People who go on cruises are like people who like resorts. Fat-faced folk who turn to each other in their Craftmatic Adjustable Bed and go, “Babe! Let’s go to Vegas. Or better yet, Reno!” They sit on rattan patio sets reading People magazine while drinking Sex on the Beach with zany straws. If they were a cracker, they’d be Chicken in a Biskit. Not that we’re calling them crackers. The whole practice is weirdly neo-colonial. You bring your entire world with you, diseases and all, and even while at sea, you transport your own swimming pools. It’s absurd.
Why wouldn’t people, especially those who live in cities, just ride back and forth on subway systems for five days? It’s just as anthropologically fruitful. Force work-bound finance passengers to do aerobics in Paul Smith suits. Play high-stakes poker with the high schoolers on their way home from school. Grab a cheap bottle of booze for happy hour with the after-work crew. Force a homeless man to cover some Tony Bennett. Occasionally, you can even get off in up-and-coming neighborhoods for short increments. So you can capture that ever-so-cruise mentality of “back on the boat in 5.” God forbid you make direct eye contact with the locals, they will steal your fanny packs and want to braid your hair.
Cruises appeal to people who buy shot glasses and commemorative pewter spoons. Um, hi, it’s called Amazon.com. The only reason we’d ever go on one is for the food. We know how to appreciate a buffet. Especially the kind with a dessert section that includes a soft-serve ice cream dispenser. Besides, it’s not gross to use a soup bowl for ice cream instead of the little dishes, if everyone else is doing it. —Sarah Morrison
Published in Missbehave Magazine, April 2008
