Let me introduce you to The Tuna Lady. In a moment.
First, we need to set up this tale.
The cruise social season is in full swing. Or, so it would seem, from the invitations stacking up on my bed.
”On my bed” may stoke imaginations steamier than the life I lead. Lacking a silver tray and liveried footman in the hall (in fact, lacking any semblance of a hall), my bed is the default mailbox.
The cruise social calendar does not lend itself to dinner parties at Number One, London or tea with Lady Astor. I suspect cruise life may be a bit more fun -- in an Anglo-Saxon family summer camp sort of way.
Here is a sample of the current pile. A Meet and Mingle Party for a computer message board. A Welcome Back party for prior cruisers. A bridge tour. A theater tour. A cocktail hour for frequent cruisers -- and people who empty their wallets for suites where they can actually turn around in their bathroom.
Plus impromptu dinners with new friends.
OK. It is a bit Babbitish. But almost all are attended by good people who are doing their best to enjoy life. And life on a cruise ship ain’t bad.
I hope you caught the “almost.” On every cruise there is a small minority who seem to believe everyone on the ship is there to polish their troubled lives.
Ten years ago I took a cruise from South Africa to Lisbon. The ship had several passengers who boarded in Los Angeles in an almost-around-the-word cruise.
I met one of them in Cape Town. An American woman living in Morocco. What could have been more exotic than that?
I was curious how she had enjoyed that many days at sea.
”Marvelous,” she said. “I’ve had a great time.”
”Except for one thing that’s completely ruined this cruise for me.”
What could have been so disastrous? A stolen purse? A lost camera? A dog eaten by an Indian crocodile? I furrowed my brow in empathy.
”This ship has no half and half.”
I laughed. Loudly. Thinking I had been the butt of a very good joke.
But she was serious. And told me so. She was in high dudgeon over the lack of a dairy product.
That seemed to be her mode. The next time I saw her she was surveying fellow passengers on how much they had paid for their cabins. Because she felt she had been overcharged for hers. She was determined to ruin a “marvelous” time.
I had almost forgotten about her. Until today.
I was sitting in the concierge lounge reading when a woman burst through the door under full steam. Angry as only a wronged mother can be.
”This has to stop,” she announced to the concierge -- and the rest of us who had not yet figured out that attention must be paid. “Two things are ruining this cruise.”
In a calm voice, the concierge asked: “How may I help you?”
And then we heard the catalog of her parade of horrors. “There is no tuna on the buffet. And hasn’t been for days. We - had - to - ask - for - it.”
It was a great setup. I waited for the punch line. But I figured out she was serious just about the same time as the concierge.
”And the second?”
”There has not been any Bailey’s at the cocktail hour. Even Carnival has Bailey’s.”
The resolution of these disasters is unimportant. The fact that an adult could get that upset by the lack of canned cat food and booze is a testament to how a bit of money can turn nice people into the darker side of Hyacinth Bucket.
Now that you have met The Tuna Lady, I’ll let her sit at your table.
First, we need to set up this tale.
The cruise social season is in full swing. Or, so it would seem, from the invitations stacking up on my bed.
”On my bed” may stoke imaginations steamier than the life I lead. Lacking a silver tray and liveried footman in the hall (in fact, lacking any semblance of a hall), my bed is the default mailbox.
The cruise social calendar does not lend itself to dinner parties at Number One, London or tea with Lady Astor. I suspect cruise life may be a bit more fun -- in an Anglo-Saxon family summer camp sort of way.
Here is a sample of the current pile. A Meet and Mingle Party for a computer message board. A Welcome Back party for prior cruisers. A bridge tour. A theater tour. A cocktail hour for frequent cruisers -- and people who empty their wallets for suites where they can actually turn around in their bathroom.
Plus impromptu dinners with new friends.
OK. It is a bit Babbitish. But almost all are attended by good people who are doing their best to enjoy life. And life on a cruise ship ain’t bad.
I hope you caught the “almost.” On every cruise there is a small minority who seem to believe everyone on the ship is there to polish their troubled lives.
Ten years ago I took a cruise from South Africa to Lisbon. The ship had several passengers who boarded in Los Angeles in an almost-around-the-word cruise.
I met one of them in Cape Town. An American woman living in Morocco. What could have been more exotic than that?
I was curious how she had enjoyed that many days at sea.
”Marvelous,” she said. “I’ve had a great time.”
”Except for one thing that’s completely ruined this cruise for me.”
What could have been so disastrous? A stolen purse? A lost camera? A dog eaten by an Indian crocodile? I furrowed my brow in empathy.
”This ship has no half and half.”
I laughed. Loudly. Thinking I had been the butt of a very good joke.
But she was serious. And told me so. She was in high dudgeon over the lack of a dairy product.
That seemed to be her mode. The next time I saw her she was surveying fellow passengers on how much they had paid for their cabins. Because she felt she had been overcharged for hers. She was determined to ruin a “marvelous” time.
I had almost forgotten about her. Until today.
I was sitting in the concierge lounge reading when a woman burst through the door under full steam. Angry as only a wronged mother can be.
”This has to stop,” she announced to the concierge -- and the rest of us who had not yet figured out that attention must be paid. “Two things are ruining this cruise.”
In a calm voice, the concierge asked: “How may I help you?”
And then we heard the catalog of her parade of horrors. “There is no tuna on the buffet. And hasn’t been for days. We - had - to - ask - for - it.”
It was a great setup. I waited for the punch line. But I figured out she was serious just about the same time as the concierge.
”And the second?”
”There has not been any Bailey’s at the cocktail hour. Even Carnival has Bailey’s.”
The resolution of these disasters is unimportant. The fact that an adult could get that upset by the lack of canned cat food and booze is a testament to how a bit of money can turn nice people into the darker side of Hyacinth Bucket.
Now that you have met The Tuna Lady, I’ll let her sit at your table.
