The Cruise - Part 3: Getting My Sea Legs
The next day, after I shook off the sinister undercurrents I felt at
the Florida Cigar Bar and Lounge, I took a cab to Port Everglades and
went through the security check without anyone trying to inspect my
rectum. I was holding onto an atomic, green refrigerator meat fart in
case I needed it.
After boarding the ship, I went to my cabin. It was adequate - pedestrian with a hint of barnyard. Because I was a minority species, I was not assigned a human cabin mate. I left the cabin as the ship pulled out of the harbor. Out on deck I brined the moist air, watched the whitecaps of Rover, and refreshed my mucous mucosa. I quickly became a salty dog, and, as a result, I could parley with ease, jib the forecastle, bilge the humpbacks, and mark the twain.
Later I walked around the ship getting familiar with its layout in case there were some sea varmints I needed to dispatch. As I walked by the pool there he was - Staubsauger swimming laps in far too tight Speedo trunks.
"You again!" I exclaimed. "How in the hell did you get onboard?"
He smirked at me and replied, "I am un German envoy mitt diplomatic privilege, so of course I kanz be on der ship."
I thought to myself, "The first time I sniffed his butt I knew there was something rotten in Denmark, er Deutchland." I growled, "Keep your distance Staubsauger, or I'll chomp your ass!"
He smirked again but said nothing. Then I realized there were sinister forces under paw.
I suddenly felt a need to go to the toilet, so I walked around the ship looking for some woods. There was nothing - not even a single tree. I went back to my cabin and inspected the bathroom. While awkwardly using the commode, I pondered the sign above the lid: "DO NOT PUT ANYTHING FOREIGN IN THE TOILET."
Hmm...well, does this mean it's OK to put something domestic in the toilet. But wait. On an international ship, is anything really domestic? I consider my poop to be domestic, but is it considered foreign on such a ship? I made a mental note to meet with the Ship's Master to discuss this.
That evening there was a mandatory emergency lifeboat drill. I had to don a silly looking orange, day-glow life jacket and go up to where my lifeboat was located. Then I stood up against the wall looking at the Vietnamese crew, one of whom held a sign on a stick, "B2," (my designated area). One of the passengers in my group didn't show up. The Vietnamese looked very displeased. The Vietnamese guy across from me kept staring at me with a Mona Lisa smile. I stared back trying to maintain an inscrutable smile of my own.
After the drill, I went to the dining room. I was nervous. How would I be received? Would I be rejected because I was a dog? All of my anxieties were for naught. Many shipmates invited me to dine with them. Over time I became quite the celebrity with many passengers vying to sit at my table. I could not but notice the large quantities of food they were consuming.
All of a sudden a guy with a very British accent spoke over the loudspeaker to let us know that we were currently 45 nautical miles south of Cuba and that we had over 300 nautical miles to go to get to Jamaica. I went out on deck to look for Cuba because I wanted to wave at Fidel and Raul, but Cuba just wasn't there.
To know things as they are is better than to believe things as they seem.
~ Tom Wicker