I got to the carnival cruise line and headed straight for the bar. I passed Captain Stubing, tossed a wink at Julie “Your Cruise Director” and sidled on past the sullen and strangely already sunburned corpses in barca-loungers on the deck. There was no time to waste.

I ordered coffee. It’s still too early for a stiff drink. There was a frighteningly loud woman in her early twenties in the corner of the room wailing on about the genius of Charles Bukowski. I stood my ground. I didn’t make a peep. There’s a time and a place to discuss the wildly ungrounded fascination with drunk-hack-poets and this just didn’t seem to be one of those times.

The coffee was bad. I peered around past the bartender, who sadly was too glum to even pass for a white, twenty-something Isaac. This was a place of evil. This was a place where shuffleboard was played on the ground utilizing large, desensitizing cattle prods. The prodders had hairy backs - even the women.

On the next scan around I saw an unfamiliar but officious looking man in uniform headed straight for me. There was no doubt about it, he was gonna say something about my ticket. “But I’m with the band!” I was prepared to say, but all of a sudden it didn’t seem like that excuse was going to work on this occasion.

The officious man was gaining. I avoided eye contact by peering at him from the corner of my eye as I stared at the enormous swimming pool. I haven’t seen a pool like that in all my life. It makes perfect sense since they don’t let people jump off the boat, but it’s an odd hurdle to get over in your brain that you’re in the middle of all that water and you’re swimming in a pool. We hadn’t left the port. Was it me? Was I holding this all up? They sure didn’t do a very good job of checking tickets if that was their chief concern at the time.

I should have gotten up. I should have made a move, if at the very least, perhaps to silence the bleating sheep in the corner because she was on a particularly irrelevant point involving a poem which I specifically remember and despise. I should have, but I sat there because I had to finish my coffee - it was only half done.

The capped man in the uniform arrived, sat down next to me, regarded my coffee, and proceeded to order a cup for himself. He stared straight ahead, probably trying to figure out, as I had, just what it was that made this bartender so oddly disaffected by his surroundings. They weren’t lavish enough? I don’t know.

After a moment I realized that at the very least this was my opportunity to finish my coffee. I sipped slowly. I could have savored it a bit more I suppose, but it just wasn’t good enough coffee to bother. I could tell the uniformed man was thinking the same thing, and then he opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t you think he could be a little more enthusiastic?” the man said as he stared with an odd expression at the oblivious bartender.

“Yes. To be honest I’ve always imagined I’d find Isaac from the Love Boat tending bar here. He’s a bit of a let-down,” I replied.

“I imagined that at first myself. It’s not the sort of thing you truly believe, but more of a thing you let yourself secretly hope.”

“That’s exactly it.”

“Sort of almost ruins your day doesn’t it? Makes it all seem like it wasn’t quite worth it.”

“Yes it does,” I intoned.

“Are you ready to go, or do you want another cup of coffee first?” he asked me.

“The coffee isn’t all that good either.”

“Oh. I guess I’ve just gotten used to it.”