me, driving is not necessarily something I enjoy doing, but especially so when the van I’m driving has no rear-view mirror and I have no idea of where anything is located. My boss told me I could just follow her so I agreed to wake up at 4am and drive, knowing I wouldn’t get lost. The morning of, she changes her mind and draws me a sketchy picture before sending me on my way. Alone. I started the van, but couldn’t find the seat adjuster, so I ended up just stretching my toes as far as they could reach to awkwardly press the gas.

I’m glad it was so early though, because it totally looked like I was driving a stick shift for the first time with all the weird false starts and burping down the road. Then came the next obstacle of parallel parking. These vans are beasts, but at least they have a snub nose. After having sufficiently made my way to a hotel and back, I was feeling pretty pumped.

Then the shit storm hit. We’d chartered out a few boats for about 20 people in a dentist convention and they were supposed to get back to shore by 3:30 so we could gut and fillet all their fish before half of them had to catch their flight at 6:00. That seems like a pretty impossible task. We were not thrilled, but with every hand available in the processing room, we tried to get it done. At least I got to put on a pair of waddlers (what I like to call the rubber boots). By 5:00 we were still vacuum sealing freezer packs of fish and throwing it into cartons to be thrown in the belly of the plane. Tension was everywhere, Squirt nearly cut his thumb off while filleting, and I was developing a stress rash on my wrist.

Then I was voluntold to drive one van of clients to the airport. Having only been outside the lodge once, I was not happy about muddling my way through, but my partner in crime was gonna lead the procession, so I kept mum. Have I told you how janky the vans are? Because they really do need some work. She pulled out and I started reversing, but of course, my van had decided not to start because they are so tempermental. I then pretended that was part of my plan all along, so the handful of clients inside didn’t worry about my driving capabilities.

Finally having gotten the van to actually reverse, I only moved backwards about 6 inches before there was a horrible grating sound and I possibly might have sworn. Big no-no in front of clients, although they really don’t mind most of the time. I parked the van and debated jumping into the sea with the fish carcasses strapped to my body, hoping that the hungry sea lion would eat me. Brief heart attack over, I worried that I’d clipped the car to my right. But, I’d obviously run over a small wooden child from the sounds of the grating. A client opened his side of the van door and said that instead someone had placed a wooden step stool under my chassis.

Why would anyone do that? Whatever, I had him pull it in and we were off. The first part of our convoy was thankfully, still patiently waiting at the stop sign. No hijinks ensued the rest of the way. But that could be that my heart had imploded and I was just a driving shell, emotionless and with only a single mission. 

At least later that night I finally got a chance to meet the lion-dog face to face. He is adorable and cuddly and super friendly. I petted his mane and was ecstatic for the rest of the evening. His owner was pretty much as sketchy as I figured he’d be. I found him pushing a dolly of buckets down the road aimlessly, at least his beard was sweet.

I misjudged my occupation somewhat when I packed for Alaska. Instead of the professional and newly purchased dress wear, I instead have been wearing my one pair of junk jeans and my 6th grade surf trunks. There is just really no point of getting nice clothes all scaly or bleached when I could just look like a bum. I pull off the bum look quite nicely mind you.I’ve perfected the art of laundering clothes and sheets and generally only see sunshine (well mostly rain) from the small window of the laundry nook. Instead, I spend hours upon hours watching the spin cycle.

Or correcting the grammar of whichever poor soul had my job in the nook. Whoever it was seems very frustrated, and very excited at the same time. I frown upon the use of exclamation marks and many people know this. There is really no reason to exclaim something in such a way. As I was told, don’t tell that someone exclaimed something, show it through the surrounding text. I have a feeling that frustration runs rampant in the scenic paradise that is Sitka. Those who are  attracted to such places are generally the ones who don’t mind the pungent aroma that is fish carcass. I may be pretty laid back, but the meat wagon smells more like a serial killer decomposing ground than normal “meat.” Sad part is, I think its growing on me. Sure, its expensive and wet, but everyone wanders around town with dogs and raincoats. How quaint is that? I love raincoats and the scent of wet dog. It reminds me of when my house floods. Oh be still my homesick heart.

I got a letter today. Sure it looks like it was written by a schizophrenic who couldn’t choose a medium, but it was something I’d been looking forward to for a while. I miss the girls from my lacrosse team. Only they could produce the kind of awesomeness required to make letters so badass. Because it also came with four separate pictures of one person I also feel like a creeper. Emilee, I want you to know that I tucked them into the paneling between my bunk and the one above it. Your letter did say, “The pictures are for you…look @ them EVERYDAY!!! :D” Notice the use of exclamation marks.  Now I cannot possibly get away from them. Thanks again.

Weird Alaska knowledge: Garbage cans are totally odd-shaped here. For some reason, most likely bears and the other wildlife roaming the street corners, they are extra heavy-duty. I approve in that I don’t have to roll them anywhere. No moving of the garbage cans for me. They sit, like mini dumpsters, waiting for the garbage truck to roll around and scoop em up. So adorable.

I’d also like to share with you a picture of me in my rubber boots. Today was the first day I was allotted a pair and I was ecstatic. My life would be complete, if only they were yellow. Also, please admire the sexy Alaska sweatshirt I wear in the processing room. It smells of fish and pure adrenaline. This is my life.

TIA. That’s what you say when things go wrong in the kitchen, when strangers bark at you from a passing vehicle, when you sigh at the extremely high prices for anything at the store. TIA. This is Alaska. The chef says it all the time, mostly in reference to buying fruit in a quart for what he might have bought a gallon in the lower 48. Everyone here seems to miss the lower 48, if only because we don’t want to go poor. When you visit the grocery store you might as well bring your entire pay check with you, either that or learn to live off the land. The stores only sell in bulk, so unless you have a really extensive family, you are dependent on eating the same thing for a while, or at least having a freezer. That in my hands is indeed a 4 pound can of tuna. Even a tuna aficionado cannot possibly consume that much tuna without wanting to crawl into the ocean and get eaten by a sea lion. Personally, I’d rather not die from mercury poisoning.

What little the stores do sell in individual/personal sizes, they charge ridiculous prices for. I bought three red bulls and spent over ten dollars. A pack of gum is about two and a package of gobstoppers would normally be 99cents, but in Alaska you only get half the gobstoppers for that price. Might as well use your money as tinder here. Unless you have a lot of money or a decent job that allows you to survive, I would not recommend coming to AK. Sure, the beauty is indescribable, but you’ll be panhandling on the street corner in no time.

The store I frequent is about a hundred feet from my lodge, but I still only go to have a change of scenery. Considering I only made about 80 bucks today, I really don’t have any available funds to squander on 30 pound bags of candy or cigarette packs that cost at least ten dollars. I don’t even want to think about the prices offered in the House of Liquor next door.