John had ground down his will to live on the corporate coalface for 20 years and was now in a position to treat himself. He floated the idea of boat ownership at his golf club and attracted the attention of a bigger fish who was looking to offload the cruiser he used as a gloried dinghy to his $2M suck-me-off-yacht.
The boat-boss boomed over and told John he had a deal for him. A 2016 Whittley Cruiser, 26 feet of luxury boating that could be Johns for the low price of $90K. A sucker is born every minute, and John latched onto the deal like a barnacle with a keel fetish. Sold!
Like a marine-slurry, John had put his sea-legs up and allowed himself to get rammed by the glossy appeal of boat ownership, without any regard to the financial & emotional sting he would soon feel deep in his porthole. Maintenance, insurance, fuel, this shit added up.
The cracks really started to form on his maiden voyage out with the family to Rotto. It was a sunny day, and John decided he was ready for the battle royale of a Freo boat ramp. He didn’t anticipate the wait, and the complaints from his impatient family pierced him like harpoons of resentment.
Months passed, and John realised he was living in a groundhog-esque boating hell. He had no hook-ups on fishing spots, was bored of river cruises and was frightened of exploring the open ocean.
Had he really spent $90k on a Rotto shuttle for a family of land lubbing losers who didn’t appreciate his purchase? Yes, he had, 20 trips to Quokkaland and counting. He had even implemented a new rule: his little Peter-Pans aren’t allowed to speak to him while boating, or they’ll get hooked.
Every day, the boat would taunt John as it sat inconveniently in his driveway. A mere mention of the S.S mid-life crisis would get his eye-twitching – he couldn’t even a muster an affluence-stiffy when a smaller corporate fish commended him on his purchase.
He knew he had to get back to basics to enjoy this tub of shit. Why did he buy it in the first place? To show he was better than more impoverished people. So he organised a corporate cruise for his staff. Unlike his family, they’ll respect him, they have to fucking respect him.
True to form, John, fucks up any chance of respect when he forgets to put the bungs back in before launching. He sits on the boat ramp pumping water from his vessel while everyone waiting loudly disabuses him of the notion he worthy of oxygen let alone fit to captain a boat.
Oh, boy does he have that sinking feeling, look out for a cruiser on Gumtree tomorrow written in full caps lock.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
