Vincent the patchy-white-skinned Pimp

Vincent is a pimp. He really is. Its not like the time I got drunk and
called Mr Verma, my social studies teacher a pimp. Vincent really is a pimp
and gets distressed at the thought that people might mistake him for someone
facilitating sex out of the goodness of his heart. I met Vincent in a
crowded bar in Mexico. Crowded bars are a great place to meet men. Some of
them are pimps. A few of our crew were having drinks there and someone
pointed me out as the captain. I'm not sure what Motion picture or TV series
they show in Pimp school, but Vincent has a very high regard for captains.
Vincent has in his head a vague plan involving a flotilla of ships filled
with Mexican prostitutes sailing to the farthest corners of the worlds
engaging in debauched acts in international waters. I think he has that in
his mind because he told it to me over his second drink. Its hard to
understand what Vincent is really thinking because you can barely see him.
He unfortunately suffers from that disease in which your skin gets those
white patches that then spread all over your body till you become all white
and stuff. That thing. It is unfortunate because Vincent tries to cover it
all up with wearing full sleeves in a sweltering heat and by hiding his face
behind all sorts of hand gestures. Infact he is so uncomfortable that at
those rare moments that he is shaking someones hand and flicking the ash
from
his cigarette at the same time, everyone respectfully looks at their drinks
till one of his hands is in place.

Vincent explains that he is a freelance pimp. That means that he simply
makes a profit from references, and doesn't need to maintain an exclusive
clientele, or girls or hit around any women. He says that is a very
convenient. Principally because it is very difficult to hit around Mexican
women.

Every company is required to have core policies that guide them in
everything that they do. I have diligently looked through all the policies
onboard and have not come across any policy that requires me to tell pimps
that I cannot let my ship be used as launchpad for boatloads of sex crazed
low cost prostitutes in nations with favourable forex conversion rates. I
have thus maintained silence on this issue. In all honesty, if Vincent ever
does give me a written request, I promise to forward it to the HQ. But in
the meanwhile, Vincent is a friend.

Vincent meets you at the boat jetty and takes you shopping. He haggles with
the cab drivers and the shopkeepers and takes you to quaint eating sea side
joints where he then translates the menu and orders the most awesome sea
food such as shrimps Diabla and the local cocktails such as the "Torito" .
All while describing in most vivid details how he could get you in bed with
women whose current loss of virginity might be actually doubtful. I am not
sure if you have ever shopped or had dinner with a similar topic being
spoken, but it sure beats watching seagulls fight over a fish thrashing
around in its dying throes. Vincent also has stories to match any
situation. You might get into a taxi with him and he would resume his
conversation with, "One time, I was in the taxi with another captain and
three of my friends, ..." and other such stories, too outrageous to be
anything but true. Taxi rides in Mexico are disappointingly short.

If you do ever feel indebted to him for these services and hesitatingly ask,
"Vincent, would you mind of I gave you some money."
Hiding his face behind a set of complicated hand gestures Vincent replies,
"If it makes you happy."

When things make people happy, Vincent becomes very happy.