Creepy French Kissers
Itās as if I never left the boatyard: Taputuās still as helpful as ever, midday lunches with the crew, blazing mid-summer heat, up and down the ladder till my feet ache, and how could I forget: the obligatory French kiss-kiss cheek greetings. The boatyard seems like a rather cruel place to uphold this greeting ritual, as 90% of the time people are sweaty and or covered with some sort of toxin. Iād much rather smile and say āBonjourā minus the kisses. Iāve learned now that there are the normal greeting kissers, with whom there is hardly even any skin-to-skin contact, just close-ish cheek-near-cheek head bobs with kissing sounds if you happen to cross that person on your way to do something. And then there are the ācreepy kissersā who take this cordial French custom and turn it creepy.
They tend to be the older male sailors that are in a constant and prevalent rotation on the boatyard groundsā¦at the moment this place is crawling with them. They will spot me from across the yard and come completely out of their way to firmly plant two slimy lips on either of my cheeks. Itās awful! My mornings have become a game of hide and seek to try to dodge them. If Iām en route somewhere, itās often possible to act like Iām really late and just hurry by with a smile and a wave. The unavoidable occurs whenever I try to get anything done on the hull work. The moment I start sanding or chiseling or even setting up my tools, they close in on me and itās too late: the dreadful ācreepy kissesā follow. Ugh! And it doesnāt stop there! Because of my rather mysterious leak problem, they gather round and ponder what my next step in the repair should beāall posing different opinions and then arguing with each other in French too quick for me to understand about why their idea will work. In despair, I often flee the scene entirely and go hide in the office with Karin until they disperse.