Rub a Dub Dub

The month of May marks the beginning of new things: floral dresses, capri pants, weekend beaches, comic movies (THOR!), air conditioners, finals (for students), the endless monotony of work until you die (for graduates), and—best of all—junks. Here are my favorites:

First Junk – July 2005
A bunch of us interns at Goldman Sachs set out on a Partner’s boat for dinner on Lamma. We leave at 6pm, which is a terrifying time because no intern has ever left the office until 2am under any circumstance, including the office being on fire. “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” our boss tells us. One analyst pulls me aside and, after ensuring that nobody’s listening, very seriously tells me: “It’s a trick to weed out the lazy ones! I’m bringing my bathing suit and my work laptop.” And he does.

At Lamma, we hop off the boat and into an international GS drinking contest: the Koreans vs. the Chinese vs. the Americans vs. Hong Kong (who clearly can’t drink). USA wins and we all celebrate by chanting USA! USA! And then selling institutional investors subprime mortgages. An intern who is there because his father is wealthy explains how the energy market works to me while an associate pours an entire beer over his head.

The ‘Fest – May 2007
I find a really cheap junk deal from a dodgy Chinese company and book because, hey, you have to buy things if they’re cheap (this is why I own two Kindles). My buddies and I buy some drinks, make sweet playlists, and completely forget the most crucial aspect of any junk: girls. Last minute efforts are unsuccessful and we sail out on one of the most epic sausagefests ever conceived. Seriously, we’re only one bucket of glitter away from being a real life German Sparkle Party.

The captain does that weird thing where, despite having the entire ocean free, he docks us next to 40 other junks but in this case it’s good because I’d do anything to leave our boat. We swim to other junks to see if they have girls, by which I mean pretty girls, not “I just bought a new one-piece for the beach” girls. They don’t. To make matters worse we end up being invaded by four other junks full of dudes with the same idea. Fail fail fail fail fail fail fail.

Jaspas’ Disaster – August 2008
My friend Chris and I charter the Jaspas’ junk, which is a cheap way to get blackout drunk and eat terrible food. (Seriously Jaspas, your restaurant food is good—why does your junk food taste like six cats have pre-licked it?) I assemble the troops, which consists of two high school girls, four Japanese big-eyed anime-esque girls, a bunch of random fellows, and a 30-something year old who describes every female irrespective of attractiveness as “SMO-kin”.