Bacchanal 2006 Post-Mortem: Episode 6

Vignettes from Open Seating Meals

I'm just going to lay this out right now and be honest with all of you. I am not a buffet person. As I see it, I did it for 15 years at school, and I'm not eager to repeat it. (The same goes for wearing blazers, ties, and socks in every season save for winter.) Considering that my appetite for anything other than alcohol goes down every time I travel, it would probably make a lot more sense if I liked buffets, but nature has a funny sense of humour.

So this meant that my 1-2 meal a day self was at the restaurant whenever possible. Maybe it was the fact that the cruise was passing through the Bermuda Triangle or the undying urge to get snippets of good conversation without lurking in the background, but I gave into the open seating, when the normal m.o. is table for 1.

Although the restaurant was open for breakfast on occasion, I only showed up for lunch and dinner. (The comrade was only there for dinner.)

Of the two, lunch brought out the earthier people. I do not know why, but it seemed that those who weren't obsessed with getting sun were more interesting. (Perhaps prolonged sun exposure dulls the brain.)

The cruise was majority couples and I have to say that it was interesting looking at various couples who had been together for various amounts of time. You had the relative honeymooners (5 years and under) and then you had the vets (over a decade). While The Comrade loved looking at the honeymooners, I was in adoration of the vets. The vets, to be blunt, were comfortable with each other. They hurled playfully bitchy comments at one another, weren't all touchy-feely, they just appeared to have no facade whatsoever. If I saw more of them on a daily basis as opposed to the honeymooners, then I would have no problem whatsoever with relationships, because I want to get to the comfort as soon as possible. I want to just sit there with my husband and just spar--friendly. If a guy I'm dating grabs my hand, my first thought is "what do you want?" not "how sweet."

Perhaps not surprisingly, many of the vets, were diehard cruisers (maybe in both senses of the word, wait for the Fort Lauderdale episode). At lunch, one of them put the fear of god into me in respect to pre-booking for next year.

"If you're even remotely thinking about it, put your deposit down now!"

Yes, sir.

The singles seemed to come out at night. In fact, there were two singles dinner, none of which I attended, but the Comrade went to one and didn't seem to be put off by the fact that one had to switch places at every course of the meal. For some reason, the Comrade & I always got sat at tables were the eye candy was low and the conversation a bit hard to get started. During meals, I'd always catch the Comrade looking wistfully at another table. Then again, I've always figured that conversing skills are nonexistent with those whose self-worth is based solely on their body fat percentage, so I was quite happy being with people who hold opinions beyond their chest routine and which hair products to use.

One of the more interesting moments at dinner occurred on the night when The Comrade was at the singles dinner and I was at the regular dinner. The table was populated by 6 vivacious people on one end (from the West and the South), three I-swear-they-must-have-thought-showing-emotions-was-a-sin men from Upstate New York on the other end, and myself. Once the neo-Puritans went off to go see whatever show was on that night, all of a sudden this man approaches me:

Him: "I sat at this table the other day."

Me (perplexed as why he felt the need to mention this): "Oh?"

Him: "I just want to say that you're very handsome."

Me (caught off-guard): "Well, thank you very much."

And he left.

Now, one of the members of the vivacious 6 asked me what he said. I relayed the conversation and he responded that he thought that was my roommate.

Me: Why?

Viv 6 member: Because you said he's at the Seniors dinner.

Me: No, he's only 26. He's at the Singles dinner.

Who said Borscht-belt humour was dead?

During one of the meals that the Comrade & I were together we were treated (perhaps "thrust upon" might be a better word) with the most bizarre curmudgeon I've ever come across. This man was in his late fifties and from San Diego. If you could imagine a gay version of Gerald McRainey, you'd be very close. He just complained about everything that others thought were great: smoking in lounges, the sun, the drag shows, not having to pull out your wallet to sign for drinks, and this, that, and the other. What really set him off was the fact that Joan Rivers was the special supposedly secret headliner that night.

"She's too vulgar."

He then went to a long-winded tirade about how he doesn't want to hear about dropping breasts, vaginas, and testicles. Now, that struck me as a bit strange, but sometime later at one of the dances, I saw him dancing shirtless (with his 26 year old roommate that he adores because "he keeps [me] young"--yes, I thought the same thing too) and there was definitely a lot of sagging.

Not that it's in any way related to his earlier comments.

Next Time on a special episode of Bacchanal 2006: The Ethical Question.