The Cork, the Boss and his Boat
Soooo, I’ve thought long and hard about trying to use some more sophisticated moments of my interesting life to include my world famous travellers’ tales. I think “The Cork” is a good place to start.
To set the scene. Gary, the barge owner/ multi-millionaire from USA does his annual two week visit to the boat, operating on the picturesque French waterways. Pretty much, I’ve spent the whole year training for this event. All those trials and tribulations finally being tested for a two week stint of perfection.
From what I’ve heard, this is the sort of guy who has his own chair in every room, his own glass, his own pair of pants for every occasion and if the aperitif isn’t taken at 6.00 p.m. on the dot he will have a hernia. In the morning the dining room table door must never be opened prior to 7.30 a.m. and never opened later than 7.31 a.m. Nice guy.
I think it’s priceless to mention that prior to his arrival on Sunday I had the pleasure of unknowingly bumping into him, upon returning from three weeks travelling Spain and southern France.
Looking stunning, after ten hours of 3rd class, backpackers travelling, I arrive at the boat. Lugged my things on board and see six well dressed – possible stupid tourists nosing around the boat.
I was about to say “Ooi, do you mind”, but then heard a whisper, “I think that’s Brielle”. WOW scary, they knew my name!
A rather round, smiley chap with bright green pants (these are his welcoming pants I think) walks over with his hand out to shake mine… “Gary R, boat owner”.
Nice intro I say. I mean as if I didn’t know he owned the boat. So clever me, I reply with “As in Gary, Gary?” Duh. Good start.
So after the unannounced visit he says “Can we see the boat?” Knowing damn well of the condition it would be in after taking three weeks on holiday, I said “We want it to be a surprise for you all on Sunday”! Pretty bloody good excuse I thought.
One and a half days later and a spectacular looking boat with even the smallest hidden cupboard clean enough to live in; Gary steps on board, makes his way down the stairs and sits in his seat. Couldn’t give a toss about the others struggling with his bags.
Everyone else arrives in the sitting room awaiting champagne. This is my turn to shine.
The glasses are patiently waiting their turn to get filled up with France’s finest…
The cork exploded like a NASA rocket!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Missed Gary’s eye by a bee’s dick, skimmed his millionaire stress wrinkles, bounced off the ceiling at 100 miles an hour and hit the table underneath, rolling nicely next to the ice bucket.
His wife shrieked! Everyone wondered what the hell was going on, it went stark silent.
My laugh was forced until Gary came out with, “That’s how the Aussie’s do it down under”… Too bloody right that’s how we do it!
That next day everyone was encouraging me to put my best Bogan Aussie accent on.
They asked what a good phrase would be to describe the great meal they just finished. I said… “It was a bloody rippa”.
From this moment on, for the following two weeks, Mr Millionaire said ‘Bloody Rippa’ to just about everything, including his pants.
Two weeks passed ever so slowly, but I ended up getting asked back especially for his two weeks next year.
To add, he ever so slightly suggested that I was the best hostess he’s had in 15 years of barge cruising…
It’s not hard to make people happy, just adhere to their petty needs and make them feel respected and important.
Oh yes and I nearly forgot… I got a €20 tip for ironing two of his shirts. Something niggled at me…should I ask if he had anymore washing to do?
Brielle
