Today, we’re very fortunate to be regaled with the informed musings of a first time ever cruise passenger as she presents her- ahem- unique take on the modern cruise experience. So, without further ado……..
“Hi! I wanna start off by introducing myself. I’m Myrtle Ethel Lardburger. I was travelling on this cruise with my husband, Herb, my eleven year old son, Dwayne, and our ten year old daughter, Fergie-Diana. We were accompanied by our good friends, Abe and Patti Fartle. All of us come from a small town in the mid-west called Grimville, where I work as a full time doughnut tester.
Well, let me tell you… I have a huge appetite for my work! So when I go on vacation, I just want to kick right on back and enjoy some personal pampering. I know you’re feeling me when I say that.
We arrive at the ship. Wow, is it big. Can’t remember the name of the damned thing, but it looks like a cross between a disco and a Death Star. Had to go to some boat drill. Complete waste of time. Lucky, Herb had brought his carpenter’s stuff with him. Spent most of the cruise just quietly drilling holes in the bottom of the lifeboats. Fine by me, honey. Whatever floats your boat.
Sailaway party has lots of fun, dance type things going on. Fergie very disappointed to learn that the Macarena is not a kind of biscuit.
Dinner is a blast. We have some old broad named Ophelia at our table. Skinny as a lat. I’ve seen thicker straws. But boy, can that woman eat! And she’s so funny. Never met a woman that put gin in her after dinner cup of tea before. Yessir, she’s gonna be a hoot for sure!
“This is Captain speaking….” Now that’s not the kind of wake up call I appreciate. Boy, does that guy like the sound of his own voice. Drones on like a whole squadron of kamikazes, too.
Buffet breakfast. Oh, the shame of it. Loaded up with bacon, eggs, waffles, ice cream, french toast, mushrooms and hash browns. Why do they have to make these goddamn plates so small, for crissakes?
Anyway… we were gonna get up for seconds, and then we found that Herb was stuck in his seat. Jammed right in there like a possum in a poke hole. Who designs these chairs- Snow White?
So the crew arrive with two crowbars. They are grunting, sweating and trying to lever poor Herb out of his seat. Herb is sweating, too. Well, the buffet was about to close. Anyway, now they are talking about bringing semtex. Then Dwayne-bless his little heart- turns up with one of daddy’s hacksaws.
So we saw the legs off the damned chair. Herb spends the next three days with the rest stuck to his butt. It’s like a codpiece, but on the other end.
We arrive in Cozumel. Nice weather. Read online about how expensive these on board excursions are, so we decide to do our own thing. Pleased we did, as it turns out.
We all book with some local Mexican guy to go and see some ancient French ruins. I am, as it happens, a culture buffer. So we all pile into these little tricycles. Guys doing the pedalling are gasping for breath. They really should exercise more.
They drop us- literally- at the door of this ancient palace. The guides- some guys called Carlos and Charlie- invite us in.
Well, I’m all for local culture, but the shapes of some of the balloons in here are, I’m afraid, just OBSCENE!
There were ancient French ruins, for sure, About forty of ’em. Men and women. Apparently, they got hammered in here on their last cruise, and missed their boat. Some guy offers me a margarita in a goldfish bowl. Oh well, when in France….
Got a bit woozy after that. Woke up back on the boat to find some of those funny shaped balloons in my hair, and three empty yard ,margarita glasses on the table. The steward is standing, looking at me with his jaw scraping the top of his shoes. Might be time to put some clothes back on, I suppose.
Another day at sea. I pass Ophelia at around eight. She’s hanging on to the front of the lido bar with one hand. Got a Bloody Mary in the other. I have to ask..
‘Ophelia, sweetie… why are you drinking Bloody Mary’s at eight o’clock in the morning??’
‘Because the lazy, candy assed bartender wouldn’t get out of bed at seven…’ I move on. She is plainly afloat on a sea called Smirnoff.
Exercise class in the lounge. Delighted to get some personal instructions from the very dishy Portugonese fitness instructor. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Lardburger. Could you please stay in the middle of the ship, and try not to move suddenly…..’ They are so solicitous on here!
Oh dear. Patti got in the hot tub. All of it. She gets a little buoyant lift from the bubbles and comes bursting up into the sunlight. Some brat starts screaming as the sun disappears behind her. Thinks it’s an eclipse. Hear some prissy queen behind me hiss to his ho that it looks like the salvage scene from Raise the Titanic, when the damned thing comes back to the surface. Give them both my special, frosty death stare, then go back to my cake platter. Some people clearly have no class.
DAY FIVE- PRIVATE ISLAND BARBEQUE
We have to go ashore in the boats today. Six of them sink. The screams would have woken the dead. Instead, I am awakened- yet again- by Captain Speaking,,,,
Oh, but this time it’s not the loudspeaker. Hell, no. Some flunky has put a note under our door after knocking. I read it, and, well…
Apparently, we are invited to dinner with Captain Speaking. I can hardly contain my anger and disgust. I pay a vast amount of money for this trip, and now they expect us to eat with the designated driver!! I don’t think so, bubba, Jog on.
Afternoon ashore is nice. Beach is pretty, but bland as a Lionel Richie gig. Enjoyed watching all the German women, lining up to get their armpits braided. Makes it easier to tell them apart from the men, thank the Lord.
Herb enjoys the snorkeling, until some angry old buzzard with a white beard starts yelling, and then throws a harpoon at him.
The gay couple are simpering on loungers behind me. One looks at a well endowed woman, sniggers something about her ‘being turned on more times than Pavarotti’s microwave’. Patti guffaws a bit too loudly. Clearly, you cannot buy class.
Cocktail party. Herb puts on his new white vest. I go with my best, black and white polka dot stretch kaftan. Patti goes for a green and gold Lurex number. I love her dearly. How do you tell your best friend that she looks like a badly wrapped Easter Egg?
Anyway, Ophelia is there. The drinks are going down quicker than a drunken hooker at the start of Fleet Week. This woman can rock and roll to a music all her own, she truly can.
Get into an argument with some ancient English dame- at least she thinks she is. Her nose is so far in the air that she leaves snot on the wings of any passing 747. She seems to think that only blue blooded Brits have any travel savvy and sophistication.
Er, ex-cuse me! I’m not taking that lying down. Not from Boadicea’s grandmother. I’m a beautiful person. I’ve eaten sushi in Stockholm, for crissake!
I make my excuses and leave before I lose my dignity.
Sometimes, I am so proud of our children.
Fergie comes scampering up from the Children’s Club, clutching a piece of paper. Her little piggy eyes gleaming like a tractor’s headlights in a swamp.
She’s only gone and won the prize for the child with the hairiest teeth. I filled up. Right there and then.
Later, we find that Dwayne-bless his checkered cotton socks- has gone and won the dwarf throwing competition. He got to keep the dwarf as a prize. Some little feller called Tom. Kept jumping up and down on the sofa in the room. Herb threw him over the side, right off the balcony. Hit the sea with one hell of a splash for a little guy. Oh, well…
And so, our adventure comes to an end. Would we go again?
Well, yes. But we’d like to do something more sophisticated. Like in Europeland. Maybe we’ll wait until they clear those floods up in Venice first. And no wonder Greece is in such a state. Five thousand years, and they still haven’t managed to build an elevator into the Acropolis. Puh-leese… get some civilisation!!”