Die Laughing

I don’t understand how all the greats went through this grind:

-from doing stand-up at the local dive for the village idiots-

-to handing out flyers for the late-night Jello wrestling-Karaoke-

-to showcasing my ‘range’ by being a non-verbal extra on a taxidermy emporium commercial…

There’s got to be a more linear path to get ahead in this industry! My comedic mentor has been in this game for a few decades, and he mockingly critiqued my comedy routines. He called me the ‘walking dead’ because I bored my audience to death with my niche pop-culture-based humor. To be fair, my intoxicated audiences have the attention span of a sloth that sniffs glue. I was convinced that all I needed was a change of scenery and true comedyphiles to really get me to shine. I am a comedic diamond in the rough, baby!

In his not-so-accurate Hans Solo impersonation, my mentor would right-size me. “Don’t get cocky, kid…”

Fine, then. If I keep on this hustle, with all the aforementioned stuff for years, I would inevitably be discovered, become that breakout comedy star, the next late-night show host, and receive standing ovations at sold-out shows in Madison Square Garden, right?

Right??

With his lit cigarette at the corner of his mouth and a swig from his weathered flask, my mentor urged me to go explore the world, go climb Mount Fuji, find Nemo, have a few heartbreaks, maybe a near-death experience… Only then would I have something original, relatable, and amusing to captivate the audience.

Wow…

That moment of zen definitely struck home.

With the handful of loose change I’ve saved up from being the waiter/comedian on stand-by at the two-drink minimum, I decided I’m no longer going to remain stuck at this fork in the road. I will scour uncharted territory. Use the goddamn bulldozer if I need to! There has got to be a way to hit a flock of birds with one stone.

Well, well, well, after 198 interviews, I have finally found THE UNICORN JOB... Drum roll, please…

Who would have thought there would be a profession where you’re paid to provide entertainment, all while getting to travel abroad, grow within the company, and be offered meals, room, and board?

Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that I will be your new chief entertainer aboard the luxury cruise line that travels all seven seas!

My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and anxiety as my greyhound bypassed the cornfields of Indiana, past Ohio, Pennsylvania, and eventually arrived at Cape Liberty Port in Bayonne, NJ. The sheer size of the docked cruise ships was as colossal as the massive Manhattan skyscrapers across the river.

I have never been on a ship before. A rental kayak, sure. Once. During summer camp, it was all pleasant until I toppled over in the middle of the murky lake, because a daddy-long-leg hitched a ride behind the foot peg and decided to waltz around my leg. Well, at least my ship would be heading straight to Bermuda, so I wouldn’t have to worry about my Arachnophobia or an iceberg or needing to yield my survival to a space hog like Rose.

Reporting for duty, my supervisor was not amused when he saw me, with my Chief Brody T-shirt that read “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.” I thought I was dressed for the job. Turns out, I was supposed to wear formal attire for orientation. Wo, why so serious? It’s only work, my guy.

With a crew of 1500+1(that would be me), my shipmates and I began getting situated in our living quarters. Unlike the passenger section of the ship, with its huge balconies, crew members are housed below deck in cramped dungeon cells, without any ocean-view windows. There’s a caste system too: The lower the importance, the lower the floor you would be housed.

Having a bunk bed by the engine and septic tank level is by far the lowest ranking crew member aboard. Yay, Lucky me! Well, at least I had no roommate, so I was able to store my belongings on the lower bunk. I then tried getting some rest on the top bed, with the ceiling inches away from my face. Not exactly the glam-lifestyle I was hoping for, but hey… I will work myself up the ranks. Watch me!

I eventually dozed off, dreaming about being the star performer on the ship’s main stage, and the crowd roaring, a standing ovation, roses being thrown on stage right by my feet. I would wave and bow graciously, throwing kisses randomly, since the spotlight and the camera flashes were blinding me…

Then I woke up, startled. I had a flashlight by my eyeball.

“Wake up! The entire ship crew is to assemble and be prepared by O-six-hundred hours.”

My eyes had a hard time adjusting between the ship’s belly of darkness and the supervisor’s LED Pen light violating my Cornea. When I looked at my clock, it was still 4 AM. I’m sorry, why are we up now when we have to be ready by 6 something? I asked, with a yawn.

“Moving forward, you are to keep your uniform spotless, ironed, and up to our high standards. You will do as instructed. Any violation will result in immediate termination, and we are legally allowed to leave you at the nearest port, if we are in maritime law-abiding areas.”

Wowowo… Settle down, Principal Skinner. It’s way too early for this corporate structure talk. Can I at least put on pants and glasses first?

“Listen, Tournant. I don’t know how you were able to land this job, but I will be watching you like a hawk. Be a team player, jump when I say jump. Otherwise, I will throw your hippie ass overboard, got it?”

The supervisor threw down my uniform, which was hanging alongside my bed, to the floor.

“Get these stains out before you come up to the deck.”

Jeez. What a Drama-Napoleon. I bet he’s ‘fun’ to have around at birthday parties. Ah well. I guess I will endure whatever Newbie initiation this was. If the buzzkill micromanager is an obstacle to my dreams of success, then I will not let him affect me. Not on day one!

Even before I got coffee, or a cigarette break, an entire battalion of uniformed cleaners, servers, concierges, baggage loaders, kitchen staff, security staff… They were cleaning, polishing, organizing… They all knew exactly what they were supposed to do. All 1500 of them. I was that +1, who had no idea where was what. Ugh… I should have known I was way over my head.

My mentor would be proud: Regardless of feeling like a fish out of water, I still held my ground. I bit my tongue. I was sting like a butterfly, float like a Bee! … Er, you know what I mean! There was a sense of fulfillment in being part of something on this grand scale. After the entire ship was guest-ready, we all clapped and cheered during the ship crew roll call. While the Captain spoke about safety and integrity, the supervisor yanked me over and assertively shoved a fuzzy costume into my chest.

“Tournant. Head downstairs to the main deck/Gangway access. Wear that company mascot costume. Don’t speak. Just wave and take pictures with guests. Break character, and you are gone.”

I’ve known loan sharks more pleasant than this guy. Fine. Whatevs. I can handle it. I am a professionally trained entertainer after all.

Once the main door of the terminal opened, priority boarding of junior suite guests proudly began to arrive like the chosen animals onto Noah’s ark. I would be right by the ‘guest welcome’ area on the promenade, wearing a poorly ventilated Viking Seahorse costume. I mean, seriously? So, it’s a ruthless conqueror, but the company shareholders skipped the sharks and killer whales- and chose the most benign little creature in all of the oceans. Talk about an identity crisis to pick for a company mascot. I don’t know what Captain Buzzkill was saying about ‘Not-breaking- character-’ when the very existence of a Viking Seahorse already does a fine job without me intervening. The joke writes itself, and I’m keeping it!

After the 597th photo with boarding guests, I was getting light-headed from practically being baked inside, inhaling my own carbon dioxide, and sweating ass within the costume. My glasses kept fogging up on me, too. I seriously regretted having Tuna salad on an everything bagel right before roll call. I imagined how lucky Pinocchio was not being a full-on-human-boy when he was swallowed by the whale. The gut would have smelled just like the insides of this fuzzy seahorse. Ugh! I think I threw up a bit in my mouth. Good thing the guests only see the sewn grin on the mascot's mask.

By fourteen-hundred hours, which sounds way more tacti-cool than just saying ‘2 pm’, all four-thousand-six-hundred-fifty-six-friggin’ guests were checked in and were on board. All baggage was checked and taken to guest rooms, and the gangway was pulled back in. We were Ping ponged out of port by the pertinacious tugboats, and we set sail, with Lady Liberty looking on behind us.

The itinerary of our ship was 5 nights, 2 days in international waters, and then finally, Bermuda! I wanted to see the Verrazano Bridge and Coney Island, but that Captain Hook of a supervisor motioned me over as I was being peeled out of the ridiculous costume. I was to report to the buffet dining area to assist with cleanup. Once the costume is clean and dry, I was to put it back on and stroll around the ship for guests’- on my ‘free-time’. Basically, I will not have any ‘free time’ and will be expected to burn the candle from both ends.

I eventually figured out why Ego-trip-Warden kept calling me. “Tournant”. Apparently, it’s like a Swiss Army Knife kind of role, where I get to do all the shit jobs all around the ship perfectly, with a smile. It does NOT mean ‘ENTERTAINER’ as I falsely assumed. I did fail my Spanish class in high school, and it showed. Damn. This was only the first day, and it’s already this grueling. Should I get to the top deck and jump into the ocean? I could probably swim to Atlantic City or Philadelphia from here, if I don’t get eaten by whatever lurks below.

Who am I kidding? I cannot swim… I have a fear of water since that aforesaid Kayak incident with the crawly thing on my leg. I nearly drowned in two feet of water. Medics said arterial Hypoxia caused partial vision loss, too. I’m in too deep to have second thoughts. I just have to make it to Bermuda, then I will defect. Maybe I could find a job on that tiny island, like a ride-hailing service, but on a scooter or something. Not much of a plan B, but it sure beats staying here to be that megalomaniac’s whipping boy.

After my 20-hour shift, I strolled through the other areas of the ship. While I was surrounded by guests in celebratory moods, I was disheartened and felt lost. I gravitated towards the bright lights and loud noises of the casino and the entertainment deck. I contemplated playing the slot machine, but I wasn’t feeling that lucky. Guests were already getting rowdy around the ship, but it’s spring break after all. At least they have a ‘break’. Enjoy it, you lucky Bastards.

Swinging by the theater, there was a second city improv being performed. It pained me to see the stage and the mesmerized crowd. I took off my glasses. I envied those comics: I would rather not see their success so clearly in 20/20. It was like my failures were being projected back to me in Hi-Def. That should have been ME up there, but I signed myself up to be a goddamn Tournant!

Stupid.

Stupid..

Stupid!!!

I eventually returned to the gutter level of the ship where I belonged and sulked on my bed. My head, my feet, my heart… It all ached. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, but the steady knocking and loud whoosh of the engine room strangely serenaded me into a state of slumber.

Right when the dreams were getting good, I felt the bottom bunk frame rattle persistently. There was also a bright flashlight flickering on and off, aimed at my face.

“Pssssst! Hey! Wake up! We got a Code Charlie! Code Charlie!! We have to secure the perimeter!”

Ugh. Oh…. It’s him. This unrelenting drill sergeant has seen way too many Steven Segal movies. Is he having flashbacks from working the Black Friday shift at Circuit City in 1998? What in the Hunt for Red October is he talking about? Who in the hell is Charlie?

Before I could get a condescending reply or chest puffing from my supervisor, a pack of snarling co-workers yanked him into the other dark corner of the room, and everything got quiet. There were some murmurs, growling, and screams here and there, but I’m a deep sleeper. I proceed to enjoy my dream of being a star, getting invited to host SNL for the holiday special. Oh, I wish I could stay in this dreamland. I am Worshipped here. I am loved.

I belong…

I matter…

If only this were all true…

Then I woke up.

CRAP! I’ve overslept. Why didn’t the alarm go off? I tried to check the time, but some viscous fluid was obstructing my oversized alarm clock. Damn, is the ceiling leaking? I wiped it on the pillow, and when I squinted at the clock, my heart sank. It was O-shit-Seven-Hundred hours! I am like, three hours late? I jumped out of my bed and immediately got into the stupid Viking Seahorse costume. In the chaos of things, I forgot my glasses on my bed, too. I am blind as a bat without them, but I was already late. I have to persevere. At least a few more days until we reach Bermuda.

It’s really hard to see through the mascot’s mask, but… Where the hell is everybody? Also, from the looks of it, the late-night guests made a mess all over the place. The cleaning staff is going to have a field day scrubbing all the hot sauce stains off the carpet. What the hell? Are those claw marks by the duty-free store? I guess the price was too good to pass up? I wonder if they sell any affordable flasks? It would be nice to bring one back for my mentor…

Suddenly, I heard guttural shrieks and earthquake-like stomping by the main entertainment stage. Ah, so that’s where everyone went. Maybe it’s like a safety briefing, or Earlybird Bingo, or something? I decided to pop in to be a proactive mascot and do my part as a twisted symbol of this company for the rambunctious guests.

As soon as I opened the creaky metal door, the roar and mayhem stopped in dead silence. The entire stadium was pitch black, except for the stage. I could sort of make out restless silhouettes of people, all packed to the gills in there. They all seemed to be glaring in my direction. I waved nervously and shuffled in. I assumed they were all pissed that I disrupted their weird morning ceremony. Damn, I really should have read through the employee manual. I have to ‘wing’ this one. What do I got to lose? I can’t see shit, anyway. No time for stage fright.

If there’s anything I know well, it's awkward gawking and judgmental silence on stage. I am an entertainer after all. I know just the thing to bring back the party vibes: Countering the stone-cold stares with vigorous energy! Go all Daffy-Duck on them! Yeah, H.Y.P.E is my middle name!

“For Valhalla! For the Seahorse Vikings!!”

The crowd roared right after me and began stomping their feet. My eyesight sucks, but it seemed like a Thrash Metal concert out there with all the hands raised aggressively, grabbing at thick stadium air. Holy crap, is this for real? Do they like me?? I completely forgot my mentor’s advice and immediately got cocky. This adoration… It’s so intoxicating!

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

The crowd went even more Bananas! They began throwing red things onto the stage. I bowed in gratitude, assuming that they’re bouquet of Roses, or sexy panties, or a Steak. While the spotlight was on me, I decided to live it up further and Moonwalk across the stage, but then my fuzzy costume foot got ensnared on something ropey, wet, and squishy. I tried to untangle, with a spin. Maybe a bit too ambitious, but I had dance fever. I couldn’t stop myself!

I tumbled backwards, HARD. Slammed my head, and the Seahorse mask popped off.

The crowd fell silent.

Dazed and confused, I looked around for the mask, but while feeling out the stage floor, I realized that the red stuff thrown around my feet was not Roses or any rockstar- worthy paraphernalia at all. Inches away from my face, I finally saw that all around me was plastered with blood-soaked entrails. What the actual hell is this?

The rabid mob, all with their mouths open and teeth showing, stampeded towards the stage from every direction. Just when I thought I was going to be ripped apart, I found my crimson-soaked Seahorse mask. In a last-ditch effort, I plopped it back on. The angry swarm halted their attack and returned to being obedient lunatics. This is so RAD!

Why am I not terrified?

Strange…

Here me out… Maybe I have finally fulfilled my dream, right here, on this Bermuda Triangle-bound cruise to hell…

I finally have my comedyphile fanbase!

I’ve made it.

In your face, Han Solo!

I have become a god.

I'll be here all week, folks!

Thank you, and goodnight...