Pirates life is for me - Day 4 - What a Quest

For all two of you who are hooked to my ramblings, I promised and now I'm delivering, here is Day 4 of our trip.

After a few days wondering where certain party members may be on this floating Holiday Inn, we learned how to use the on-ship phones. Angela and Jerry woke our sleepy little heads with a worthwhile idea - check out lovely (I use the word loosely - kind of like say "gee, that hooker looks good) Mazatlan on an air-conditioned bus. They make sure us Americans know the bus is air conditioned because, evidently, the Mexican Tourism Authority believes us gringos will melt while watching the folklorico show. Just in case, they fed us free beer at the show just to keep us hydrated. Wife and I got squirrel poop when we did a similar tour through Yosemite a few years ago. The United States Tourism Authority could take some lessons from our friends down south.
I'm getting ahead of myself. For a party of nine, meeting for activities went remarkably easy except for in Mazatlan. We were to meet Angela and Jerry and Juan and Sugar on the dock before boarding the busses. Of course, we were a little slow (I had to evacuate three buffets over two days. Understand?) and made it to the dock only to find Juan and Sugar. No Angela and Jerry. Apparently, Frau Farbissina from "Austin Powers" was Angela and Jerry's driver and herded them onto the bus like a bunch of cattle, something that frightens me about Mexico because I'm sure there are "excursions" that take some of us hostages to the prison work camps. They screamed that there were more coming - us and Angela's units - but Frau yelled quiet, smacked them each in the head with a ruler and literally threw them on the bus.

With Angela and Jerry on the prison camp bus, that left us with Andres the van driver. While the bus was confined to big streets, Andres gave us the scenic tour through the city's heart. We saw a fish market that sold shrimp as big as a pony, lobsters that could take my winky off with one snap and other assorted "seafood" catches that I'm sure ended up as our appetizers and dinner that night on the ship. He snaked down a side street to show us richly green trees that, when in the right season, are filled with monarch butterflies. And later, Andres cruised through "his neighborhood," a rich, gated community that looked like Santa's vacation home with most of the palatial houses dressed up for the fat toy peddler's visit in a few weeks. Meanwhile, three blocks up from this community, residents fight to feed their families and keep the roof over their heads from crumbling to dust. It was a hard juxtaposition to swallow (yes, I like the word juxtaposition and no, I don't know if it actually fits here).

Thanks to the free hydration elixir - they call it Tecate and it tasted oddly like beer - I didn't pay much attention to the show's story. But when four dudes dressed in old-school traditional Mexican digs strapped themselves to windmill that sat 20 or 30 feet off the ground and spun like they were in a hurricane wind I was mesmerized. Later in the show, that same bunch (six of them, 1 of which looked on the wrong side of 80 years old) climbed a pole that I swore reached the same castle Jack found at the top of the beanstalk. They piled on to a perch no bigger than a barstool seat, tied up their feet and spun down around the pole. I thought it was an oddball way of bungy jumping, but no, these loco caballeros practice this shit. I would imagine it would take one guy missing the knot and splatting by the hydration tent to end practice, but I'm sure they don't tell you that when you're applying for a folklorico job.

Finished Mazatlan off on the ship sitting by the pool, sipping tequilas (I ordered tequila sunrises, but I guess the sun wasn't coming up at the bar since all I got was tequila shooters with cherries and a hint of orange coloring in fancy tall glasses). Since that was sloshing around in my guts, I couldn't wait for dinner, where, for the first time on the trip, the buffet king (so dubbed by Jerry) chose just one entree. I had the appetizer and soup, though, so they wouldn't take away my crown. And since Wife refuses to broil up some tasty lamb shankes at the Compound, I had to get my fill here. So, for a second night, Mary's lamb rested comfortably on my plate.

We ate like the ship was sinking because we wanted to get good seats for the "Quest" game. Every cruise Web site we read beforehand said this wasn't too be missed. They were right. We settle in near the front and grab a team number from the cheesy cruise schmuck - Brooklyn Dodger Duke Snider's #4, what an omen.

Here is a quick tutorial for the Quest-challenged folks in the crowd. Cheesy Cruise Schmuck will ask for an item and everyone must race to him with said thingy. Understand? Are you ready to play?

We gathered in a team of nine, making room for our new best friend Liz who, along with Ben shared team MVP honors afterward. First, we needed any item in our pockets plus the cruise newsletter. We would have been sunk had it not been for the Wonderful Liz, who just said she kept the newsletter with her to find another activity if the Quest blew lamb-basted chunks, like another free liquor tasting or a How to Paint by Numbers seminar (yes, they keep you active as the ship's hostage). And if Ben had the number turned the right way, facing Cheesy Cruies Schmuck so he can shout out it for the all-important points, we would have scored big. We gave Ben a quick tutorial on how the number card works and we were rolled after that.

Next, he needed black teeth. Hello trusty black comb (Wife figured that one out) I use to spread hair over the bald spot on the top of my odd-shaped dome. Some gamers weren't so bright, however. One gal stuffed a dude's black sock in her mouth and tried to pass that off for the points. Denied! Another lady took a Sharpee Black Marker to her front choppers and marked them up. Denied! We were a tough bunch. There ain't enough alcohol in Phoenix to get me to stuff a used sock in my cake hole, and unless I'm getting an autograph from Salma Hayek after she let me nibble on her ear lobe there's no way I'd take a marker to my teeth.

This next item, a guy wearing chick's shoes, should have really clued us in on the rest of the game. Anyway, Wife had donned the heels with multi-colored buttons over the toes, which really worked for Ben's ensemble. One of Wife's best friends, he goes about 6'5, and Wife runs out at 5'6. You do the shoe-size math. Ben gives it a go, shuffling like a little kid in mommy's shoes, and nails us some solid points. And no broken ankles in the process.

But that game fed into the next item up for grabs, men's socks on women's hands. Wife puts her paws out to Ben who whips his heels off and then his socks to afix them on Wife's awaiting, two-day old manicured hands.

Another sign of things to come, CCS wanted a man wearing women's lipstick. Ben (he really was our MVP) puckers up and Liz goes to town with lickity-split ease. Ben hurdles the group in front of us and shows off our #4 to earn us top 5 points (by this point, I'm sure the point system is a load of fish turds).

I'm a lazy sod. I hate tying my shoes, so I knot the laces in doubles including my dress shoes. I never thought they would be my undoing. But when CCS asks for "shoelaces not in a shoe," I'm going at my shoe knots like I was trying to escape from kidnappers with my hands bound. It was Jerry, however, who stepped up, unlacing his shoes, grabbing the number, showing the right way, and nailing us another few points. There must have been a large group from a hard-of-hearing school because several teams thought CCS said, "Shoelaces knot in a shoe." Some teams ran up there with the whole shoe and we happily denied their points because we're mean bastards and whatever trinket was at the end of this Quest, it was ours.

Michael, not me, was then brought into the spotlight. During the week, he'd stop anyone to tell them what was happening on the pool deck or talk about his Philadelphia Eagles. He's a "special" person. CCS asks him to come center stage and then instructs all the female team members to walk up and kiss Michael's bald head. Angela took this job and tongue-smooched his shiny dome. What a trooper.

I rarely, if ever, wear a belt. But since this night was casual dining and I didn't want to wear dressy pants, I spruced up my Levis with my black belt. It was fate, because the CCS wanted three men's belts. I whisked that sucker out of the loops like it was gagging my waist and we nailed 1st place points on this shot. That's right, I feel a free cruise coming on because we were going to take this game down. The prize had to be a free cruise. Right?

Next up were two dudes' shirts. Before I can look left and right, Brett is fullbacking his way through drunk cruiser/hostages with his and Chris' shirts. That's right, another 1st place for the little team that could.

Then came 3 men's pants. I don't know how they did it, but Ben and Brett were out of theirs as if there was a fire on board and they needed the jeans to put out the flames. Needing a 3rd pair, and Jerry struggling with his, Ben and Brett took a hold of each pant leg and yanked, leaving Jerry grasping the chair arms so he wasn't dragged up to the stage as well. Ben raced to the stage sans pants , which were covering his goods. That effort also landed us a numero uno. But that wasn't the story. One guy, for whatever reason, ran up there nearly butt naked, using his teammates pants to hide his junk that peaked out from behind mesh - MESH - underwear. Who wears mesh underwear? Who makes mesh underwear? What's the purpose of mesh underwear? Why he didn't just take along 2 pairs of pants and then point to his own trousers was a question we'd ask later of ourselves. Another woman gave the packed Enchanted Evening Lounge crowd a quick show, snaking through the crowd to the stage in skimpy underwear toting 3 pairs of pants for her squad. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it with my own stinging peepers (I saw too much of the naked-bottomed guy to see straight).

To make the ladies feel at home, and because the CCS was either perverted or just couldn't land his own hotties, he asked for three ladies' bras. It just so happened that's the number in our group. Wife and Angela wiggle out of theirs with practiced ease, but it takes Liz a tad longer. I guess it's been a while for the lady who looked like my 3rd-grade teacher.

Finally, to finish the game off, we had to dress up one guy like a woman in two-and-a-half minutes. Our MVP stepped forward, and the three ladies went to town. A little rouge here, some lipstick there, Wife's shirt (Ben gave up his so she could sit there covered up. I married a real team player folks) tied up like Daisy Duke, pantless, and presto Ben is a hot chick with short hair a 5 o'clock shadow and sideburns. He raced on stage and participated in Royal Caribbean's drag queen parade. He danced with one gentleman who saw it fit to dip our good friend and MVP and sang along to Diana Ross and the Village People, because when you think drag queens you think the Village People.

CCS and Hyper Bingo Lady tally the points and start with the bronze medalists, we aren't in that group. Next came the silvers, and again no team 4. Then complete glory as our number is the first called for top glory (to be fair, they were calling the gold medalists up in numerical order, but hey we were still 1st called, so in our book we were Number 1). I thought, Hell yeah, here comes that free caribbean cruise or at the very least free booze for the rest of our hostage stay. But no, instead we get cool gold medals that are so much better than a stinking free cruise or free alcohol for the rest of the trip.

We totally scored.