I don’t normally go out much in the evenings, but Beloved does, and I wanted to be a sport on this three night cruise to pick up our 15th credit… and magical Elite status on Princess.
Not that it’s as magical as it used to be. However, it’s not half bad. You get a bar setup in your room with a decent number of teeny liquor bottles (which they’ll trade for other alcohol, if you ask). You get invited to special parties where they feed you the same food but have the captain show up to act impressed with the number of cruises you’ve been on.
Yeah, whatever. I don’t drink and those “parties” aren’t my style.
But free laundry? Hoo, baby, now you’re talking. Freshly laundered and ironed knickers? Yes, please! No more trips to the grotty old laundromat to pay obscene amounts to use ancient machines. I’m in!
We took this three night cruise in March 2024, which went round trip from Los Angeles with a stop in Ensenada.
Back to the silly buggers. We went to the 80s music sing along quiz. Given I graduated high school in 1984, and Beloved in 1981, we figured we’d at least have fun.
Win the competition? Never. I paid no attention to the names of the artists. I knew them, of course, but could I identify who sang what? Highly unlikely.
Now, if we had Blondie’s fiancée with us, that bottle of cheapo bubbly French plonk would be ours for the taking. Sadly, he’s not here.
We managed to get seats despite arriving fairly late as we’d first gong to the “Rock Opera”. God, was that loud. Not bad, but certainly loud. The performers sang various numbers.
“I Don’t Know How to Love Him”, “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” and some serious caterwauling in English/unrecognizable language at an uncomfortably high volume while strutting around in the oddest menagerie of costumes, one of which was an ultra-mini skirt, tight, with an eiderdown for a train.
Like, a proper eiderdown, not one of those thin, miserable polyester comforters. This thing was floofier than a golden retriever’s back legs after washing and a blow dry and it cascaded offa her hips and flounced as she walked.
Anyway, back to the silly buggers. So we sit and a man about our age asked if he could sit with us – sure, what the heck, as long as you don’t mind losing.
They started off with the male members of the cruise director’s entourage decked out in pseudo-80s attire. The effect was blinding. Like a car crash from which you cannot look away, they were mostly decent, except for the cruise director himself (highly unlikely he was even born in the 80s) who very proudly wore a neon silky polyester jacket so loud would disrupt the sleep of the dead.
Worse yet, he combined it with a pair of black jersey knit shorts, under which he evidently went commando.
The others of the team, all gamely wearing neon, joined him on stage for a “workout session” a la Jane Fonda. One poor devil split his shorts doing the dance number. (No, sorry, I wasn’t thinking about taking photos. I was more thinking I’m a non-drinker and alcohol would make this a LOT more amusing.)
Fortunately, Mister Split Shorts wasn’t commando, but we all now know he wears tighty whiteys. Things rather came to a head because he balked at one of the dance moves.
The music kept going but he didn’t. He kinda hesitated and the cruise director, apparently not aware of the wardrobe malfunction, was gesturing to the guy, like, c’mon!
Splitty Shorts shook his head.
Cruise director: come on! We rehearsed this!
SS: No.
CD: Are you kidding? Let’s do this!
SS: No.
CD, giving him side eye and scowling: what is the problem?
SS, pouting: I split my shorts!!
CD: So what!
Sighing, he made a running leap into the arms of the cruise director, wrapped his legs around the director’s waist and was twirled around as we had a view of… well, mostly just underwear.
He then jumped down and went backstage and managed to find a floppy tutu which he donned over the ever-widening hole on the back seam of his trousers.
Meanwhile, they started the competition: playing the start of 80s songs at ear-splitting volume and having everyone sing along, then they cut the music and we kept singing… because who doesn’t know the lyrics to “Sweet Dreams are Made of These” and “Jessie’s Girl”?
Then you had to write down the name of the song and the artist. I kinda know the lyrics to a lot of them but no WAY were either of us in a position to seriously compete.
However, the guy who came to sit with us… apparently he was a total dork in the 1980s and did nothing but listen to pop. Within the first couple of bars he was leaning over and naming the title and the artist.
Woo, go fella!
This, however, wasn’t the crux of the silly buggers.
A few songs in, the cruise director had everyone stand up and put their fists stretched out in front of them. We were then instructed to pull our fists in, thrust our hips out and go “UNNNGH!”
Um… why?
The hundred odd people in attendance didn’t seem to care.
Understand, Princess sells these packages where you get up to 15 drinks a day, along with tips covered and whatnot else (specialty dining, etc)… and given this was a short cruise, it appeared most people sprang for the package. On the longer cruises, the cost really adds up (and you can destroy your liver), but on the short ones, hey, whatever…
So it’s a good likelihood the majority of the people there were pretty soused.
This, the cruise director said, was our secret handshake/hipshake. When he gave the word, everyone was to execute.
Not surprisingly, he didn’t appear entirely sober (me, I don’t drink, so I was sober as a judge). He leapt up on the bar and screamed “GO!” And the entire room did an Elvis impression, replete with “UNNGH!” at very high volume.
The poor sods walking past the venue about jumped out of their skin.
CD gazing down at the victims from the top of the bar: Hey! Hellllooooooo! We’re starting our own private club, you wanna join us?
Horrified, they kept walking. Quickly.
The cruise director looked disappointed, then hopped down and kept going with the quiz.
We didn’t win, but we did scare the living daylights out of several groups of cruisers as they strolled past, with the cruise director, and most of the room, in hysterics witnessing the reactions which ranged from scorn to shrieking to running for their lives.
I hope they pay that young man a decent amount.
Examining Misadventures 