Coffeehouse Chronicles Day 2: Lost an Hour, Gained a Boyfriend
Hey Chroniclers, got yer cup? Okay, let's go.
Day 2: Cabo.
First off, the day started with a bang. The captain, not the ship's captain but our Captain, the one we travel with, realized at some point in time that we had lost an hour. We had scheduled an e-bike excursion at 8:45. Unbeknownst to all of us, even though we were advised several times- we were told via the PA, we were advised via a newsletter that had been slipped under our door by our cabin steward, and the fact that daylight saving time isn't really a secret to everyone- mainly just a pain in the butt and just plain super confusing.
We Americans mostly have a love-hate relationship with daylight saving time.
Heck, I've been moving the clock hands back and forth for more than 60 years, and I still have trouble with this fall-back and spring-forward thing. Every 6 months, even though I'm looking at the clock, I'm wondering: Am I losing an hour or am I gaining an hour? In all honesty, I experienced it again yesterday. I'm still not sure whether falling back gained an hour or lost an hour.
Bottom line: Mexico says that it's American hooey, and they don't participate. Someone needs to tell that to my American watch, which sets itself by my American phone, which uses an atomic clock set in Colorado, in the good ol’ U.S. of A.
Bottom line: as my circadian clock gently woke my body in the twilight of the warming rays of sunrise, it gently warmed my brain as the automatic drapes of our stateroom opened. Yeah, that's a thing. I'm thinking that we may need to get that for the Coffeehouse. The drapes slowly parted, gently waking me from my slumber with the view of twilight.
Suddenly, my phone rang. Violently. All I heard was the First Lady in a drill sergeant's tone: "GET UP, Y'ALL. IT'S NOT 7:00! IT'S 6:00!"
I sat up ramrod straight on the bed.
“Say again?”
“Yes, our clocks changed! The ship's clocks and Mexico's clock don't! We’ve got to go! We'll see you in the salon in 10 minutes!”
Everything was staccato. The First Lady was barking at me. I was still in a daze. “Wait. Where am I, again?”
Oh shoot, I shook it off and woke the HB, explained to her calmly what the First Lady had just said, except I did it more gently and lovingly because you’re not supposed to wake a sleepwalker, at least that’s what I’ve been told.
We did the 10-minute get-ready thing in a stateroom smaller than a shoebox.
Oh, I should probably mention that the HB had an earlier “early” wake-up call that morning.
It goes like this: Your Hero needs sound to combat the constant hiss in his ears when it's quiet.
Yeah, to everyone else it's quiet, but to me I hear running water. So I have listened to podcasts while I sleep throughout the night for several years.
A few weeks ago, the HB insisted that I use a Bluetooth speaker instead of the earbuds or headphones I was using previously. She said I would sleep better and longer. She was correct—her and her doggone smartness. UGH! Insufferable.
Dammit.
Anyway, when I listen, I turn it all the way down to its lowest level so as not to disturb the HB. But at 4:00 am, in total darkness this morning, I heard the HB (well, it was more of an exclamation, “IT'S 7:01!") as she sat up bolt upright in the bed and then started a jog toward the bathroom. I realized that she heard something on one of my podcasts that sounded like 701 and she interpreted it as someone letting her know that it was 7:01 when, in actuality, it wasn't quite 4 in the morning yet.
She jumped up and started prepping for her e-bike excursion. Thank goodness I realized she was mistaken before she was fully awake, although I think she may have figured it out when she looked out the cabin porthole into total darkness.
Yeah, the days are getting longer, not shorter, as we travel further south.
She gets that, right? Oh well.
So, after the Great International Time Zone Crisis, the HB and I hustled down to Deck 6 for our e-bike excursion.
All ten members of our traveling circus eventually assembled in the salon where the excursion staff checked us in. Once that was done, everybody scattered toward whatever seats were available.
As you've probably figured out by now, fitting our group into one seating area is a little like parking ten shopping carts in a closet.
The ladies quickly claimed a booth and occupied it with military efficiency.
Tennille, McCroc and the Right Rev were meandering somewhere nearby.
Meanwhile, the Professor and I found two seats together facing the stage in the ballroom where we’d all gathered.
One thing we've discovered during this cruise is that most of the other passengers (they like to call us Sailors) are incredibly friendly.
Everywhere you go, somebody starts a conversation.
Where are you from?
How long have you been cruising?
Where are you headed next?
It's basically speed-friendship with ocean views.
This becomes important shortly.
Two gentlemen sat near us, chatting and smiling. One of them had one of the most impressive sunburns I've ever seen. His face was a shade of pink normally reserved for flamingos and warning labels.
Naturally, I opened the conversation with what I intended to be a friendly icebreaker.
"Wow," I said, "did you forget your sunscreen, or are you normally flushed like that?"
Now, in hindsight...
That may not have sounded quite as innocent as I intended.
In fact, looking back on it now, it probably came across as an exceptionally polished pickup line.
Especially since I delivered it with a smile.
The conversation continued anyway.
The Professor and I learned that one of the gentlemen had spent part of his life in Southern California and had actually grown up not too far from the Coffeehouse.
His partner was Irish.
I knew this immediately because his accent was so Irish that I was halfway expecting him to ask us to help him steal Lucky Charms from a leprechaun.
Honestly, I don't think I'd ever had a real conversation with someone from Ireland before. Outside of hearing one on television and in movies, anyway.
We also learned that they currently lived in New Zealand.
The conversation kept rolling along pleasantly until the Irish gentleman asked the Professor and me a very simple question.
"So, how long have you two been together?"
At first, I didn't understand the question.
My brain immediately began calculating.
Well, let's see...
We've known each other for close to four years.
We shared a limousine ride to the cruise terminal.
We've been aboard the ship together for two days...
I was literally preparing to answer the question with what I thought was impressive accuracy when the Professor looked at him and said:
"I don't even like him."
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No pause.
"I don't even like him."
And that's when the realization hit me.
The Irishman thought we were a couple.
Apparently, from his perspective, the Professor and I were sitting together, chatting with them, smiling, laughing, and I had opened the whole thing by complimenting his rosy complexion.
In other words, I wasn't making conversation.
I was apparently working the room.
The funniest part was that while I was busy trying to figure out whether we'd gained or lost an hour thanks to daylight saving time, everyone else was apparently trying to figure out whether I'd gained a boyfriend.
The Professor, meanwhile, was determined to make sure nobody left with that misunderstanding.
So after the Professor straightened out our relationship status and prevented me from accidentally acquiring an international boyfriend, we stepped off the climate-controlled, incredibly comfortable ocean liner and into Cabo San Lucas.
According to the weather app on my phone, it was 85 degrees but felt like 91. My phone really let me down that day.
I knew immediately that if my weather app were ever called to testify in court, its credibility would be impeached before the bailiff finished swearing it in.
Because according to the weather app that I actually trust, the one I refer to as my face, it was lying.
It wasn't 85.
It wasn't 91.
It was approximately 4,000 degrees, the surface of the sun.
Science may disagree, but science wasn't standing there sweating through its shirt.
My weather app was trying to convince me with numbers.
My pores were presenting contradictory evidence.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Exhibit A: I was melting.
I don't need a meteorologist for that.
Hey, Chroniclers, until next time.
You know what to do: drink ‘em if you got ‘em.
And if somebody says "701" in the middle of the night...
Maybe check the balcony before getting dressed.
The HB recommends it.
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