Prefatory Note: There’s going to be quite a bit of swearing for the next few weeks. More than usual—so much that I’m warning you now if crass language offends you’re going to want to skip reading me for about the next month. But if you do, you’re going to miss out, so maybe get a friend who isn’t as sensitive to give you the Reader’s Digest version—CLS

Cruise ships are really fucking big. The one that became my home for a week was no exception. With a crew of about 1000 and three times as many passengers the Good Ship [REDACTED] was essentially a floating version of my small mountain hometown in East Tennessee.

It also resembled Greeneville in a few other ways: the majority of the residents were old and white, the Southern Baptists were nowhere near the liquor, and most folks were either polite or polite and heavily inebriated.

The designs of cruise ships are fantastical things one generally only imagines after spectacularly epic binges of Columbian Marching Powder. I imagine the planning going something like this:

SNOOOORRRRT
“Hey what if we put in a sushi bar and a spa?”

SNOORRRRTTT
“Dude, let’s add a liquor and a jewelry store and we’re going to make so much money!”

SNOOPRRTTTT
“Wait! Hear me out! FLOATING CASINOS!”

Last week I mentioned I went on this trip with fourteen other family members. That might have contributed to some measure of my anxiety. You see, I love my family. I also usually have several states separating me from them for most of the year and can drive somewhere if I need to be physically separate from anyone who annoys me.

None of this was possible as SOME JACKASS decided to book every single one of my family’s rooms right next to each other. Every. Single. One.

Our rooms all had balconies. I was rather fond of this until my mother-in-law remarked it would be so nice if the dividers between balconies could be removed so that our family shared one big communal balcony. Since the cruise ship staff really wanted to please that woman on day one, we ended up with a nightmarishly large balcony everyone felt wonderfully comfortable to walk around on at all hours of the night.

It may seem like I’m complaining. Which I am, so let me move on.

Cruise ships really want you to be happy. They also want you to spend lots of money so they sell you “plus packages” that allow for up to 15 specialty drinks, including coffee and alcohol, per day at no extra charge. Unsurprisingly every adult in our family got one. What that says about our interfamilial dynamic is up for interpretation, dear readers. This “plus package” got us onboard wait service via an app that also let us see where everyone in our party was at any given time while on the boat.

This “mobile wait” service is especially handy when one of your kids is screaming about French fries and another’s whining about how you didn’t give them ice cream yet. Remember, kids, vacation is when someone else cooks for you!

Dinner was every night at 5 PM in one of the main dining rooms. This was a three course affair with quite pointed suggestions from our main waiter, Edgar, on what was best that evening. I really liked Edgar. He was good with my kids and put up with my family’s chaos. Daryl, our “bar representative” was fast bringing drinks to the table. That’s certainly appreciated when you’re fielding questions from the family matriarch about when child number three is forthcoming!

I could tell you about the bartenders who sucked and who were actually good at their jobs, but it would be pointless unless you happen to board the Good Ship [REDACTED] when they’re working. Find the good bartenders. Make friends with them. You will appreciate this later in the cruise.

And avoid the buffet unless absolutely necessary. I swear I picked up a respiratory bug from that thing.

Next week we’ll talk about Juneau! See you then, everyone!