An Alaskan Cruise Ministory

So I went on a cruise to Alaska. No, not for the whole two months I've taken off from blogging.

Sparing you the play-by-play, I instead give you the following story of human dignity:

After a particularly cold day, Susan and I returned to the boat shivering and with the singular mission of sitting in the hot tub. Sadly, one of the drawbacks of Alaskan cruises is that they attract old people and, thus, the entire ship shuts down after dinner.

The hot tub was closed. Desperate for heat, Susan and I agreed to retire to our respective sauna for a quick steam before bed. Unbeknownst to us, the saunas were also closed. Susan was defeated by a locked door, but I somehow bungled my way into the men’s locker room. Eager to bake, I rapidly struggled out of my pants when I was accosted by a crewman. By the look of him, he’d been cleaning the bathroom when I’d come in.

“Can I help you sir?” he inquired, adding the customary obsequious head nod engrained by Celebrity Cruise Lines.

“Where’s the sauna?” I demanded, waving my pants for emphasis.

“The sauna is closed.” He pursed his lips, as if to communicate the true bitterness the news caused him.

“That’s unfortunate,” I replied.

A long moment passed as I waited for him to turn away and spare me the audience as I struggled back into my cold, damp trousers. Crewman X mistook my hesitation for dissatisfaction. And in that moment the cruise lines’ subliminal training to serve guests at all costs (including those of dignity) kicked in for the guy.

Please him, the corporate voice whispered, give him anything in the world he desires. Celebrity Cruises demands this of you.

The small man eyes rolled backwards as he searched his brain for a carrot to ease the pain of a closed sauna. “I can offer you toilet,” he said finally.

“Is it in the sauna?” I asked.

“No sir. It is at room temperature.” Said with the gravity of a doctor delivering a verdict of cancer.

I declined, returning to bed where my dreams were plagued with scenarios where I accepted the proposition, only to have him hover over me, fussing over details that no man should fuss over.