Cruises

A History of Griping

or

That Sad, Little Freak from 60 Minutes Ain't Got Nothing on Me

By Syd Pellegrino

Here's how I feel about cruises. Those ads you see on television, with middle-aged women rock climbing, eating crabs, and having sex with anonymous Italian men all while listening to a neutered version of Iggy Pop's 'Lust for Life' are pure ribble-rabble. It couldn't be further from the truth. This is what they don't tell you:

1. Your rooms are tiny. Guantanamo tiny. That guy from 'Arthur' tiny. They're small. Every time you get out of bed, you have to shift with your cabin mates like one of those block pieces in tetris just to get anywhere. And Teesha's thyroid condition didn't make that any easier. And the bathrooms. The bathrooms. Never did I ever think I'd have to shit standing up. And without even having to go to Japan (which I'd never fucking pay to do either).

2. The food. Is. Terrible. Who the hell are people kidding?!? I ate a porkchop that tasted like turkey. I don't even picture cooks in the back of those kitchens. I see men in white lab coats with beakers and ethers and atoms and science , trying to turn apricot-flavored baby food into prime rib. Alchemists and Heathens. I imagine Tom Cruise waving his magic dick at a seven-day-old chicken casserole, trying to morph it into a lemon tart. And not all of it's free. I couldn't even choose to eat my weight in lobster without being forced to mortgage my duplex.

3. Old people. They're still dying. And they're not happy about it.

4. The Nickling and the Diming. I paid $18 to send a fax to my mother (I had to remind her to mow my lawn – thanks, mom). An eighteen-dollar fax! They charged me PER MINUTE. Is this not insane? You give the girl one sheet of paper, she sends it through the machine, you wait for it to receive your confirmation, and all of a sudden that sixer of Mickey's you planned to purchase and down before breakfast, is out of the question. There was a rumor on board that the cruise line was going to start implementing a pee levy in the new year. You pee, you pay. And my bladder's so small. It just wouldn't be worth it. Not for me or my mother.

She's a total piss-tank. Thank God we didn't bring her.

5. The ocean - Okay, how overrated is that bullshit? Ninety percent of the people on this cruise were in bed for two days straight, completely sea-sick. I watched 'No Reservations' three times (which didn't help with the puking). That can't be good for morale. I picture this happening to pirates who don't have their sea legs, having to watch Catherine Zeta-Jones pretend to be a human being, and then mutiny erupting on the ship and everyone drinking pina coladas out of the captain and crew's skulls.

6. Roatoan, Belize, and Cozumel (which we didn't get to see because the weather was so bad) -- dumps. They didn't even have a Carls Jr. 'Nuff said.

7. The Service - Every time I ordered an extra item of food off of the dinner menu, the small, Filipino server's eyes would ignite with rage, and I could see the words written all over his face,

"You filthy, American pig. You're just going to waste it. You're going to order it, nibble at it, discard it, and then I'm going to have to come and clean it up. In my village, we're grateful for every mouthful of food...food…sweet succulent food…hey...wait...I think 'No Reservations' is on tonight. Sheesh. I completely forgot. Oi, did I ever love 'Mask of Zorro'. Catherine Zeta-Jones is so prolific. I wonder how tall that behemoth is? Michael Douglas is such a midget. It will never work out for them. It can't. He's too old."

All a man needs is an extra serving of macaroni without the 'tude or the third-world guilt. Is that too much to ask for?

8. Fat Americans (From the Mid-West) - They continue to get fatter and they're no less obnoxious. I think they're still bitter about "Everybody Loves Raymond" going off the air. Just an update.

9. Everybody's married. Everybody. Well, except the kids, OBVIOUSLY. It all feels so, stable (aside from the constant rocking). And the old people. Some of them are widows. But they're old. Really old. I don't even know how they climbed the stairs to get onto the boat. There's a chapel on the ship, but I'm pretty sure they only use it for funerals. I think I walked in on one without knowing it. Oh, and I swear to GOD, this one old lady looked at me right in the eye, RIGHT IN THE EYE, and she mouthed the words, "Kill me". And I thought about it, man. I'm not shitting you. I saw her soul and it winked the kiss of death at me. Burial at sea. When you're that old, you can't ask for much more than that. To be one with the water. That's something. Just floating, waiting for some whale to swallow you up. Or some squid to do whatever it is that squids actually do (is there ink involved?) Regardless, it's beautiful. Like a poem. Or a haiku. Your husband's already dead, your kids probably hate your guts because you're old and because every time you cough, a rainbow colored-loogie flies across your studio apartment and pastes itself to your collapsed Murphy Bed. What else is there left but to be hurled from the pool deck into the emerald depths?

Man…that old lady wanted to die so bad.

And so, that's how I feel about that. Will I ever go on a cruise again? Maybe. But certain things would have to change. A few easy fixes are as follows:

a) After the first two days of sailing, right before we reach our first port, a ship-wide vote will be taken in order to choose four of five of the most annoying and obnoxious travelers. Once docked, we are all armed with automatic rifles (save for the four or five douche bags) and we have two hours to hunt them down like rabid gophers. This would happen at every port, and not only would it help in sifting through the degenerates, but that sense of cruise camaraderie would increase ten fold and there would be so much more team spirit during the limbo competition.

b) No kids. I have yet to decide on the ages, but I'm willing to set the bar high, possibly at eighteen. Yes, I know young adults between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two are particularly loathsome, but I'd have nothing to stare and gawk at without feeling like Paul Reubens. Also, if that were the cut-off, Teesha would be excluded, and boy would she freak out. As I was saying, no kids, unless, UNLESS, they are treated as slaves. Yes I want my macadamia nut cookie delivered to me at two in the morning by someone who barely has their second set of teeth. Am I the only person that read Oliver Twist and thought it was a pleasant, utopian, wonderland?

c) More Chocolate. Chocolate moats. Chocolate covered lobster. Cocoa city.

d) One of the events should be a Catherine Zeta-Jones movie marathon. It would be great…because technically we could avoid the voting process for the annoying douches (which I fully admit is a bit over the top and has the potential to be prone to vote rigging) and simply nominate the assholes who show up to watch 'No Reservations'. They would immediately be hunted. It would be so much more efficient, and that, in a nutshell, is what cruising should be all about. Oh, and mom, if you're reading this, don't chintz out on the expensive lawn fertilizer. If you use the cheap stuff, the lawn will end up all blotchy and yellow like that birthmark on Mr. Barnaby's wife's face.

And that's how it is,

Syd Pellegrino

Syd Pellegrino (rhymes with rhino or wine-o) is a featured correspondent from Albany, New York. While he passed the bar exam in 1987, he remains resolute in his belief that "Law is just a shortcut to thinking" and has yet to join or start a practice. He is said to have been a 'writing enthusiast' since his late teens, and hopes to one day become a governor on a board of governors, as long as the corporation 'doesn't completely suck'. He lives with his wife and two children – none of whom share his blood – and appears to be very happy.

Publications where you might have read Syd's work include:

The Goose Island Enquirer, The Bacon Hill Squire, Gansevoort Mining and Knitting Magazine, The Saratoga Junior High Foreign Exchange Student Brochure, and the 'Northumberland Elders Unite!' ad campaign, both in print and on television.

If you'd like to contact Syd, he can be reached at:

ahistoryofgriping@gmail.com