Profiles

The definition of profiling (in my opinion) is one culture judging another culture. I walk into Safeway, with my “Xtratufs”, tattoos and purple hair, feeling the judgmental glances from stereotypical soccer moms. However, when my husband and I drive to Portland for the day, we’re undoubtedly accepted. Something that is accepted in one culture may not be in another. Fuck, it’s as simple as that, but why do we still profile one another? I am guilty like any other human of committing such a pointless act. Maybe to justify are own culture? The older I get, the extent of my knowledge on other cultures increases and allows me to pause before judging. Even though I feel I‘m open minded I still profile. An issue that crosses my mind more often since I’ve began this career.  

Living on a boat for several days at a time, several times a month, you really get to know the people that sleep, eat and live in the same small quarters.  4 people, each with their different backgrounds, beliefs and experiences. The space we occupy for a few days has no room for profiling. We laugh at the same stupid shit, eat the same food, drink the same water and use the same toilet paper to wipe our ass. Growing up in Ireland for practically half my life, my cultural background is a continent away from those I sleep above, in my small but comfortable bunk bed. My level of intelligence (that is really only defined by my educational opportunities) doesn’t mean shit to them. It certainly doesn’t stop me from cracking up at their jokes and appreciating their outlook on life. For the first time in my life, I can truly say I have not judged them, put them in a stereotype box or made assumptions on how they look. On a boat, we all look like we’re homeless; wearing the same clothes with unwashed hair and skin, home to many fish scales. It’s because we’re all human and far from the rules of society. The moment we arrive back on land, we are again segregated back into our cultures. Even though I claimed that I didn’t judge them by appearance, I was shocked to see the expensive car and motorcycle parked outside the fish plant. I realized that deep down in my subconscious, I had profiled them. 

 Most girls my age, walking down a dark alley way, would be nervous crossing paths with either of the crew members. Why, because of how they look? It’s the society we live in that’s fucking with our minds, making us feel afraid of anything that isn’t familiar to us. I am not innocent of thinking that harassment could be a reality from a crew member. However, this is before my first experience living with fishermen and realizing that I had nothing to worry about. That doesn’t mean that will always be the case, but the crew member who makes me feel uncomfortable, may be the one person I wouldn’t feel nervous crossing paths with in another situation.

There are so many stereotypes of fishermen. Drug users, lacking in education and in and out of prison are only just but a few. Most people tie them up with the lack of education rope. I know many educators who have alcohol problems, drug problems and have inappropriate behavioral tendencies. I know people who are covered in tattoos and never graduated high school that have better moral standards then youth pastors. The stereotype doesn’t end with fishermen; observers are put into a category as well by the fishing industry. With our opportunities in education and the big words we use to impress those around us, we are pretentious brats who are trying to save the world. However, I was nervous about being profiled when I began training, my arms tattooed, my hair dyed purple, the bright yellow bug I zip around in and “fuck” being a prominent word in my vocabulary. Like I had expected, I was fucking profiled. However, I only felt this from my peers and not from those who had already been submersed in this industry. The complete opposite of what I had expected. My peers quickly came to the realization that they shouldn’t have put me in a box. Having conversations with them, who were also well educated about other cultures, enlightened me. We all fucking profile and I think most of us don’t realize we are and there are those who are in denial. Information can be a powerful tool, but it seems our opinions tend to suffocate what we know and make us believe otherwise.

 Next time I see someone profiling me, I want to go up to them and show them a photo of my degree in BSc, but who am I kidding? I’m not here to save the fucking world. The middle finger will have to do (in my mind of course).

 

First Trip

Fear running through my body as I was told I “might” be going out on Wednesday (It was now Monday in the comfort of my living room). Even the possibility of this new adventure intimidated me. What if the crew and captain didn’t like me, what if I forgot everything I learned in training, and regardless of training what the fuck do I do when I get out there? Everything has been in the comfort of a classroom that supplied hot coffee and tea, a far cry from “Deadliest Catch”.  All I could think was FUCK. Everything was out of my comfort zone and I wasn’t sure if I was ok with it. Though training was intense and informative, I still felt like I was jumping into a big black hole. Even speaking with other observers and their method of working out in the middle of the big blue ocean,  still didn’t process in my mind what I was about to do.

The next day flew past my eyes as I prepared for something I really didn’t know how to prepare for. I have travelled by myself to different countries several times, moved to a different country and cities for work. But this was something entirely different. I had finally landed a job in the fisheries industry. Something I hadn’t seen coming anytime soon. Stepping on my first boat though was a feeling I had never experienced. I had grown up knowing fishing was a dangerous and life threatening industry. Who hasn’t seen Perfect Storm? How George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg make dying in the cold Atlantic Ocean look glamorous. Stepping on that boat meant I was going to be risking my life. I worked so hard to get to this point in my life. Mixed feelings came up. I never thought I would be married while achieving a career that brought me to a life threatening level. I always knew I'd have a career that pushes the limits. I just never thought I would get married and love someone as much as I love him. Love changes everything and how people see the world. But I had to shrug it off and push forward without thinking, which sometimes is scary in itself.

We left in the morning on Wednesday.  Exactly two weeks after completing training almost to the hour. I easily got situated and working with only 2 crew members and 1 captain made that process an easy one. Heading out through the river mouth, my body filled up with excitement. Then the seasickness hit me like a huge brick in the fucking face. Wow, seasickness is a real thing, something that I never want to experience again. Excitement was quickly replaced with stupidity. The most important personal item I could have brought and I forgot it. I could picture the pills, sitting on the kitchen table, mocking me.

Needless to say, the first 24 hours were a living hell of ups and downs, physically and emotionally. Even the first 36 hours had me wondering what the fuck was I doing out here in the cold wet rain, tipping side to side trying to lug around 40, 50 even 60 pounds. On the edge of starvation and dehydration, I could feel every single pound of fat melting off my body. Which of course got me excited cause what girl doesn’t like the idea of losing weight. However, that quickly faded into hating my life when I heard the hydraulics turn on. To be honest, there was even a moment where I was trying to figure out how to get out of leaving my bunk. My integrity got the best of me and I continued with the slow process of putting the layers that protected me from the elements. The elements that were waiting to bully me into thinking I couldn’t finish what I started. Like all bullies in my life, I told it to go fuck itself and continued to push through. However, the thoughts of why the fuck I was out here still in my mind. The first 3 days were filled with ups and downs. Ups and fucking downs, like the rolling ocean. I can still taste the vomit in my mouth. Vomit of success some would say.

It wasn’t until I woke up the morning of my 4^th day, looking out to the calm ocean with the sun rising over the Olympia Mountains (which was my first time seeing them) that I realized seasickness was that little devil on my shoulder. This job didn’t have enough bad moments to tarnish the amazing ones.  Some observers may have had a better experience then my first 3 days. However, I would leave those bastard pills on the kitchen table if I had to do it over. Between the weather, feeling ill and insecurity of how to complete my tasks, I have grown as a person and as an observer. I have gained the respect of 3 fishermen for working through it and not only completing my tasks but putting any little energy left into helping them fish. I will cherish and lock up that respect and use it for moments where I may doubt myself in the future…..

 My future as an Observer.