It may surprise you to learn that even I, a venerable ship captain, am affected by the labor shortage. My ship, the Industry, has long been relied upon by the bourgeoisie to supply many fine, imported luxuries; however, since my crew was recently decimated by plague, I am loath to admit that I am inadequately staffed to meet the demands.
A life of seamanship isn’t for the faint of heart; it’s a hard and joyless existence. Even so, I’ve always been able to find the necessary labor among the destitute and desperate. Although the work climate has little to offer besides squalor and misery, I’ve always been proud to think that it was an improvement over the squalor and misery of unemployment. After all, I offer competitive benefits such as room and board, as well as a stipend large enough to keep one from starving in the streets in between voyages (with proper budgeting).
Sure, the cabins below deck leak and smell of decades of seasickness, and there’s no denying that the daily fare is nothing to crow about, but one can always fill his belly with the knowledge that he is not a leech on the government’s backside.
I even used to flatter myself to think I could boast a loyal crew, before they showed their perfidious nature by getting sick and dying without so much as a two weeks’ notice. Now how am I to reliably provide goods and services to society’s upper crust on my own with only a scrawny and pallid cabin boy on hand? No doubt my late crew did not consider my embarrassment as they were losing their bowels all over the rat-infested living quarters that I generously provided, nor did they care that having insufficient human capital would bode ill for the economy as they were vomiting themselves into unconsciousness.
Additionally, having to sit in quarantine for weeks with the words Plague Ship painted in red across the hull was a nightmare of public relations. I’m lucky that no one is left to spread tales of the horrific conditions during that unfortunate odyssey, except for the cabin boy who is fortunately still too traumatized to speak. Now to attract recruits, I am forced to debase myself and demean my beloved Industry by resorting to cheap gimmicks – throwing hiring “parties” and referring to even grubby deck-swabbers as “heroes.” I’ve even gone so far as to offer attendance bonuses to crew members who do not succumb to plague within their first ninety days.
Perhaps workers these days have been indulged too long; even aboard my craft, they’ve enjoyed the comfort of a roof over their heads and meals of hard tack and water twice a day for so long that they are no longer grateful for the mere opportunity to work. To this point, my cabin boy, who looks as if he has not known indulgence a day in his life, has not abandoned me, unlike his mutinous mates. Although waifish and sickly, it is a small consolation that I can still count his earthly presence among my assets.
I think I shall put his name forth for employee of the month.
