It’s time for another cruise post.
Part 1 was a recap of the entire experience. Part 2 shall now zero in on a particular episode that I just remembered. It might be the most frivolous post ever. You 4 or 5 males who read this blog will probably not relate at all. But female readers will understand the reasons for the anxiety that I am about to report.
(Parts 3 and following may still be yet to come. No one knows for sure.)
It is the morning of our photo-op with NKOTB on the cruise. A slow morning, to be sure, after 3 nights at sea. The dawn of our last day on the boat. My two roommates and I take our sweet time rolling out of our beds and enjoying the late breakfast delivered by room service, savoring luxury’s waning moments.
All too quickly, we realize that our scheduled photo-op time is upon us, and we begin jumping around our tiny cabin like monkeys – getting showers, tripping over each other’s luggage, and having last-minute wardrobe consultations. Ten minutes to go, and my hair is still dripping wet. Not to worry. I can cover a lot of ground in ten minutes.
Little do I know, my getting-ready skills are about to be tested like never before, when the worst thing that could ever happen…happens.
The hairdryer goes out.
Nooooo! Seriously? I am meeting the New Kids on the Block in ten minutes, and I look like a drowned rat, with no hope of salvaging myself.
When it comes to hair, some people can rock the wet look. They can air-dry and look like a Pantene commercial. Others of us can air-dry and look like our finger and a light socket just had some type of unfortunate contact. The hairdryer and the round brush are to us what butter and sour cream are to a baked potato. So you see, the lack of hairdryer at this juncture is particularly distressing.
But wait! Our friends down on deck 1! Surely they have a hairdryer in working order. Alas, their cabin is located at the opposite end of the ship, five floors down. The Carnival Destiny is almost a quarter-mile, from end-to-end. The hallways stretch endlessly, like a funhouse. But at this point, the hairdryer is the holy grail. I must obtain it at all costs.
A warning bell in my head tells me not to pursue this folly. It can only end in sweaty underarms and streaky makeup. Nevertheless, I take off like a rocket. The theme from Rocky resounds in my ears. To the elevator, down down down, then more running.
I pass some acquaintances in the deck 1 corridor. “Don’t mind me!” I call out over my shoulder, as I fly by in a streak of pink dress, “I’m just out for my morning jog!”
“Are you serious?” they call after me. No time to explain.
I make it to what I think is the right cabin.
It’s not the right cabin. Nooooo!
Back up to deck 6 I gallop, to get clarification from my roommates on the correct room. Meanwhile, the clock is ticking.
In my head, The Rocky song re-starts and then morphs into Chariots of Fire in a bizarre mash-up, and I’m off again to deck 1, where the hairdyer is successfully handed off to me like a perfectly executed play in the Superbowl.
I am in the home stretch now, my 4th lap of the length of the ship. She’s at the 30! The 20! The 10! She’s back to her cabin! She plugs it in! Wait. Apparently, the problem was not a broken hairdyer, after all.
All of the electrical outlets in our cabin are out. All two of them.
I hang my head.
My roommate and I gather up our things in defeat and head down to deck 1 (my 5th lap), where we finish getting ready…the course of action we obviously should have chosen to begin with.
By the time we claim our spot in what is now the ridiculously long photo-op line, all I can do is seek out a little corner of floor to plop down on…and pant…and wait. But we made it. Because I was not about to allow something as boring as electrical failure to mess this up:
We’ll be back shortly to our regularly-scheduled, thought-provoking posts. To the 4 or 5 guys who read this stuff: maybe it will be safe for you to come back then.