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Spring Break Cruise Day 3: Cabin Fever Makes Everyone HOT!

Continued from Spring Break Cruise Day 2: Soldiers & Swingers.


Having been good and intoxicated for the previous two days, I awoke on morning three with a bit of a hangover. And by this I mean that my breakfast that morning consisted of Advil before anything else. I opted to hit up the breakfast buffet before it closed, as my body was screaming for some sort of non-fermented item to make it feel somewhat normal. I shuffled out onto the pool deck, bleary eyed and blocking my maladjusted eyes from the glaring sun. But as I opened to door to the pool deck I was bowled over by the absolute last thing someone with a skull-crushing headache wants to hear.



“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the East High School Marching band from West Virginia with their rendition of “Turn the Beat Around!” And with that, 100-pieces strong began to drill Gloria Estefan into my head and I closed my eyes and desperately tried to find the buffet. They would stop for a minute, then “And now it’s time to step back to the 50’s with our version of ‘Grease!’” And then it was Olivia Newton-John killing my head. I made my way over to the buffet line, only to see that it had more people that the West Virginia marching band, all waiting for some orange goo that they were passing off as omelets. I cut the line and grabbed a couple of yogurts before pouring myself a large glass of water and a larger cup of coffee.

My friend was still worn out from his escapade the night before, and so I was forced to enjoy my breakfast in the company of the East High School Marching Band, who apparently had no concern for my hangover. An hour later I wasn’t feeling a whole lot better, but mercifully the band had stopped.


We spent the day in Cozumel, renting mopeds and hanging around at the beach. At the beach, we happened to place our towel next to the group of Florida State girls that had been next to us at dinner. They recognized us, and, as we thought, had assumed we were gay.


“No,” I told one of them named Vicki. “So I guess that means you didn’t notice me blatantly checking out your chest at dinner?” In a normal situation, a comment like that gets you slapped. And in a normal situation, I probably wouldn’t say it. But, as with so many things, the rules of civility on spring break are a little different. So instead of slapping me, Vicki laughed. As did her friends. They had figured out we were not gay, and this was a good thing.

That evening, after the excitement that was Cozumel had subsided, I switched views at dinner to let my friend stare at the now-confirmed porn star’s chest and to allow me to talk to the FSU girls. This served the dual purpose of eliminating any awkwardness of my looking at the unusual family next to us and, more importantly, giving me some face time with girls who were not trying to recruit me for a webcam.



At the club that night, I again ran into Vicki and eventually it was suggested that we adjourn to her stateroom, which apparently was located somewhere near the engine and the bilge. The girls from Florida State had not shelled out for the oh-so-glamorous porthole view double room that my friend and I had, and instead were in an interior room with four bunk beds. It vaguely reminded me of the migrant worker trailers I used to see when I worked in California. Except, of course, it was populated by a bunch of pretty blondes instead of a bunch of migrant workers. So I guess, actually, it was nothing like the migrant worker trailers at all. Bad analogy.


The cramped conditions would not have been so bad except that as we started to get down to business, someone would literally walk in every five minutes. Someone needed a hair tie, or someone needed more lipstick or someone had to use the bathroom. And without failure all of them would look over and say “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll just be a minute, and then you guys can have your privacy.” And while the room only had four beds, I counted at least six different girls and one guy who made their way through in the span of about an hour and a half, making me wonder if perhaps these kids were somehow trying to recreate their great-grandparents’ trips over to Ellis Island. Because, honestly, that was not my idea of a relaxing spring break.

Needless to say, we never got much past making out. But it was ok. They knew we weren’t gay, and we still had the all-important last night.



The last day of most cruises is typically spent at sea. Meaning there ain’t much to do but lay by the pool, play awkward sports, and drink. This is why the last night of a cruise is so special. Cruises, for single people anyway, are just big floating clubs where everyone eventually hooks up. But sometimes, given the confinements, one does not want to shit where one eats (literally if they are at your dinner table) and so you have to wait until the end so things don’t get “weird.” So the combination of being stuck on a boat in the hot sun all day, and the knowledge that you can pretty much do whatever you want with whoever you want without consequence makes the last night of a cruise especially libidinous.


Such was the case the last night of this cruise. Despite our failure to get much of anything accomplished the night before, Vicki still seemed interested in spending some quality time together the last night. After dinner and some drinks and smoking a Cuban Cigar (or so the Mexican who sold it to me said it was) we decided we’d do the cliché Titanic thing and go make out on the bow of the boat. Of course, what with this being the last night of the cruise, every other desperate-to-hook-up couple on the boat had the same idea. So we decided to go topside.

As we ascended the stairs to the top deck of the ship, a sign on a chain blocked our way stating “Danger, High Winds.” But we didn’t feel any wind. None at all. And since we realized if we gaffed off the sign we’d have the whole top deck to ourselves, we decided we may as well go for it.

Kids, if you ever see a sign on a boat telling you the winds are high, do not gaff off the sign.


We reached the top of the ship and immediately were forcing every step to fight the wind, looking like a couple of cartoon characters exaggerating our footwork. By the time we reached the bow, the wind was blowing us away from it, and eventually Vicki was knocked over. We walked back behind the smokestack and sat down, sheltered from the rainless hurricane that was battering the top deck. We made out there for about a minute before we both decided that, yes, indeed, the sign was right. This time I suggested going to my room. She agreed but said she had to stop by her room first. I figured it was 50/50 she even showed up.



I got back and my friend was lying on the bed, already packed and trying to get some shut-eye before our 7 a.m. wake up call to get off the boat the next morning.

“How’d it go with that Vicki girl?” he asked me.


“She may be on her way over,” I told him. “Look, if you think I’m gonna hook up, you can go if you want. If not you can stay, I really don’t care.” And I didn’t. I didn’t want him to have to go spend a couple of hours at the all night pizza joint so I could get stood up.  A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. My friend pretended to be asleep. Vicki was there and I invited her in.


We still had massive amounts of Zephyrhills left, so I poured us a couple of strong cocktails, and before we got halfway done we were horizontal on a twin bed. Cruises are a lot like the dorms, I guess. My friend immediately decided he was hungry and left us alone. He told me did end up going to that all night pizza joint, where he joined the rest of the sexiled cruise passengers who, surprisingly, all had the same story about someone else getting the most out of their last night at sea.  I didn’t really feel that bad for him. After all, he got to eat pizza.



Bing-Bong! There is a dual tone on a cruise ship that precedes all announcements that becomes the bane of every passenger’s existence. Such was the tone that struck at 7 a.m. telling my friend and me we needed to be off the ship as soon as possible. Vicki had long since left, and when she did I drunkenly packed up what I could before I passed out. For three hours. I tried to make some morning small talk with my friend, who quickly admonished me and snapped “This is quiet time. How ‘bout you shut up?” And so I complied.


I bid the rest of that morning adieu, picking up my fish, dropping off my friend and heading back to Gainesville. And while some may say that life in a college town is like a perpetual spring break, I would have to disagree. Spend a few days on a boat where nobody cares and you realize that spring break is one of life’s great alternate realities. People are whoever they want to be, and social norms are swept aside in the name of having a good story to tell when you go home. And while I’m sure all the usual spots are still a good time, the spring break cruise is an experience everyone should try at least once. At the very least, you’ll meet some fun new people and eat some pretty good food. And if you’re lucky, you may even get to have breakfast with a marching band.

Related Categories: Miami: Travel News,

About the Author: Matt Meltzer is a featured columnist at Miami Beach 411.

See more articles by Matt Meltzer.

See more articles by Matt Meltzer

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