Posted by Kathy Waller
Shatner, aka Captain Kirk, said he’s excited to be part of this celebration of Star Trek’s 50th anniversary. He thinks the fans will enjoy it, and it’ll be fun.
I went on a cruise once, with seven cousins, over Thanksgiving. It was fun. We enjoyed it. Ever since, we’ve called it “The Cruise From You-Know-Where.”
Well, that’s what we call it in front of the under-twelve crowd.
I’d never been on a cruise, but I’d always loved carnival rides, so I knew I’d be a good sailor. The first night, I went to bed saying, “I’m going to let the waves rock me to sleep.”
The next morning, I woke knowing I’d been rocked. I couldn’t wait to leave the ship at Cancun. In fact, I told my roommate/travel agent/Cousin #1, “I’m getting off this ship and flying home, so you just be ready to get me on the first plane out.”
Then the captain announced that because of inclement weather–seems we’d hit a tiny hurricane–we would not stop at Cancun. The approach would be dangerous. We would be at sea another twenty-four hours before reaching Cozumel.
Cousin #1 handed me a 7-Up, told me I’d be fine, and went bopping off to join the rest of the family in merriment and mirth.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much merriment. Cousin #2 had hurt her back on the way up the gangplank (or whatever they’re called in the post-Errol Flynn days). Cousin #3, #2’s husband, fell into a magazine rack in the bookshop and scraped his forearm so badly he had to have it bandaged at the infirmary. Cousins #4, 5, and 6–two of them college girls–felt a little woozy and stayed in their bunks.
Finally, Cousin #1 returned to our room. When she opened the door, I assaulted her with repeated vows to get off that ship and fly home, etc. She said I needed fresh air and hauled me up to the pool deck, installed me in a deck chair with a new 7-Up, told me I’d be fine, and escaped again.
When she returned hours later, I switched from I’m-Getting-Off-This-Ship to You’d-Better-Do-Something-or-I’m-Going-to-Die-and-You’ll-Have-the-Authorities-to-Deal-With. And If-You-Say-I’ll-Be-Fine-One-More-Time-You’ll-Die-Just-Before-I-Do.
She said she’d take me to the infirmary.
The nice doctor took out a great big needle and syringe and gave me a great big injection and a box of pills to chew every three hours and said to drink ginger ale. Cousin #1 dragged me back to the room, on the way stopping to check on Cousin #2’s back spasms.
Someone cleared a bunk. I fell onto it, now moaning that I would get off the ship and walk home. Cousin #1 said, for the 500th time, “Nooooo you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Nooooo you’re not.”
Finally, Cousin #2 said, “Stop arguing with her. If she wants to walk home, she can walk home.”
Cousin #1 dragged me the rest of the way back to our room, where I fell asleep. She then went to the dining room, where she had dinner with Cousin #7, her brother. Two people at a table set for eight. Twenty-five per cent attendance. They said the whole dining room looked about 25%.
The next morning, I woke, ate a hearty breakfast, and did not walk home. Instead, I went bopping off with Cousin #1 to see the wonders of the tourist side of Cozumel. After lunch, I bopped back with Cousin #3 and his bandaged arm. We visited jewelry stores. I bought a pair of earrings. That night, all eight of us showed up at dinner. Some were paler than others, but I was fine.
I even made peace with Cousin #1. On the beach at Honduras, she sat in a nest of sand fleas. Sitting about a foot away from her, I didn’t. Daubing itch cream on all her little red spots, I forgave her.
Waiting to debark, I announced I would never go on another cruise as long as I lived.
Then someone said, “Let’s take an Alaska cruise.” My doctor wrote a prescription for the patch. There were neither hurricanes nor sand fleas. My cousins had a good time. So did my recently acquired husband and I.
The Star Trek cruise won’t take place till 2017, but tickets are available online now. David loves the original Star Trek so I thought he would want to sign up. But no. Not this time, at least.
In a way, I’d like to go. In another way, I wouldn’t touch it. Because the ship leaves from Miami and heads for Cozumel. And in that part of the world, there’s always the chance of a tiny hurricane, or my own case of sand fleas, or a trip that will come to be known as The Cruise from… You-Know-Where.
I have a feeling I’ve told this story here before, but that may be because I’ve told it so many times elsewhere, and anyway, I probably made up new facts this time.