Wes and I had the pleasure of having dinner at a lovely restaurant on the water last Friday. He talked me into ordering the five-course tasting menu with him (something my waist regrets but I do not) and we sat there for almost three hours, eating, chatting, and watching the sun go down over the water. Gorgeous.
Of course, there was a bit of an elephant in the room while we dined. Well, not in the room. Tied to the dock. A gargantuan (and I do mean that in the traditional sense wherein it’s meant to convey sheer, enormous size) luxury yacht.
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking of the nicest yacht you’ve ever seen. I’m sure it’s lovely. What you need to do in order to understand the sheer size of this thing is to double that yacht you’re thinking of. In height, width, length, everything.
This thing was so humongous, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it had a bowling alley and perhaps a wine cellar, too. There was a yacht docked next to it and I actually felt kind of bad for the smaller yacht because, even though it was a very nice yacht and probably more expensive than anything I’ll ever own, it looked piddly next to the grand empress of the seas that was this mega-yacht.
Wes and I took a stroll past it on our way back to the car and it must have been 150 feet long. At least. What we could see through the windows was absolute elegance with very good taste. The leather on the upholstery looked soft enough to chamois a car with, and the deck had to have been made of teak. A crew member was walking around outside the boat, patrolling the deck for any unwanted riffraff, and we passed pleasantries with him before heading home.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that boat, though. How fun would it be to invite friends to come for a cruise with you? I’m pretty sure a maritime party is even better than a land party because the water compounds the coolness. Everyone knows this.
I was looking up information on this kind of mega yacht, though, and apparently a vessel of this size requires a crew of eight to run. I think that might be a bit weird. Even though the crew have their own quarters on board, I just think it’d be weird to be confined on a boat with eight people who work for me.
Of course, the thriller writer in me thinks this is just begging for a murder on the high seas, where the motives are unclear and the mystery unsolvable until the final pages. Come on, that story practically writes itself.
In an attempt to prevent the crew from hating me and wanting to murder me for my money, I’d probably be tempted to help them clean up and do their jobs all the time out of some awkward embarrassment over being waited on.
Who knows, though? Maybe if I ever have hundreds of millions of dollars, I’ll get over that shyness real quick. That is, unless inflation keeps getting worse, in which case my hundreds of millions of dollars will be worth approximately enough to buy a postcard of what that yacht looks like.