“No Judging” refers to the probability that most readers will wonder why I’d spend time in front of a sketchbook to complain that the MAN who comes in to CLEAN my ROOM is taking his time. It’s hard to explain.

Our living quarters are set up kind of like a hotel. There’s a room steward for each hallway. That’s how you get towels, toilet paper, and sheets; that stuff is hidden away somewhere. And you’re expected to tip. It often turns into a cycle of room stewards not showing up, staff members getting annoyed and not tipping, and room stewards not showing up because the staff doesn’t tip.

When I first started working on ships, I didn’t like the idea of being cleaned up after in the first place. I don’t like the idea of someone coming in and re-tucking in my sheets, cause my bed usually doubles as a bookshelf and laundry pile. I don’t want to go to Deck 1 and drop my laundry off, because there’s nothing riskier than leaving your favorite shirts in the hands of an apathetic crew member working an unpleasant job. But there’s no self-service laundry on these ships anymore, because the machines kept getting broken.

I was standing backstage yesterday, bitching with the other musicians, and we started discussing: We usually work 3 to 4 hours a day, travel to exotic places, and get room and board essentially free. What the fuck are we so irritated about? My theory is that when you’re not worried about survival, and you have countless free time with nothing pressing to occupy you, the little things just get to you more…Plus we’ve been nicking rolls of toilet paper from backstage, cause the fricking cleaner never comes.   <:)