The pros and cons of cruising, part three
For a preview of the myriad mortifications of the flesh, you can hardly beat a cruise. Or, more specifically, you could hardly beat my cruise (my friend, a veteran cruiser, suggested that the reason our ship had become "a floating nursing home" was because we had left out of western Florida, a known magnet for the elderly and the retired). Not only had my shuttle bus trip foretold what I was in store for, but a wait at the pier before boarding allowed me a long, hard look at my fellow passengers.
I had positioned myself beneath an escalator leading to the ship so that I would be able to meet my friend before boarding. Because I refuse to join the cell phone craze, I still rely on "old fashioned" plans which, in this case, blew up in my face when my friend somehow walked right past me and boarded the ship without me (my friend had obviously forgotten "the plan"). This left me waiting for a good hour and a half before I learned what had happened. During this time I watched my fellow passengers as they hobbled with walkers, were rolled in wheelchairs, or, in one instance, led by a seeing eye dog up the gangway (I meant the escalator--"gangway" just sounds more Conradian). Their mental faculties didn't seem too keen either. There was a huge sign and arrow clearly pointing to the escalator on a pair of closed automatic doors, but over and over again, like the flesheaters in Night of the Living Dead, they would attempt to pry the doors open and enter only to elicit the quick response of a Bobby "The Brain" Heenan-lookalike within who would shoo them, like cattle, to the escalator. If I didn't have to get on the ship myself, I think I could have watched that all day.
When I finally boarded alone a photographer was ready to document this momentous occasion on the real gangway to the ship. I guess they weren't accustomed to solo passengers, so to help me feel less alone, one of the shipmates leaned in at the last second and smiled broadly (I was later given the opportunity to purchase this very odd photo onboard--me wearing my usual "condemned to death" expression and this complete stranger smiling like an idiot beside me--I declined). "Welcome to the Ship of the Damned," said a pretty young steward as she offered me a glass of champagne upon boarding. Or, at least, that's what I thought she said. I declined the champagne as well. If I was going to endure this cruise, I thought, I would need a clear head.
I had positioned myself beneath an escalator leading to the ship so that I would be able to meet my friend before boarding. Because I refuse to join the cell phone craze, I still rely on "old fashioned" plans which, in this case, blew up in my face when my friend somehow walked right past me and boarded the ship without me (my friend had obviously forgotten "the plan"). This left me waiting for a good hour and a half before I learned what had happened. During this time I watched my fellow passengers as they hobbled with walkers, were rolled in wheelchairs, or, in one instance, led by a seeing eye dog up the gangway (I meant the escalator--"gangway" just sounds more Conradian). Their mental faculties didn't seem too keen either. There was a huge sign and arrow clearly pointing to the escalator on a pair of closed automatic doors, but over and over again, like the flesheaters in Night of the Living Dead, they would attempt to pry the doors open and enter only to elicit the quick response of a Bobby "The Brain" Heenan-lookalike within who would shoo them, like cattle, to the escalator. If I didn't have to get on the ship myself, I think I could have watched that all day.
When I finally boarded alone a photographer was ready to document this momentous occasion on the real gangway to the ship. I guess they weren't accustomed to solo passengers, so to help me feel less alone, one of the shipmates leaned in at the last second and smiled broadly (I was later given the opportunity to purchase this very odd photo onboard--me wearing my usual "condemned to death" expression and this complete stranger smiling like an idiot beside me--I declined). "Welcome to the Ship of the Damned," said a pretty young steward as she offered me a glass of champagne upon boarding. Or, at least, that's what I thought she said. I declined the champagne as well. If I was going to endure this cruise, I thought, I would need a clear head.
posted by BayonneMike at 7:22 AM
4 Comments:
hmm. youre alive. so i guess you didnt hit an iceberg or capsize with gene hackman. yet im hooked!
"condemned to death look." arkived!
My Dad routinely cruises on Celebrity. He's 70 years old. He goes alone because my Mom, who is also 70, hates the entire cruise experience...on Celebrity. She doesn't mind Royal Caribbean or Cunard. Long story short, he goes alone. He's a very outgoing person. He likes the attention from the widows.
I've yet to endure the cruise experience. I'm way too anti-social to eat with strangers and claustrophobia would most assuredly get the best of me inside the cabin of a rocking ship.
You're a very brave man.
"Welcome to the ship of the damned" Priceless. Especially after you declined a leisurely day trip to the 'Grounds for Sculpture'- " You can forget about the Grounds for Sculpture. It ain't happenin'. Old lady stuff."
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