Hub - The Saga of Carl

The Saga of Carl: Gourmet Engineer and Living Nightmare

Life on board a yacht is supposed to be glamorous—crystal-clear waters, sunsets worthy of postcards, and a crew that’s sharp, polished, and professional. And then there’s Carl, our onboard engineer. The only reason Carl still has this gig is that the owners don’t want to shell out more money for someone who knows which end of a wrench to use and how to fold a shirt.

Carl is a walking contradiction. He keeps the engines humming but can’t seem to maintain even basic hygiene in his room. The place hasn’t been cleaned since the yacht’s maiden voyage. Step inside, and you’ll find a biohazard zone disguised as a cabin. Old socks, mystery stains, and the faint odor of desperation blend into a symphony of horror. It’s as if Carl is conducting an experiment to see how much filth a human can survive. Spoiler: He’s winning.

Morning

Carl starts his day by stumbling into the galley like a sleep-deprived bear emerging from hibernation. He brews a cup of instant coffee so strong it could double as engine degreaser. Breakfast? A bizarre concoction of canned sausage, powdered eggs, and toast that somehow ends up both burnt and soggy. Carl calls it “rustic yacht fare.” We call it “hard to watch.”

Afternoon

When he’s not elbow-deep in engine grease, Carl likes to pretend he’s a gourmet chef. This involves raiding the galley for whatever isn’t bolted down and turning it into a dish only he dares to eat. One time, he made a “fusion pasta” with ketchup and instant ramen. Another time, he tried to sous vide a steak in the engine room. The results? Let’s just say the crew now has a strict No Carl in the Kitchen policy.

Let’s also talk about his room. The man lives like he’s actively auditioning for a reality show about hoarders. Dirty laundry is piled so high it’s practically a new bunkmate. Empty chip bags and soda cans litter the floor, creating a crunchy carpet of shame. He insists he’ll clean it “tomorrow,” but tomorrow—like Carl’s fitness goals—never comes.

Evening

By night, Carl swaps his overalls for what he calls “casual attire,” which is really just an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt that looks like it was purchased during a blackout sale. He lounges on the aft deck, puffing on a cigar he clearly can’t afford and swirling a glass of wine like he’s auditioning for Below Deck: The Budget Edition.

When the owners are aboard, Carl cranks up the charm—or what he thinks passes for charm. He leans into conversations with guests, regaling them with tales of his “chef skills” and “refined palate.” Meanwhile, the crew tries not to gag, knowing full well he eats cold spaghetti straight from the can when no one’s looking.

Why He’s Still Here

Let’s be honest—the only reason Carl still has a job is that he’s just competent enough to keep the engines running, and the owners don’t want to pay for someone better. So here we are, stuck with a man who can fix a diesel generator blindfolded but can’t figure out how to empty his trash bin.

Living with Carl is like sharing quarters with a tornado—it’s messy, chaotic, and leaves you questioning every life choice. But hey, at least the yacht’s engines work. For now.