The Cruise

For years I considered the one-day cruise I took with Pat to be my most embarrassing experience. And that’s coming from a girl who used to get bloody noses, out-of-the-blue, several times a week, beginning when I was nine years old and continuing past my college days. It takes guts for me to admit to the nose bleeds considering a pediatrician friend of mine, Valerie, once told me that the only reason why a child gets nose bleeds is from picking their nose. I assured her that that was most definitely not true in my case but I could tell she didn’t believe me. And I know, from that day on she has probably thought of me as “my friend, Jill, the nose picker.” Anyway, per usual, way off topic.

Pat and I were in our twenties and it was before we were married, I think. We were vacationing at his parents’ condo in Cocoa Beach, Florida. One day, we decided to take a day cruise out of Port Canaveral.

When we got on board, we walked around the ship, scoping out where the restaurant was, the slot machines, the rest rooms, and most importantly, the pool. We were surprised to see there was no water in the pool. We noted also that there was limited seating around the pool so, even though it wasn’t quite 9:00 am, we put some of our belongings down to save two lounge chairs.

On our way to partake of the breakfast buffet – advertised as fantastic and free – we encountered a waiter with a tray carrying Mimosas and Bloody Marys. I knew I didn’t like champagne so I plucked a Bloody Mary from the waiter’s tray. I had never tasted a Bloody Mary before but I liked V8® vegetable juice well enough and the drink looked like V8® so I thought I’d like it. Furthermore, my dad was a big fan of Bloody Marys. I took a sip. Gross me out. I didn’t feel good about starting my day with the yucky taste in my mouth.

We finish breakfast which I have no recollection of eating. The sun is starting to warm the air so we head back to our chaises.

The pool begins to fill up with…Yuck! Ocean water?! What’s up with that?! I don’t remember ocean water in the pools on The Love Boat! That ship had ice blue, fresh, clean, fishless, regular, chlorinated…REAL pool water. This was bogus! A travesty!

The pool finally filled and we were hot, so Pat and I got in the pool – the only two people in our deck-dwelling community to do so. And it was kind of fun. All you had to do was tread water and the motion of the ocean would take you from one corner of the pool to the furthest corner on the opposite side. Then back again. After we had had enough of that, Pat and I went back to our lounge chairs.

There was some sort of an announcement over the loudspeaker, asking for volunteers to join in some sort of pool game. I’m not really paying attention because I have no intention of participating. I just want to veg.

Then, next thing I know, there are two Julies (apparently the activity directors on this love boat) standing beside Pat’s and my deck chairs. Pat is already conversing with them while I’m cursing at him in my head, screaming for him to “Shut up!” Nothing good can come from Pat’s talking with not one but two activity directors. One of the Julies already has Pat bobbing his head in agreement. What the hell is he agreeing to?

I’ll tell you what he agreed to! The Julies – unbeknownst to me – were talking to Pat about how they had seen us in the pool and just knew we were the perfect pair to head up their relay teams. Of course they were blowing smoke up Pat’s butt, but he seemed to take kindly to it. I said aloud and emphatically, “No!”

“Come on, Jill! It will be fun!” Pat tried to persuade me.

Now armed with my name, the Julies focused their cajoling and smoke blowing on me and my butt. After what seemed like several minutes of their constant irritating and in-my-face barraging, I finally succumbed. I was so, so mad at Pat.

Pat and I learn that we will be the captains of two teams in a relay race in the pool. Pat will be the captain of the men’s team and I will be the captain of the women’s team. A relay race! My head screams. I don’t know how to dive! Okay. Wait a minute. There’s a sign hanging from the upper deck in front of the pool that reads, “NO DIVING.” I’m saved.

Just a second. What are the Julies saying now? Pat and I have to recruit our own team members from the people lying in chaises around the pool? Are they kidding? I don’t even want to do this! And it’s double no fair because it will be a piece of cake for Pat to recruit boys to his team but it will be impossible to recruit four girls to mine.

So, I basically adopted the tactics used by the Julies. I go from chair to chair to chair to chair. From woman to woman to woman to woman. Begging. Pleading. “Please, please help me! I really don’t want to do this either. Please!” Frankly, I am shocked that after several minutes, I actually succeed in recruiting a whole team. Four women who appear to be strong and athletic… and me. They must have felt as sorry for me as I felt for myself.

Here was the relay:

1. Horn blows and the team captains dive in and swim a lap.
2. We get out of the water and eat a saltine.
3. We whistle the theme to Mayberry while tap dancing.
4. We chug a beer.
5. Next person goes.

Okay. There are a huge number of things wrong with this relay. Number one, and what should be obvious to everyone – especially since I voiced it to the Julies at least two times – we are not allowed to dive in this pool! Why is diving permitted for this cruise-sponsored activity?! Numbers two and three: I cannot whistle and I don’t know if I remember how the theme song to Mayberry goes. And finally, I cannot chug a beer. The only part of this relay that I am reasonably confident I can nail is the eating of a saltine.

I beg Pat, “Please don’t dive!” I know, that if he dives, he’ll be finishing his lap before I’m halfway to the other side of the pool.

He is noncommittal. My pleading becomes a warning. “You better not dive Pat or I’ll kill you.”

Pat dives.

I jump. Down I sink until my feet hit the bottom and I kick myself up. My head breaks through the water, but the water, moving with the motion of the ocean, has left me disoriented. I waste precious seconds trying to find the far wall I’m supposed to be swimming to. Pat is already on his way back. I think I’m swimming forward but instead I’m swimming sideways toward a far corner. I have to stop several times to get my bearings and re-aim my body straight forward. I don’t have goggles and the salt water is burning my eyes every time I have to look. There is no grace to my “freestyle” swimming, which in fact, is really just bobbing. I am an oaf. A waterlogged oaf with no sense of direction. Please, let this be a dream.

I can hear Pat’s team members cheering him on as he whistles. I’m going to kill that little shit.

Finally, my face bumps into the ladder that will get me out of this Godforsaken water. I turn my head to apologize to my team members for my tardiness and am greeted with the alarmed faces of four women staring back at me.

What?

“Are you all right?” They ask in unison in mom-like voices of concern.

I have a bloody nose for God’s sake! A member of my crew hands me a cocktail napkin to hold to my nose. I assure them that I’m fine, that I get bloody noses all the time. (Yes, now they too probably think I’m a nose picker.) I hold my napkin up so I can stuff the saltine in my mouth. (I don’t think my cracker eating gains us any time in the relay but my speed is fast and my skill is amazing.) I pretty much spew cracker crumbs all over in my attempt to whistle. (Apparently, the point of eating a cracker is to make it next to impossible to whistle anyway so nobody recognizes my whistling handicap. Doesn’t matter anyway. They ALL know about my diving deficiency.) Finally, it’s time to chug. I confess, I probably only take three swigs of beer before I tag my next team member to go. And dive. Like she did.

My team members really rocked that day. In the end, the girls finished at about the same time as the boys but because we had an injury (bloody nose), we won. So, I guess you could say our victory was all thanks to me. ✿