Cruisin' 2019: Day 2 - Dr. Harry Hackitoff

So after leaving QC last night at 1700, we have now spent a full day at sea. We’ll be docking in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island at 0800 tomorrow morning. I have no idea what to expect there (see yesterday re: unprepared). To that point, I really don’t know anything about this part of Canada at all. But the weather looks good, and I have barely been able to tell that I’m on a boat, so that’s good. My brother, I think, is genuinely a little freaked out about being on the open seas – he sent me a clip of a Bill Burr stand-up routine talking about the horror stories you hear from ship’s crews. You know, the standard stuff: food poisoning, passengers having to be airlifted off due to some medical emergency and, of course, Stand By Me barf o'rama levels of mass vomiting. I think he’s resigned himself to being at Neptune’s mercy as far as the conditions of the waters are concerned, and from the looks of his spit kit, he’s packed every conceivable remedy for sea sickness. So far, we’ve avoided using any of them. Here’s hoping it stays that way.

The ship’s crew are ridiculously customer-focused. We have two stewards assigned to our room. After meeting them briefly yesterday, one of them said ‘Good morning, Mr Macy,’ today when he saw me. I must have been one of a couple of hundred people he met yesterday. He was THE ONLY new person I met, and I have no idea what his name is. That’s both incredible of him, and shameful of me. But he’s not the exception. To the last, every crew member has been friendly, attentive and professional. And they don’t have it easy. There are over 1000 people on this ship, and each room is serviced like a hotel suite every day. In our room, we have two single beds and a bunk bed for Owen that has to be put away every night. So this morning, while we were at breakfast, our room was cleaned, restocked, and the beds put away and\or made. A list of ship’s activities for the next day was left on one of the beds. And then tonight, while we were at dinner, the bunk bed was brought down, the beds turned down, chocolates left out and a towel animal was put on a bed. Good news is that the towel animal was very cleverly done (there’s a class tomorrow to show you how to do it). Bad news was that it was a SCORPION and it was on my bed. Were they showing off, or were they sending a message? Better not eat those chocolates just yet…

So we have all of this exceptional service from people who MUST (like any other employee) hate their jobs sometimes. These guys are at sea 8 months at a time, and deal with people 24/7 that whole time. And, from what I can see so far, they should be sainted for not throwing half of them overboard. Because 24 hours into this adventure, observation #1: rich, entitled old people are RUDE. These people are 65+, have money to burn and are all out of fucks to give. They don’t say ‘please’ when ordering their food. They don’t say ‘thank you’ when they get it. They cut in line. One old man even physically pushed my 9-year-old nephew out of the way in order to get to the front of the ice cream line. Was he afraid that they’d run out? Maybe he was afraid that he’d kick the bucket before he got his rocky road. I dunno. Even when you call them on it, they DO NOT GIVE A SHIT.  

The most stereotypical cruise couple you can think of walked toward the bistro, where I'm in line for some food. He was in an armed forces veteran hat, tan khakis and white sneakers. His Galloway golf polo shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a bright gold chain resting on a heavily tanned, very hairy chest. She had her short grey hair held up by a visor, and her blue and white striped top screamed ‘Ahoy’ as it cascaded down her short, wide torso and met her dark navy trousers and strikingly white sneakers without the hint of a curve; from, shoulder to kneecap, she was the same width – it really was impressive. I’d seen the incident at the ice cream counter, and had vowed to make a stand if it happened again.

‘Hey, I’m sorry, but the end of the line is back there,’ I say to the couple and point to the LONG line of people already waiting that was obvious to everyone. They look at the line, look at me, and then step in front of me. I try again. ‘Hi, excuse me. But we’ve all been waiting. The back of the line is….’ They turn and look at me as if I had just drank the last drop of prune juice. With cold, dead eyes, they scan me up and down. Slowly. A weathered smile that says ‘try it, let’s see whose side the crew takes’, stretched across their cracked, leathery faces to reveal big teeth that are far too white to be real.  Then, in unison, they grunt and turn away again. Apparently, neither good manners nor I are worth their time. God knows how much of it they have left, I guess. I scoff louder than I need to; they don’t even flinch. Before I can shake my disbelief and go again, they get their food and waddle away, like two of the meanest penguins you can imagine. It dawns on me that this is how it's going to be: a bunch of old people versus us, the slightly less old people. Head to head every meal, every line, every performance, for 11 days. I can now see this kind of thing happening a lot over the course of the cruise; my guess is that it’s only going to get worse. It’s me versus rude old people from now on. Game. On. They may have age, money and experience, but I have Generation X cynicism, all the time in the world, and a healthy awareness that I’ll never see any of these people again. Bring it.