Last week I was on a boat. A big, fancy, cruise boat. It had slides and pools and lots of buffets.
And many, many doors.
I soon found out that these doors didn't always lead outside. I had naively initially assumed that, being on a boat, there would be a door every two feet, which would allow me to breath in the salty sea air and absorb the cancerous rays that would leave my skin with a gorgeously golden hue. It took me less than an hour to realize that not every door was a gateway to the outside. No, some doors just led me down unfamiliar hallways, circling around and down and up and back...never to be seen again.
If you read my previous post, you know that seasickness came on day three, which was the second low point of the trip.
The first low point came on day one, hour two. (Please note that there were only two low points.)
Let's just say that it started with me, a cabin steward, and the question: Can I help you?
Me (frantic): "Yes! I need help! I'm lost!"
Cabin steward (calm): "Where do you want to go?"
Me (still frantic): "Outside!"
Cabin steward (calm and confused): "Outside?"
Me (less frantic, beginning to realize that I might have just asked a ridiculous question): "Umm... yeah."
Cabin steward (confused): "Where outside? Do you want to go to the Serenity Lounge?"
Me (embarrassed): "Yes, I mean no... I mean, I don't care! Just outside. Anywhere."
Cabin steward: "Okay... Well, just go up one flight of stairs and walk straight. You should see a set of double doors. That will take you outside."
Me (willing to resign to my tanless, lonely fate if only I could stop acting like an insane tourist and get away from this person ASAP): "Okay, thank you."
I hung my head in shame and walked away as quickly as I could, trying not to burst into tears. I was a twenty-three-year-old, trapped inside a boat, who'd just asked someone how to get outside.
I don't think I'll ever be the same again.