Listerine ‒ the oral cancer-causing mouthwash ‒ meant something else two weeks ago when I cruised to celebrate my friend Infinicuralier’s wedding, which took place mid-cruise in Grand Cayman. Cruises are expensive to begin with. And they are extravagant if you don’t smuggle “Listerine” on board.
|Infinicuralier and me carefully pouring lowest-shelf Colonel's Pride whiskey ($10 for a liter) into an empty Listerine bottle, which I placed in my checked bag and smuggled onto the cruise ship|
Twenty, from the wedding party, had told me she was scared of sharks and wanted to walk around the cruise ship deck, so to isolate Twenty away from the group one night I said to her, “Let’s go search for sharks,” and we left. I was just being witty and awesome. When I later returned to my stateroom and joined Crabcakes on the balcony I realized the amazing trend I had started.
Crabcakes: When you said “Let’s go search for sharks,” nobody thought much of it. Then Infinicuralier said, “Does that pickup line actually work?” I said, “Hell no it doesn’t work!” Then Infinicuralier’s dad got on the dance floor and placed his hand perpendicular on his forehead and waved it from side to side, like a shark fin. I thought I was going to die laughing. Then a random woman from North Carolina came over to Infinicuralier’s dad and asked about “the shark fin” dance move, and she started doing it! Soon enough, everybody on the dance floor started doing “the shark fin.”
The next time you go clubbing and see “the shark fin,” now you know.
|Shark fin foam hat from Margaritaville that Infinicuralier's dad bought me.|
|Our Holland America ship, the Eurodam, docked at its own private island, Half Moon Cay, in Bahamas.|
|Our stateroom attendant ruled and made us towel creatures. He made this lazy bunny (left), and Crabcakes and I transformed it into this degenerate bunny (right).|
Some from our group hadn’t expected aggressive sellers and were caught off guard. While walking around Falmouth, their urge to return to the port complex – along with dwindling tourists and increasing drug sellers as we got further from the port – led us to the real treasure of the trip: Jamaican rum. (Besides my close friend from childhood’s wedding, obviously, in case he or his new wife reads this.)
Crabcakes, BakedAlaska and I drank Jamaica’s own Appleton Estate rum at a small bar near the ship. Our bartender, a guy in his early-to-mid twenties who moonlights as a DJ, talked with us all afternoon about his culture and lifestyle, and in exchange we convinced passersby to buy his drinks. I later bumped into several others from the cruise who had apparently joined us at the bar and knew my name. I remembered the pretty German’s name. The rest, I didn’t recall ever having met.
“This is a good job, mon. Better than being out there [outside the port complex]. It’s tough getting this job. Very competitive. You have to know someone. Once you get it, you don’t give it up. Plus I can drink rum every day.
“How many people on your ship? You have lots of old people. I like the Carnival ships. They’re big and full of pretty young women. Last week these girls were doing body shots off the bar. First from their belly buttons and then from their. . .”
I tired of delicious fruity drinks and switched to drinking rum neat. “You want to try ‘white lightning’?” our bartender said.
“That’s white rum,” BakedAlaska said. “It doesn’t even list its proof. It’s considered ‘overproof.’ I bet it is 80 percent alcohol.”
“Pour it!” I said.
Ever since I developed an obsession with reaching and maintaining ultra-low body fat I have sacrificed sugar- and calorie-dense substances in favor of plainer ones, including alcoholic beverages. I switched from beer to vodka sodas to whiskey on the rocks to whiskey neat. I now tolerate drinking anything straight.
Everyone tried some of my white lightning. “It tastes like rubbing alcohol!” the pretty German said.
When I finished white lightning I slammed the empty cup down, proud in my accomplishment and thrilled to never have to drink another white lightning.
It was almost time for us to return to the ship. BakedAlaska explained which type of Appleton rum I wouldn’t find in the States and should buy from the duty-free shop across the complex. I entered the shop, forgot the reason I was there and grabbed the less expensive type that U.S. stores also sell.
I brought my rum to the cashier, a Jamaican woman in her forties. “Do you like Jamaicans?” she said. “I’m looking for a husband. I like the shawties.”
The other cashier said, “Yes she does. You’re built strong and shawt and perfect for her. Have you been with a larger Jamaican woman? She’ll do things nobody else will.”
My first marriage proposal: the highlight of my trip including the wedding, even if Infinicuralier or his wife reads this.
I returned to the small bar. “You didn’t get the 12-year-aged rum like I told you!” BakedAlaska said.
Fucking white lightning.
I returned to the duty-free shop and explained that BakedAlaska told me I purchased the wrong one. The store manager wanted to meet my advisor, so she followed me back to BakedAlaska who explained what I never would have remembered. “He wants to exchange this for your 12-year-aged rum.”
I succeeded and returned to my friends, and we said goodbye to our bartender. We were the last ones back on the ship. We later learned that the captain announced, “We’re just waiting for the last few to arrive,” as Mrs. BakedAlaska flipped us off for many consecutive minutes.
I bet she didn’t want to search for sharks that night.
I made a video from my trip, which you can view on YouTube or below if your Web browser allows. Enjoy it, mon!