I Went on a Spring Break Cruise, and Lived to Tell the Tale
Have you ever been to PCB for a week? Have you ever screamed “tits out for the boys” amongst a thousand other boners? Have you ever observed a pair of sunburnt sweater puppies floppin’ around on some dude’s shoulders? Have you puked once in each state on the drive back from Florida?
Well, I sure as fuck haven’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because I honestly don’t think I have the mental stamina to drive 15 hours, lose all my money, cram 10 guys into a hellhole hotel room with nothing but a crucifix on the wall, and drive another 15 hours with an unimaginable hangover. I don’t find any of that worth a possible five-second glance at the wondrous female torso.
Several buddies and I decided to take the slower pace and catch a cruise to Florida and the Bahamas. The one universal characteristic of spring break is that every trip has an equal amount of sickening perseverance and unrelenting fun, and our cruise was no different. Rather than telling it narratively, I will convey my cruise experience by breaking it down into the three most significant aspects of the trip.
The Delirium-Inducing Alcohol Package
Christ on a corndog, the alcohol package. I won’t bore you with the Sanskrit, so I’ll break it down for you in very plain English: $50 per day, 15 drinks per day, anything under $10, worth every damn penny. It’s everything you could possibly dream of because literally every possible drink combination on the menu, except for Red Bull Vodkas and wine (like any college kid who pays for this program intends to use it on 15 5 oz. glasses of Merlot), is at your irresponsible disposal.
It wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, though. Those were the colors of the Mai Tais, Cruisers, and Long Islands my friends and I overindulged ourselves in during the first four days of the cruise, and Jesus did we regret it. The unencumbered sugar of these tropical refreshments built up into an intestinal pinball machine that banged and swayed with the ship itself. By Day 4, the sugar hit us. When the sugar hit us, our faces hit the porcelain. Violent digestive pyrotechnics made up the majority of Day 4, but that can also be attributed to the trip’s next defining theme…
4 A.M. BLTs
The one thing I’ll give the pro-PCBers credit for is that everyone down there is the same age during spring break. There’s no way locals stick around and make sand castles while thousands of college kids from infinity and beyond encroach on their turf for a week of drunken giddy antics. Contrary to my parents’ initial hesitancy, nearly everyone on the cruise loved us. From the human garbage that trolled the slot machines to the goofy Filipino bartenders, everyone was easygoing and relieved to see that we were just polite, funny kids rather than flat-out dickheads.
But I did say nearly everyone loved us. We never confirmed it because I’m sure the evil cruise corporation forces them to plaster on fake smiles at the most ridiculous requests, but the room service employees had to have loathed us for one reason or three letters: BLT. We ordered stupid amounts of BLTs. Unforgivable amounts. And each was ordered every night between the hours of 2 and 4 a.m.
Let me elaborate with two vignettes. Elaborative Vignette #1: my friend Sully ordered four for himself. After hanging up the phone, he passed out for 30 minutes, woke up once they knocked, took one bite of first BLT, then passed out again with all four blanketed on top of him. Elaborative Vignette #2 (similar to #1): other friend Devlin took bite out of one, passed out, made BLT his blanket, shifted position while sleeping, then BLT remnants somehow fell under his bed. The sandwich stayed under there for the next three days.
The cleaning people probably hated us, too, but that’s for another time.
Dizzying Interior Environment
The first thing we did after the embarkation process was whip out our childlike sense of wonder. We had to explore every orifice of our new temporary home, walk down every long Kubrickian corridor, touch every “rare” decorative painting, and most importantly, scout out the 11 bars and lounges.
The exploration never really stopped. Whether it was a comedy club or hilarious kitty-themed slot machine in the casino, we were always finding something new to chortle at. This included each of us getting victimized by the rocking and swaying of the ship each day, resulting in excessive nausea and liberal name calling. One of us had to leave the dinner table every single night and it would always be random. Other times the boat would rock us right off our feet while walking to the bathroom.
As the old adage goes, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Then it’s hilarious.
A-Mac is a regular columnist for BroBible.