This week is *~Senior Week~* for my school, so naturally, I crashed it. REBEL ALERT: I’m officially a “junior” because of that whole “year off” thing – I didn’t choose the thug life, the thug life chose me. Anywho, today’s college-sponsored event was the BOOZE CRUISE!! Well, that’s the unofficial name. The politically correct name is the Harbor Cruise. Basically: 260 graduating women (from a lesbian cult), 20 socially-awkward faculty, 2 bars, 4 decks, and 1 giant boat.
My friend and I started off the cruise in the ladies’ room. Not because we were seasick, it just happened to be when nature called. Unfortunately, this was the same time that the boat pulled away from the dock. Being a land-loving lass, I wasn’t familiar with the rumbling gurgles the engines made as they turned on in advance of our journey downriver. Nope, I had no clue what was going on. All I knew is that it sounded like the boat was exploding from the inside out and that the walls rattled like they would cave in very soon. I internally panicked. I really didn’t want to die but I especially didn’t want to die in a bathroom stall. I may or may not have run out of the bathroom. Eyewitness accounts are inconclusive.
After that initial terror, I calmed down and spent a lot of time wandering around the boat and re-enacting scenes from Titanic on the deck. Unfortunately, being out on the deck and exposed to the elements had its limits considering the low temperature. It was 40 degrees and windy. Not exactly weather that allows prolonged re-enactments. Besides Titanic-related activities, there was also a good amount of questionable dancing and a general lack of voLUMe ContROL.
The highlight of the entire cruise was when one of my friends asked if she could drive the boat and
stupidly surprisingly, one of the crewmen thought that it’d be a mighty fine idea. So, near the end of the cruise, he came down to get us and we got to sneak into the operating room (is that what it’s called? I don’t know, I didn’t graduate from college yet so these things are intellectually elusive for me). My friend took the helm and I helpfully stood over her shoulder (mostly to assuage my own fears that she wasn’t steering the boat into other boats or the shore) and chatted with one of the crewmen who wore glasses. Naturally, I started calling him Glasses because I’m mature and a people-person.
This is an actual conversation that I had with him, not a dramatization:
Me: “Glasses, did you go to school around here?”
Me: “Did you go to boat school?”
Me: “Did you go to optometry school, you know, because of your glasses?”
Me: “Are there any icebergs we should be aware of, Glasses?”
Another crewmen was chatting with us as well and he explained the different horn rhythms and lengths and their meanings. Again, maturity was at the forefront when I asked: “Is there a horn sound that means a swear word in boat language?”
Eventually, I tired of watching my friend gently guide the boat along at a slow speed: “Glasses, where’s the turbo drive on this thing?”
Shortly thereafter, we were ushered out so the crew could dock the boat without having inane questions being hurled at them every five seconds.
A good night was had by all! In fact, my college president who is a 70-something lady who wears neon pantsuits, got down with her bad self on the dance floor. I am unsure as to whether the memories of her dancing will lead to humorous dreams or nightmares. Only time will tell.