So Much Food, So Little Ocean

As we arrived at the dock in Vancouver to join our ship for an Alaska cruise vacation, the excitement was definitely building. We had heard wonderful stories of all the food on board, and though we didn’t even know where the ship was actually headed, that seemed to be a minor point when compared to visions of buffets the size of Texas.

The first thing my wife noticed were six semis lined up at the dock, with huge conveyor belts disappearing into the bowels of the ship. “How odd – they’re loading hundreds of lifesaving rings on board. Are they that worried about the ship sinking?”

An officer standing nearby quickly reassured us. “Don’t be concerned. They’re just donuts. We provision up with 200 tons before we leave port, enough to get us through breakfast.”

Thus calmed, we crossed the gangplank onto the ship. Each person was weighed as we boarded, which the crew explained was done so they could calculate how much ballast the ship would need. “We usually put on 11 or 12 hundred tons of ballast prior to the trip, and then remove it as we go along to compensate for the weight gained by the passengers. Without the removal of the ballast, we’d sink under the extra load.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “But how do you get rid of the ballast? Just throw it overboard?”

“Actually no. Half of it is in the form of Rolaids and the other half is Pepto-Bismol. Sometimes with a little Gas-X thrown in for good measure. It’s pumped directly into the cabins, and gets consumed before the trip is over. Works out perfectly.”

After we settled into our room and had a couple of complimentary pizzas along with the apple pie we found in the stateroom’s closet, we had to attend the mandatory lifeboat drill. We all dressed up in lifejackets and went on deck looking like 1,200 bright orange marshmallows. There was a light buffet of roasted turkey, baked ham, and 700 salmon the size of Hummers – just something to keep us tied over until dinner, when the real food was served. Another buffet had been laid out inside each lifeboat, just in case anyone actually had to board one of them.

Leaving the drill, we grabbed a couple rolling food trays equipped with sandwiches, waffles, and lasagna, and went off to explore the ship. There was a cool little casino that paid off in potato chips, and a movie theater where each person sat in giant tubs of popcorn while Junior Mints dropped from ceiling-mounted dispensers. We later discovered, oddly enough, that the ship had a gym on board, with state of the art equipment. Two of the zero body fat crowd were actually seen using it one morning, but they were annoying all the rest of us and were quickly thrown overboard. Most of the gym equipment was tossed as well, allowing more room for the food tables. Only the treadmills were retained, and we linked the belts together to create a conveyor belt system that allowed food to move continually around the room.

Finally, we sailed into Glacier Bay, one of the highlights of the trip. We closed the in-room barbeque, temporarily halted the ice cream maker and were preparing to go on deck when we noticed our cabin door had been locked from the outside.

“Please do not be concerned that your cabin doors are locked,” came the announcement from the Bob’s Big Boy room-service intercom in the corner of the room. “This is done for your safety. The rooms will be unlocked in groups of ten to prevent all the passengers from being on the same side of the deck at once and capsizing the ship.

“While you’re waiting, your cabin steward will be by with a light snack of roasted pig, enchiladas stuffed with tacos, and our own 22-layer Death By Sugar Cake.”

Ah, who cares about Glacier Bay – you’ve seen one big ice cube, you’ve seen ‘em all. Where’s the dessert bar?