Sparkling Water and a Spotlight Lunch

So here I am, minding my own business, getting my lunch in the 5th deck dining room as usual on A days with my friend Ashley. We always come in, choose an empty table, park our books down to save our seats, and get in line with our fellow hungry classmates.

Today is fish and chips. I squirt a side of ketchup next to my fries, and spoon a wad of peanut butter next to that for my apple. I turn to go up the ramp, headed in the direction of our table, when all of a sudden one of the waiters is wrestling my plate out of my hand. Back and forth, back and forth, I’m confused and giggling, wondering what he’s doing. His eyes are big. He looks a little frazzled but is also smiling as politely as possible. When I start listening to what he’s saying to me, I realize he’s under some pressure right now. He’s kidnapping my plate and hoping I will follow as he sets it at the long “reserved” table in front of the big window at the back of the ship. I follow his quick movement with my eyes, still planted to the spot next to the condiments as he speed walks away to put my plate, I can’t believe it, next to the Captain.

After going back to get my books and watching Ashley flee the scene of what she thinks is the most horrific thing she’s experienced on the voyage thus far, I walk over and have my chair pulled out for me by one of the staff. This is weird. I’m wearing jean shorts and sandals, and feeling underdressed for what seems to be a fancy occasion. I look up at the faces around me as I hand my books off to another waiter. I feel like we’re all wearing the same expression. Looking around wide-eyed, unsure of what to say or do, smiling nervously. A napkin is thrust into my lap by yet another waiter as Captain Jeremy’s food, an artistic arrangement of mozzarella and roma tomatoes sprinkled with basil, arrives in front of him. We drink water out of wine glasses; he drinks Perrier.

The first line of the conversation is quickly interrupted before it can expand by something I have been waiting to see since our first day on the water. Kids are climbing over each other, running to the windows, surrounding our table with pointed fingers and “Oh! Look!” exclamations. A pod of at least 50 dolphins is swimming alongside our ship. They jump out of the water spontaneously, just like on the Discovery Channel. As we pass and eventually leave them behind in our wake, they continue to play, shrinking and finally disappearing in the whitecaps.

As attention turns back to our table, we begin asking questions about the ship, ports, food and waste disposal, rumors of the ship, etc. We learn a little about each other, but the conversation is mostly interrogative.

Over the course of the next 45 minutes, I learn legitimately interesting things I had never even really thought about. The girl sitting across from me is asking most of the questions, while her friend to her right keeps the conversation flowing. I think the rest of us are okay with this, and although I chime in sporadically with curiosities of my own, I am content to sit, learn, and listen through my meal. Besides, I’m battling internally with how I can eat the apple sitting in front of me without being rude. I don’t really do fancy meals. I ended up cutting it, which still involves the use of my fingers, but I figure it is better than winding up and taking a huge bite out of it.

Captain Jeremy ends our meal with a little smile and his British accent perfect for narrating documentaries on third-world countries or wildlife, take your pick. “Well! Now that we’ve all gotten to know each other we can speak more around the ship!” We nod in genuine agreement, and as our small group disperses out of the dining room, I make a mental note to sign up for a bridge tour. I know this happens almost every day with other unsuspecting diners, but today it was me, us. I feel important, although I may have to start dressing up a little more for class in case this happens again. At least I didn’t wear my fuzzy blue slippers. That could’ve been awkward.