Life can be a bitch for a working girl…
No – not that sort of working girl, but the poor sod that has to work her ass off shepherding hapless tourists on and off cruise boats, on and off coaches, and around obscure places with out losing any of them.
This is easier said than done. Especially when most of your charges do well to find their own way home, or remember their own names, or … well, you get the picture. It’s a demanding job although I do have it on good authority that you will be OK as long as you lose less than 10% of them and none of them actually die while in your care.
On our last little sortie, we shared the craft with a group on Norwegians and, as none of us speech Norwegian – well, not knowingly, anyway – they had their own guide. Our was blessed with the patience of a saint and an air of benevolent efficiency the likes of which is seldom seen. Theirs was somewhat newer to the job and complained a lot.
Mainly she complained about not getting enough time for herself to soak up the sun on the sun deck, ignoring the fact that it was April and that this is Germany.
But never mind. What she lacked in experience she made up for in other ways…
…which is why my wife elbowed me in the ribs and glared at me in her best “Shut the fuck up!” mode as we walked past her on the staircase. “Don’t you dare say it!” she growled.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Teeth and tits, dear. Teeth and tits!”