This Happens all the Time

This Happens All the Time

The four of us stared at the monstrous void where a 1200-foot, 20-story, 100,000-ton floating buffet had stood. Charlie bent over to whisper, “Maybe they moved it.” Our Alaskan cruise had just come to an abrupt halt. I had lost the ship. The pier was silent except for the waves lapping, and my sniffles turned into sobbing. “It’s my fault,” I cried. No one disagreed. I thought it said seven o’clock on the shipboard daily flier. It was one. “Let’s look around,” my husband said. The three of them left me with bags of tchotchkes and dried salmon, hoping they’d find it behind a trash can.

I sat on hold, waiting for Carnival to answer, as my battery died and my hope died with it. I tried to distract myself. I thought back to our first stop on our Alaskan journey. We got on a waiting bus to another boat, this time to watch humpback whales. We stayed inside the ship to observe them at play. As we headed out, they served us salmon, crudites, and drinks. Dried salmon was sold at the bar for $20. An announcement broke the hum of the engines. “A pair of humpbacks is visible on the port side,” stated the captain. We watched as they slid close to the ship. “We found nothing,” said Dennis, snapping me out of my flashback. “Still waiting for them to answer,” I told him.

The four of us: my husband Dennis, a dashing quadriplegic; my Puerto Rican mother-in-law Lily, 86, with debatable faculties; our caregiver Charlie, in impeccable condition; and me, in my wheelchair, waited miserably for further instructions. The silence was broken by a puttering engine. A woman with a flushed face, dressed like the Gorton’s Fisherman, jumped off a vintage fishing boat and secured it. A young man dressed similarly, whom I presumed was her son, helped her. She observed our pathetic party and asked what was wrong. “We missed the ship,” Dennis told her, like that wasn’t immediately obvious. “Yep, we passed it on our way here,” she replied, matter-of-factly. I wanted to slap her. “There are worse things in life,” she began, counting off every plight known to man, except shark attacks and taxes. According to her, luck was on our side.

“Can you take us to the ship? We would be happy to pay you,” Dennis asked. “I could, but they wouldn’t let you on board while the ship is at sea,” she answered. If we got on her boat, we’d end up as chum. Discarded bodies and wheelchair parts adrift at sea, I thought as I watched the boy bang away as if playing Whack-a-Mole, finishing off half-dead salmon. I’ve seen way too many horror flicks.

Finally, someone answered on the other end. I glanced at my family gathered nearby. “Yes, we are at the pier, and the ship is gone,” I repeated. “Where is the office?” I asked, eyeing the Donner Party and the greying sky. After confirming someone would meet us, I closed my flip phone and informed the group of the next steps. Someone would meet us halfway. Charlie gathered the souvenirs and salmon, while Dennis led, followed by Lily, Charlie, and then me. I was hiding in case of mutiny. The weather, like our mood, was overcast and gloomy. Spray from the dock kept us damp. Charlie tried his best to stay warm, pulling his coat tighter. Haiti, like our home in South Florida, didn’t get nearly as cold.

In the distance, a young man waved to us and led us to a concrete, two-story bunker. It looked like a bomb shelter compared to the quaint fishing village we had just enjoyed, blissfully believing we had hours to purchase souvenirs and eat seafood. He sported dress pants, a polo, and a sweater. Compared to him, we looked like we had just left the Arctic Circle. Seeing our miserable faces, he said, “You know this happens all the time.” Great. We were a cliché.

Dennis and his mother took the elevator to the second floor first, while Charlie and I waited. When it returned, Charlie and I squeezed into the coffin-sized space. A woman ushered us into the offices. She glanced at my blotchy face, smeared with eye makeup, assuring me that this happens all the time. Her name was Gloria. Part of me wanted to scream, but instead I grabbed my armrests until my knuckles were white. I couldn’t make a snide remark, particularly with Dennis giving me the side eye. Apparently, losing a cruise ship doesn’t earn you unlimited smartass privileges. Charlie and Lilly settled into a couch and immediately fell asleep. At least it was warm.

When we reached her desk, a middle-aged woman handed Dennis and me two bags. Both were, from our perspective, cabins. They’d had plenty of time to grab something from our rooms and hoof it down to these offices, but they couldn’t call or text us. The frustration hit me; part of me wanted to throw something, but I just stared at the computer screen as she typed. I knew there wasn’t anything these people could do. Directing my ire at them would have been counterproductive; they were saving our butts. Looking in my bag, I saw nothing that could ingeniously MacGyver us out of this situation, with just a half-eaten granola bar and lip gloss.

We sat in front of a soft, middle-aged woman. Her eyes never left the computer screen, but she still managed to carry on a conversation. She found hotel rooms and a flight back to Seattle with damn quick efficiency. But since the universe was shitting on us today, getting us to the hotel and airport was another matter. Only one van on the Island could accommodate two wheelchair users, and it was owned by another cruise company. It took time, but Gloria procured a driver and the van. Dennis thanked her. We hated waking up Lily and Charlie, but we needed him to help us play elevator tag so we could wait an hour in the lobby.

Forty-five minutes later, our driver, a young man barely old enough to buy beer, arrived looking as if he had just rolled out of bed. He was wearing a black tee and khakis, waving as he walked up. Picking up our crap, he headed toward the van, Holland American plastered on the side. He lowered the ramp as our two companions entered the back seat and got comfortable. We rolled up, and he belted us in and, in doing so, ripped the crotch of his pants, exposing his tighty-whities. Our lousy karma was rubbing off on this poor kid. Dennis told him we would get him a new pair. He confidently climbed into the front seat and assured us it wasn’t a problem.

The hotel wasn’t far, but nothing was far on this five-square-mile strip of land. When we arrived at our lodgings, the driver/victim grabbed our bags and led us to the hotel ramp. Dennis made sure he had a good tip and exchanged phone numbers. Looking back, before he climbed into the van, he quoted pretty much what everyone was saying around here: “Hey, this happens all the time.” I couldn’t roll my eyes further into my head. God, I hate this place.

We had to get on a stair lift to reach the lobby. Dennis and I took turns. By the time he arrived, I had the keys. We proceeded down the hall to our rooms. Lilly and Charlie had a connecting room. Ours was an enormous suite with a gas fireplace and two queen beds, windows on two sides, but no blackout curtains. The sun stayed up till midnight, but we beggars couldn’t be choosers. I gazed skyward. “It has a restaurant and a bar!” I mentioned. “You have stuff to do first,” Dennis reminded me. My husband implied it was too early to get shit faced. While he and his mother readied our rooms, Charlie and I went for a short walk to the A&P, just two blocks away. Unlike the rest of the lower forty-eight, they still have A&P’s and Blockbuster. The sun was coming out, warming my face and finally penetrating my layers of wool and cotton. On the way, we passed an ALF (Adult Living Facility). I kept a mental note. We urgently needed to replace a few things that were halfway to Canada.

Entering the store, Charles grabbed a basket. We only needed the essentials: toothbrushes, toothpaste, hairbrushes, and Ginger Ale. Charlie had bought a couple of phone chargers while searching for the cruise ship. As we navigated the aisles for other items we might need, I noticed a few customers staring. Their curiosity wasn’t hostile, more like they spotted a two-headed alien. A middle-aged white woman on wheels, with a handsome black man patiently pushing from behind. “Should we get this for Dennis?” Charlie asked. He handed me a baseball cap with a fish tail in the back and a gaping mouth in the front. I presumed it was a salmon. “Oh yeah, he’d love it.” It wouldn’t take much to imagine what orifice on me he would shove it. Once we realized we had everything we needed, we hurried into the sunshine, in case aliens like salmon were fair game.

Back at the hotel, we dumped our loot in the room as if fleeing a crime scene, then hurried to the wood-paneled restaurant, where we spotted Dennis and his mother already seated at a table. Old black-and-white photos of fishermen with their catch, and several mounted salmon, lined the wood-paneled walls. Lily sat behind a half-finished glass of White Zinfandel, her gaze distant, as if she’d mentally checked out. Dennis stared at his usual mug of Earl Grey, hoping he wasn’t planning my demise. Only a handful of customers lounged at tables or at the bar.

A young girl dressed in black pants, a white shirt, and a long black apron, with a large salmon sewn across her chest, approached the table. Before she introduced herself, I asked for a glass of Cabernet, and Charlie ordered a ginger ale. We told them about our journey to the A&P and mentioned the ALF. Dennis checked his phone and found the number. Then, looking at me, he said, “It’s Sunday.” “Give it a shot,” I replied. He dialed the number and spoke with a nurse, who was unsure whether to sell us what we needed because the facility was state-run. She called her supervisor and rang us back shortly after. We could pick up what we needed that evening free of charge. Meanwhile, I had already had two glasses and was working on my third when he finished. Relief washed over his face. “We’re in business.” He smiled for the first time since lunch, even at me. The server returned and asked if we wanted anything to eat. Three of us ordered salmon, knowing it would be fresh. Dennis went with a burger; his idea of seafood came from a Bumblebee can. I was four glasses deep into forgetting that we’d been abandoned. By the time they returned. Lily and I both wore the same glassy stare.

So much for a romantic evening on the ship for our 6th anniversary. Dennis and I ended up slumming with our comrades on this fish-infested island, along with a few locals and some tourists. Dinner wasn’t bad, and as we ate, we shared stories about the cruise before we were stranded. Dennis explained how he haggled with the Turkish fishmonger to have salmon sent to his sister. Charlie and I checked out each other’s videos and photos and shared them with Lily, who remained embalmed with that same contented look. “Check this out,” Charlie said, handing me his phone. He had gotten some great Nat Geo shots of whales heaving themselves out of the water, along with eleven seconds of his index finger. We talked about the train trip into the Canadian Rockies. Hot chocolate was part of the package; A retired teacher from Ohio narrated the trip and took pictures with us and our foamy hot chocolate milk mustaches. The train rolled past a small, dirty patch of snow as we moved higher. Charlie’s first snow sighting had him hanging out of a window to get more pictures.

We all agreed that none of us was writing home about our accommodations. Dennis and I had a cabin with a window that looked out to an emergency fire exit. Except for the three stops we made, we stayed on the ship. The evenings were cold, and we never did the dress-up nights. The cabins were adequate, the food so-so. It was touristy, but the magnificent views of the mountains, glaciers, and wildlife were well worth the time spent outdoors. It was a nice change from hot, flat, beachy Miami.

The next morning, our ride, with a new pair of khakis, was waiting for us. Still in the same shirt, with damp long hair, we piled into his van for the three-minute ride to the airport, handing him more cash as we entered. Dennis’s electric wheelchair sustained a cavity search to make sure we weren’t carrying a bomb or smuggling salmon. One corner held a food stand selling souvenirs, including the Salmon hat. I just shook my head as Charlie headed over to check it out. We all grabbed some hot chocolate and waited for our two-thousand-dollar plane ride back to Seattle.

“Still want to go back to Miami?” my husband asked, wheeling in with Charlie. They’d just returned from the port, with our belongings. Lily and I remained at the hotel in Seattle. Every piece of luggage was rifled through as if someone were searching for the Hope Diamond, but after an extensive examination, all our items were there. We were scheduled to spend a week in Seattle, but we all felt like deflated beach balls. Then we called the airlines. “To move up our flight would cost two grand more,” I shouted. “I could sell a kidney for that much.” “I think we should stay,” Lily piped up. We all looked at her in disbelief. Apparently, her faculties had chosen this moment to make an appearance.

“She’s right,” Dennis said now, looking at Lily with a tinge of hope. “We should stay.” Charlie nodded enthusiastically. He was ready to hit every coffee shop within walking distance of our hotel. I looked at the four of us and shook my head: a dashing quadriplegic, an 86-year-old miracle, a caregiver with caffeine for blood, and me, the idiot who had lost a cruise ship.