Thursday, September 16, 2010

"How The Hell Did They Get Through Customs?"

The morning started early as our ship pulled into the harbor. We stood on our balcony quietly enjoying the scenery while watching another ship dock behind us. The ship was dark blue and contrasted beautifully with the sunrise. The morning was perfect, peace and tranquility; then we looked down. The deck of that ship was covered with children, Children scurrying everywhere like ants back to their hill. The look of horror on my face was reflected in Lois’s, “Are all those frigging kids going to be on this little island with us today?” she asked. “Not if they all want to live” I answered through gritted teeth.



Our plan for the day was snorkeling in Megan’s Bay. We had planned and saved for this cruise for years and this day excursion was part of the reason we had chosen this particular trip. Anticipation was high as we got ready and left the ship; tickets, beach bags, and brochures in hand.



The glaring sun greeted us as we stepped onto the dock as did the little bodies from the other ship. In the midst of them, it was worse than we imagined. They weren’t scurrying ants; they were vicious rodents running up and over anything in their way. Fluids that have never been identified were being secreted out of every orifice visible and sounds Hitchcock could have marketed were emanating from their mouths. “This is my vacation! Who to hell invited these parasites along?” I thought as I grabbed my seat on the bus, almost squashing a half dozen of them as I planted my fat ass. The look on Lois’s face told me she was thinking the same thing.



The bus ride to the bay should have been beautiful and relaxing. Out of the corner of my eye there were beautiful tropical flowers, palm trees swaying in the wind, and natives of the island in their tropical dress selling their goods. But could we enjoy it, God no, it was vacation after all. We had paid thousands of dollars to listen the hyena cries of children who shouldn’t have been allowed out of their house, let alone out of the United States. “How the hell do they get through Customs?” I asked Lois ignoring the glare of a father, who actually thought he was intimidating me.



We finally arrived at Megan’s Bay. There was a quaint little (emphasis on little) shack where snorkeling gear was available. We had absolutely no problem nudging (pushing) our way to the front of the line. There were advantages to being bigger than those little masses of tissue. They seemed to think pouting and crying would melt my heart. Not so much, it only strengthened my resolve that they were not going to ruin my day. I was old enough to enjoy and remember this; some of these kids weren’t even old enough to know that boogers are not one of the main food groups.





Equipment is on and the lesson is under way. The day was a little windy and I honestly was getting a little chuckle every time one of them opened their mouths and got a rather large salty drink of water. We had looked forward to this trip for a number of years with snorkeling high on the priority list, but never had we imagined one of the best parts of the day would be when those little heathens had the snorkel driven in their mouth so not a sound could come out.



Brochures had shown colorful tropical fish swimming in clear blue water and that is what we had paid a couple of hundred dollars to see. Unfortunately fat people float, so these little rodents could swim under us. So instead of the beautiful marine life promised, we saw the asses of children with the occasional yellow color of piss running out of their bathing suit.



The day was over; back to the ship we headed. The children who had screamed through the whole ride there, now whined about sunburns, hunger, and being tired the whole way back. Several times on the return ride to the ship Lois had to remind me that a tropical jail was probably not the ideal place to finish out my life. I, in turn, reminded her it could be no worse than the hell we were currently in.



Back on the ship, a few umbrella drinks under our belts, we assessed the day. It was as horrible in the rerun as the actual live version was. The conversation turned to tomorrow’s plans, and the thought of all those children on our horseback ride was enough to turn umbrella drinks into straight shots. Slightly tipsy, we went up on deck to watch the ship leave. As we were exiting the harbor, so was the ship with the mini demolishers of vacation. The best part of the day happened right then; their ship took a left as ours took a right leaving the harbor.

2 comments:

  1. I know you are a fan of the $50.00 an ounce subtle undertones perfume type of essay, but I was on a roll with this one,so I decided to go with the $1.99 a quart in your face perfume essay. The need for for a rewrite will not shock me at all, but I had fun with this one, so it will be worth it.

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  2. Oh good lord, sally, I would not be doing my job at all if my goal was to turn students into mini-me's. The perfume analogy had never occurred to me before, but I suppose is fair enough.

    And there is a place in the world for in-your-face writing, for over-the-top, for exaggeration, for big effects. As long as the piece is true to its own goals, true to its own soul, I have no beef, even if its topic and tone are not my topic and tone.

    Didn't you write about a cruise last year? Something about getting drunk--or am I misremembering?

    Anyway, I don't think I'd characterize this as cheap perfume. It may not be subtle, but it's not overdone; you keep control of your material; you don't forget your purpose; you neither scant the material nor go off on wild goose chases; you display confidence in your writing that is not misplaced. It is quite clear to any reader that you had fun and are doing all the writerly things possible to let the reader in on the fun too.

    Good on you, as my wife's New Zealand friend says.

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