This Aintarctica

Antarctica (repeat)

History repeats itself. History repeats itself. If you want to look into the future, like Nostradamus, the Amazing Kreskin or Jesus all you have to do is look into the past. Because when you look into the past you will find that like Gilligan’s Island, history is a three hour tour of repeats. Just when you think you are going to get off the island, Gilligan fucks it up and history repeats itself.

When I took this job as a dishwasher, I wish I had a better understanding of Antarctica history. History Antarctica of understanding better a had I? Because looking towards the past, I could have seen my future.

The first person fired from his job in Antarctica was Henry Brett. He was on board the Discovery when it docked in McMurdo Bay (my fair city), in 1902. Robert F. Scott was the captain of the ship and Henry Brett worked in the galley. Brett was so dissatisfied with his job, he chose the option of being shackled to the main mast and getting whipped versus washing another dish.

Granted I only recently learned about Brett when I read the book “Antarctica Unveiled” and I thought Brett was a pussy. I figured here was a guy who pussed out on his job because he did not have what it takes to live in Antarctica. It shouldn’t matter if you came to Antarctica to wash dishes, captain a ship or shovel penguin shit—regardless of the reason, you’re in Antarctica so fucking buck up. All men are equal when the temperature is less than 20 degrees below zero.

Now, as I’ve read more about Antarctica history, I wish the hiring process would have been a little more forthcoming about the history of dishwashing in Antarctica. Forget the quest for the South Pole (won by Amundsen in 1911), the first flight over Antarctica (1928) or the first Ipod in Antarctica (2002), I should have learned more about the history of dishwashers in Antarctica.

If, during the hiring process, I was told about Brett I would have said, “Pussy.” But, if I was also told about Emile d’Anglade, as well, I might have reconsidered this dishwashing job.

During Ernest Shackleton’s quest to traverse Antarctica a man named d’Anglade was hired on to wash dishes aboard a ship called the Aurora. In 1915 d’Anglade might have thought “Hey look at me, I’m washing dishes in Antarctica!” As though the phrase “In Antarctica” was like a “get of jail free” card. He might have thought this because since history repeats itself, this is what I thought when I agreed to wash dishes “in Antarctica!”

At some point, when the Aurora became stuck in ice, Mr. Apostrophe d’Anglade realized he had signed up for a great adventure, but he had a shit job and he quit. No amount of persuasion, shackling, whipping or money could convince d’Anglade to resume his duties.

If, during the hiring process, I was told about two great Antarctic explorers who quit their dishwashing jobs, I might have thought, “Hmmm? Pussies or Realists?” Because in my 59th hour of my 60 hour workweek, I feel like I’m chained to the dish machine and there’s no boat; no plane; no motor car; not a single luxury that will rescue me from my misery.

Brett. d’Anglade. Me. Rinse; History Repeat.