barely there zine

In June of 2003 after my junior year of high school I was looking for some work to occupy my summer and to make some cash.  I always looked in the back of the newspaper in hopes to find something a bit more interesting than a retail or food service job position.  A little square in the classifieds jumped out at me that simply stated “Deck Hand Needed” along with a phone number.  I gave the number a ring the following day and had a short conversation with a man that was lived in Marshfield and ran a charter boat.  He made his living by bringing fisherman out to his best fishing spots.  He asked me a lot of questions about my appearance to make sure I fit into his idea of a presentable assistant for his company.  He asked me to meet in person at a Burger King on Route 139 in Pembroke. I brought my friend Brian because honestly I was little wary about meeting a stranger at a fast food restaurant that I found in a newspaper.  

 I walked into the busy restaurant and saw him sitting in a booth in the corner.  He looked the stereotype of a captain. He was very sunburned, scrappy facial hair and wearing bright yellow galoshes.  We sat there for about twenty minutes over french fries as he went over the position and expectations.  He explained that we would head off for a days work at 4am and return in the late afternoon and asked if my parents were ok with my absence during those unusual hours.  I had no experience of any kind with fishing or boating but had told him “I lived my whole childhood on boats on the cape”. After some more questions, he gave me the gig and gave me instructions to meet him at Marshfield Marina the following Friday at 4am.

 The night before I had packed a lunch and was a bit nervous as I set my alarm for 3:30am.  When I heard the tone ringing, I woke up with intense stomach pain and felt like I never went to sleep.   As I was getting in my car in the dark of night, I was excited but also weary that I wouldn’t be able to work this early all summer.  I drove about 20 mins to the address he gave me and saw his truck near the dock.  We said hello and got in a small row boat together out to his charter.  We didn’t speak much as we brought the charter to the dock to meet the 5 fisherman that had arrived.  We also didn’t speak much as I assisted them with their fishing gear and coolers of beer/food for the day and we set off.

 As we pushed off from the dock, the sun had started to rise and I forgot about having to get up so early. I was chatting with the fisherman on the back deck as we got further and further from land.  We were about an hour out when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t see land from any side and my brain started to race.  I tried to ignore this feeling and continue to talk with the guys but I couldn’t hold back anymore.  I felt like I was green as grass and became sick off the side of the boat.  This continued for the next four hours, the captain had docked the boat and came on the deck, looked at me and said “not again”. I couldn’t do my job that I was hired to do and the fisherman were disappointed.  I tried eating lunch and was sick again, we moved around to four spots to fish and I never stopped being sick.  At one point, a fisherman offered me a beer and everyone laughed at once.

In March of 2016 I had a bunch of airline miles that were going to expire soon so I planned a vacation with my girlfriend to Puerto Vallarta in Mexico for a week.  On top of that I had a resort gift certificate that also made our stay very cheap, so to break it up we spent one day in a small fishing/surfing town about 30miles away called Sayulita.  We took the public bus north up the small freeway through a small handful of towns and the jungle and arrived just around noon.  There were lots of little cafes, shops, and we found a secret beach through a cemetery appropriately named “La playa de los muertos”.   We walked around a bit and found a small café on the beach for a few beers and a snack.  Eager to get checked in, we get our bill and head towards the hotel. Walking on the sand I see a guy sitting on the steps, taking his shoes off and wearing a Bernie Sanders hat. When I passed by him, we look at each other and give a head nod.  We checked into the hotel and went surfing and headed back to Puerto Vallarta the following day to finish our short vacation.

 About two weeks later in Los Angeles on a Saturday, I woke up early and went on a long hike in Griffith Park.  I went home to take a shower and my motivation to go across the city had vanished. Not having a car in this city is very foolish but somehow I’ve made it work for two years.  My good friend was performing a piece of music he had written to pair with his friends painting.  I couldn’t let him down so I made the trek to a gallery in West Hollywood. This was an hour bus ride from my house so I smashed through a large portion of the good Metallica years in my headphones.  I got off the bus and walked a little over a mile down La Brea Ave to the galley. Throughout the night people came and went and at one towards the end of the evening, I saw a guy across the room with a Bernie Sanders hat and he gave me a head nod.  I knew I had recognized him from somewhere and I approached him during an intermission.  I walked up to like a detective and asked if I was on this beach in Sayulita two Tuesdays ago.  “Who is this?” his girlfriend said nervously.  He first looked confused, then let out a grin and said that he knew he had seen me before.