To be honest, my first impression when I saw him on the ramp was shock. He looked quite a bit older than his photo online. My inner monologue ran something like “Oh shit. Hmmmm… He’s going to sail with us? He seems pleasant I guess.” Ever the peace keeper and silver lining finder, as Bob would say. I really tried not let his age be a factor because he seemed like he knew his stuff. And then he tried to get onto the boat… Now we didn’t have anything special set up to board, we’d just pull the mooring lines in if needed and step over onto the back. We’re still reasonably young and healthy so we hadn’t put any thought to it. Wilfred looked like he was going to go into the water getting on or off the boat. We had a good time at dinner and that was that. Alright, so I definitely overreacted to his age / appearance and he’s had a long day of traveling and seemed to be expecting a different docking setup, so maybe getting on and off won’t be such a challenge tomorrow. 

In the morning, Wilfred and Bob made lists of boat things to buy and then we made a food provisioning list. For the most part, the list really wasn’t any different from the one in my head (since we were still stuck in France for another week or so, I hadn’t bothered to seriously start food provisioning). He had several special food requests I’d never heard of so he wanted to go to the store with me. I figured he should stay with Bob and do boat things since we were relying on him for his expertise but he was insistent. He indicated that he hurt his leg right before he left home so he had to walk slowly. I tend to be a fast walker so slowly was a bit of an understatement for me. By this time I’d already purchased my grocery cart (or chariot, as the French call it), and had bags inside so I planned to do the usual – fill the cart and not use a grocery store cart so I didn’t have to drag two around the store. Nope, Wilfred didn’t want to hear my explanation, he went for a cart, but since there weren’t any inside, he tried to bring one from outside and set off all the alarms and got yelled at in French! Never to be discouraged, he  eventually found a cart inside and started filling it, you know, without talking to me at all (and I had the list…) I caught up with him a couple times to try to discuss the list, food preferences, and what we already had on board but he was too busy buying whatever he liked. After a while, he’d just leave the cart sitting and ask me where it was. Eventually I started dragging it along with me, with my own cart. The French were shocked and appalled at my two carts! Haha! I finally caught up to him again in the international food aisle where he proceeded to grab the fajita sauce. My mind is already blown by all the random things he’s buying so I try to curtail the shopping spree by asking what that’s for (I didn’t see any other Mexican food items in his cart…) He explained to me it’s bolognese for pasta. I said “nope, that’s fajita sauce”. After a couple of rounds of who’s on first, I finally convinced him that it wasn’t for spaghetti. He kept asking me where the spaghetti sauce was – I’m like “dude, I don’t know, go look”. Of course I didn’t say that, it was more like “I’m not sure, probably a couple aisles down”. And with that, he abandoned me to drag his cart and chase him around some more. Fast forward to us leaving and he decides he forgot onions, so he sends me back inside and he takes the chariot of groceries and is supposed to be heading home; his idea since he’s on injured reserve and I will undoubtedly catch up quickly. By the time I get to the checkout, I see he’s dragged the chariot of purchased goods back into the grocery exit to wait for me – he wants to go to the store next door to look for a computer power adapter which he forgot at home. Nothing else too eventful happens until we arrive back at the boat. As I’m unloading groceries, he gets out his purchases from the store – a cord for something random, a plug of some kind, and then he grabs a kitchen knife and tape. I am immediately terrified and ask what he’s doing. He couldn’t find the right adapter so he’s going to make one by cutting and reattaching these electrical wires… omfg! So right there at my galley table Wilfred does electrical surgery. I try to tell him maybe he shouldn’t and he should wait until we go to the bigger store with an electronics section on Monday – I’m sure they’ll have it. Nope, he built a house and did most of the wiring himself so it’s fine. I send up silent prayers that 1) he doesn’t electrocute himself, and 2) that he doesn’t somehow fry our boats electric system. Somehow he cobbles it together successfully and nothing goes wrong.

Earlier at the store, Wilfred had insisted on  us purchasing steaks and some mushrooms and other items. He planned to make us dinner – perfect, sounds wonderful. Since our pallet hasn’t arrived yet, we only have one small pot and one small pan that we’ve purchased to tide us over until it arrives (more details on the pallet here). He takes the cooking oil to the pan and puts in…not one swirl in the pan, not two, but at least an inch of oil in this shallow pan… my anxiety is back on high alert. He dumps in the steaks and they start to fry… as the heat continues to climb, the grease stars to splatter a bit. We don’t have a lid for the pan or a (WHAT IS THAT THING CALLED) so I start to panic a bit. The kitchen is filling with a visible grease vapor cloud so I close our cabin door to keep it out. Bob is outside on the phone so I peek out often hoping to get his attention. I worry I’m overreacting a bit until the splatter kicks into high gear and is now covering everything within a foot radius, including fresh fruit. He is not doing anything or moving anything and the galley kitchen is a one-man space. I suggest turning the heat down citing the splatter. He replies something to the effect of, the pan is too small and it’s just something we have to deal with. I go back to the door to see if I can get Bob’s attention telepathically. I do not want to lose my shit on someone’s grandpa… I slam my wine and wait. I can’t take it anymore and word my suggestion more strongly to turn down the heat, and he ignores me. I edge my way into the kitchen area and brave the hot grease splatter – all over me (ugh!) and turn the heat down to almost nothing. Bob finally returns from outside and I very quietly tell him that I am losing it and it’s his turn to deal with this disaster. Dinner was a mess – it was basically greasy meat with some greasy rice mushroom flop. Unfortunately the damage was already done and my brand new kitchen on our brand new boat was destroyed. One of the handles for the stove is melted and we’re certain it was from this incident. By the way, it took me WEEKS of repeated cleaning to get all the grease off my kitchen surfaces. 

The next morning, Sunday, we wake up dreading leaving our cabin and deal with this catastrophe. Since the weather is cold and rainy, we’re basically trapped in the boat with him.  I realize that we have to leave our cabin for food eventually, so we venture forth knowing we need to take turns babysitting our buddy.  At this point, I’m hopeful that it’s just been too intense being stuck in the boat and that things will get easier soon.  We have decided, however, that Wilfred no longer has cooking privileges. A few days later, I get up and am enjoying coffee on the deck when I see a large dark spot on the teak underneath the outside table.  Upon investigation, I realize that there’s literally food all over the floor. On my hands and knees, I scrape and peel up hardening bits of onions and cheese… Ahhhhhh!!!!! As I’m cleaning, and wondering how in the hell there’s food all over the teak, I recall that I am directly under the spot where Wilfred sat for dinner last night (we’d had some French ready-made deli pizzas, hence the sautéed onions and cheese).  I solicited Bob’s assistance and he diligently tries to clean the mess.  As Wilfred appears, and we tell him what’s happened, he does his famous multiple shoulder shrugs and says something like “these things happen”.  The pain and frustration of kitchen grease splatter incident is still fresh and this just compounds my impatience.  I trek off to the store alone to blow off some steam.  Later on, Wilfred suggests that we get a carpet or something to put under his spot at the table; so apparently this happens ALL THE TIME. Not once does he attempt to assist in cleanup, or simply admit his fault and apologize. Ugh, talk about no manners.