The End of My Posse

In a previous entry, I shared how a posse formed around me in response to a threat from my new nemesis.

A few days passed and not much happened on this front. Morrie #1, Morrie #2, the other guy, and I would smile and nod as we passed each other from time to time. Some awkward moments of deciding whether to stop-and-chat or keep moving. I always kept moving. I always had a book, meal, drink, nap, or Kim waiting for me.

My nemesis alienated everyone on the ship and spent his time alone. Whatever inner-demons were tormenting him that night at dinner must have continued to damage his ability to connect socially.

Meanwhile, other cliques were forming. Regular groups started gathering around the pool, the bar, the card room, etc.

I wasn’t participating in any of this socializing. My agenda was set and I was content.

One member of my posse, Morrie #1, approached me one morning. “Ummm.. hey… Bryan… there is this group who meets in the pool every afternoon. Ummm… you really should maybe come and hang out… we haven’t seen you around much… these are really good guys … and, hey, one of them works in the same field you were in. That would be good, right? You could meet him, right? I can introduce you...you know… I think it would be good”

My complacency was leaving my posse without a core and they wanted to merge with the other posse. It was very nice of him to let me know and invite me along. I smiled and said “Sure, that would be great. I’ll watch for you guys”.

Over the next couple of days, Morrie would shout out or wave or point the other guy out so I could go introduce myself. Out on the deck, in the showroom, across the dining room. It never really was a good time for a meet and greet. I didn’t recognize the guy – so I was pretty confident he didn’t work at the same company I did. I assumed I would eventually meet him.

The day finally came. Kim and I were on the upper deck reading and the leader of the other posse was in the pool by himself, waiting for his buddies to arrive. He shouted up to me and summoned me to join him in the pool for a drink. So, I kissed Kim good-bye, took my beer and headed down to join him.

We chatted a bit. Talked boats, healthcare IT, sports. When the subject turned to football, a voice, Long Island accent, from over my left shoulder said “I’m an ice hawk-ee guy myseff…”

A new guy, Fightin’ Mike, had silently joined us. I hadn’t noticed him when he sidled in.  He went on to lament how they have ruined hockey by limiting the fights and back in his day it was a better game and when he played he was known for getting into fights. I sized him up and he was a pretty tough looking guy. Possibly been in a lot of fights. The way he talked I thought maybe he played in the NHL about 50 years ago. It’s possible. So, I asked him “Did you play?”

Naw, I don’t play – but I got da package. You know on TV. I get all da games. And I watch ‘em all too. I tell ya – the game has changed over da years. Boy, it has I tell ya.” Staccato Long Islander accent where the cadence of the delivery surges and the emphasis rises and falls.

The guy goes for a round of drinks, leaving Fightin’ Mike and me to chat. Others are trickling into the pool and forming a semi-circle. The guy comes back with a neon-green looking concoction that he hands to Fightin’ Mike in the pool. It must be his regular drink.

Morrie is watching me from his lounge chair where he is pretending to read a book – but really just watching to see if the two titans of the HealthCare IT industry are going to hit it off and officially merge posse’s. He gives me a nervous smile and “thumbs up shrug nod” gesture.  A question more than a statement.

Fightin’ Mike is now center stage and leading the conversation. All the guys are listening to him and glancing at me to make sure I’m still engaged and paying attention.

As with many group-of-guy-discussions-over-drinks go – the topic eventually headed south. Below the belt. It took me awhile to figure out what everyone was talking about because the euphemisms the older guys used for private parts and such were not familiar to me.

“You know… da ting about deese cruises… you know da ting that I don’t undustand is… why do they want to spend so much time on the downstairs stuff? I can’t keep her away from my privates! Enoughs enough already. Boy, I tell ya.”

Chuckles and “Here! Here!” toasts from the guys. Glances my direction from time to time to see if I’m still onboard.

These conversations – let’s call them “locker room talk” – started for me on the playground at a very young age. We would gather around and talk about the Rat Patrol TV program, Spider Bikes, The Chiefs… eventually girls. As the sessions played out – we all had questions and we knew nothing, but we thought the other guys knew something. So, we threw out some made-up thing to see if another kid takes the bait and offers up actual information.

We got older, we eventually learned a few things. The gatherings continued at all ages, yet we never learned everything. The “downstairs stuff” has always been mysterious, exciting, and a thing to aspire to more of – not less! What is wrong with these guys?

Now I found myself standing in the pool contemplating my fate– I'd been accepted into this circle - yet I was straddling the past and my future. I understand the cruel biology things that will happen to me if I’m lucky enough to live long. But not now. Not yet. I’m not ready.

My moment of contemplation was interrupted and I was jarred back into the moment by a sloshing, splashing sound next to me. I looked down and saw neon green clouds dissipating in the water, swirling around my leg.

Fightin’ Mike was thrashing around trying to lift himself up onto the ledge of the pool. We were in about 3 feet of water – but he over-estimated his ability to maneuver himself into position. His left hand was flailing and grasping for something to hold onto, water was spurting from his nose and mouth, and his right hand held his drink – which was bobbing below the surface of the water. Ice cubes and neon green liquid escaping into the pool.

He got himself situated. The other guys grimaced and glanced my direction to see if I noticed that Fightin’ Mike was casually sipping faint-green pool water with no ice cubes.

“Hey, guys, I gotta run. Kim is back in the cabin … and maybe she is still wearing her bikini <wink>”.

Healthcare in Costa Rica

During a cab ride in Costa Rica, our driver took time to point out some highlights around his village. He took us slightly out of the way to show us the local hospital.

I asked him if the government pays for healthcare in his country. He was confused by my question. I repeated the question, a bit slower. And I pronounced government as “gu-born-ment” because I thought he might understand the question if I imitated an accent.

“No senor, the government does not pay. It is free!”

Anything is Possible on This Ship

I mentioned in a previous bit that that this journey through the Panama Canal finds us on a more upscale cruise ship than our past experiences. The staff are very attentive, in tune with our preferences, and enjoy doing extra things for the clientele.

The bar in our cabin was stocked when we arrived and we asked if we could swap out some of the items. Our cabin stewardess told us, in her eastern European accent, “many sings are posseeble, so jou shood alvays ask”.

In the end, she couldn’t swap our Tennessee whiskey for Makers Mark – but she was able to get everything else on our list. When we returned to our cabin we found the new items proudly displayed under a glow of special cabin bar lighting.

While ordering breakfast in the restaurant, I declined the fruit plate but said “If you have a mango I would like one”. Our waitress frowned, didn’t think mango was available but she went back to ask. She returned, beaming with pride, and presented a sliced mango, fresh from our Guatemala stop the previous day.

Another exception to the ultra-high onboard service level involved my request for potato chips. At our first stop, we noticed a truckload of potato chips being loaded onto the ship. There was no mistake. They were not tortillas – they were potato chips. Familiar yellow bags, with a picture of a potato and the word “Papitas” boldly on the label. We kept waiting to see potato chips in one of the restaurants or on our room service platter. None appeared. I finally asked the maître de about it. He assured me that there were no potato chips on board. That what we saw were the finest Mexican tortilla chips and, as one would naturally expect, they stock up for several months when in Mexico. I gave him a sideways look and assumed they were serving the papitas in the crew mess down on level 3.

I suspected that I would find some on presentation in our cabin that night and we would have a good laugh about it. It didn’t happen.

There is only one US-based entertainment channel on board and it plays alternating re-runs of NCIS and CSI over and over again. I was worried that we would miss all three weekends of the football playoffs while at sea.

Ross is our flamboyant cruise director from the UK. I asked him about getting the NFL games on the ship. “N Eff Ewl? Is that a sports thing? Leave it with me and I’ll sort it out”.

Long story short. The NCIS channel suddenly became some version of ESPN Desportes and we got all of the games. Ross even cleared out the Card room so we could watch on a big screen. Here are some photos of me the screening room with all of my new friends.

And, yes, Ross did provide a large bowl of potato chips. And popcorn. And pepperoni pizza. And Chicken wings. And even hot dogs. My favorite meal of the cruise so far. I saw the kitchen staff bringing it all up from the back stairs that connect to level 3.

Kim and I sat alone in the room – but were interrupted several times by passengers coming by to check us out. Confirming the rumors that NCIS was pre-empted for a single American who wanted to watch some sports thing. They would point, nod, whisper, and sneer at us before continuing on their way.

In one of our other blog entries I mentioned Helen from Texas. Helen was lamenting the lack of escorts on the ship on our first night. It appears that Helen has found a friend. A very young, dark, hairy-chested, and handsome gentleman who sits with her at the pool. He seems nice. He nods and smiles a lot – but doesn’t seem to speak much English. I’m pretty sure he boarded the ship in Guatemala.

As they say … “many sings are posseeble, so jou shood alvays ask”.