Day Three – Choose Your Own Disaster

Today was a big day. Because today was the day I became one of those people – a cruiser. Not a biker-cruiser, not a low-rider-cruiser, not a troll-the-streets-looking-for-booty-cruiser, but a … ah, forget it.


Wait - before I get to that, let me tell you about a moment I had on the bus on the way to the port. I was standing up (since there were no seats), once again overburdened with my drum and luggage, and before I got a chance to stabilize myself, the bus made a sudden sharp stop. You can guess the rest. I lurched, took several uncontrolled, grapevine-like steps towards the other side of the aisle, and was literally saved from falling ass-over-teakettle by a man standing across the aisle. Now let me be clear: He didn’t catch me, he merely broke my fall. And this all happened right at the front, in full view of the entire, the entire, bus. And with that went the whole image of the cool chick with the hand drum and the tattoo. Yup. Right out the window.


At any rate. On to the cruise.


So I breezed through all the checkpoints, sprained my neck staring up in shock at this eleven-story behemoth, and gawked at the gaudy bars and casinos I had to pass through on the way to my cabin. All of which left me wondering what the hell kind of alternate universe I’d just entered.


Then, walking down the long, skinny hallway to my cabin, my first thought was: “Okay, I’m totally in the ‘these people drown first’ part of the ship.” And I wondered if it was a bad thing that I kept thinking about The Poseidon Adventure. Damn Shelly Winters and damn my stupid imagination.


My second thought walking down that long hallway was of The Shining. Before I could stop myself, I actually said aloud, “Come and play with us Danny … forever … and ever … and ever ...”


And then they blew the ship’s horn and I burst into a fit of idiotic prepubescent giggles. I couldn’t help it. It sounded like a giant fart, damnit. It just did.


Then I got to my cabin, opened the wardrobe, and thought, damn, Poor People Cabins or no, those are some nice bathrobes. I so wanted to be that memorable idiot walking around the ship in that thing all day every day.


But my plans were dashed 20 minutes after we launched. Despite everyone’s assurances to the contrary, it turns out my two and a half years of undiagnosed dizziness did make me susceptible to motion sickness. Not of the bellyaching kind, but of the vertigo kind. When it hit, it launched me into a pleasant little anxiety attack, which then led to an hysterical call to my sister, telling her to muster the troops because I was going to have to cancel the trip and come home early, and then an embarrassed call to the ship’s 911 number, because by the time I was hit by the vertigo, the infirmary was closed. The nurse was very kind, talked me down, told me to take the xanax that I’d brought with me while the meclizine (which I was wise enough to bring) took effect, and once I calmed down, to take a walk around and get my body acclimated. Much to my surprise, all of this worked. To a point. The knowledge that I had two “at sea” days ahead of me didn’t help the anxiety much.


Thankfully, my spot on the “these suckers are the first to go” part of the ship was actually perfect for this problem. First deck, almost smack in the middle of the ship. The Spot Of Least Motion.


A couple of hours later, I forced myself to walk around outside the 3rd deck for an hour, which helped immensely, and then I headed back to the safety of my room, salt water pleasantly caking my face and glasses, and binged on a steady glut of Curb Your Enthusiasm until I fell asleep.