My baby brother S- got married to a lovely woman recently, and Sean and I had the pleasure of being there to witness. In a fabulous location, with incredibly kind people, in a setting that was, for lack of a better word, swank.
It is the type of place that appeals to celebrities with one name, or just a name and an initial, usually a 'z' or 'b', or sometimes two letters, like '-lo' or '-ho', or the occasional, '-rod'. People like Beyoncé.So, my big joke of the trip became, "I bet Beyoncé didn't...". Stash complimentary minibar items in her suitcase. Have to flush the toilet three times. Wash out her underwear in the sink and dry them with the hairdryer (which would take B. approximately two minutes. It took me 20, because apparently my underwear are made of some industrial fabric like burlap or courderoy.).
I'm so classy. Having us there was like Jethro and Ellie Mae at The Plaza.
S- chartered a boat for a half day deep sea fishing expedition. All of the men - both my brothers, Sean, the bride's sister's boyfriend D-, and the bride herself were going. I'm not exactly a fisherman, though I was always Daddy's beer and bait girl , but I thought going would give me a chance to spend time with my brothers, and get to know his new wife. Plus, I like fish, I like boats, I like drinking beer and fishing on boats - it sounded pretty great.
You know how sometimes, you want to go back in time and punch yourself in the face because you are so fucking stupid? This is one of these times.
The trip started out beautifully; we rolled out of the marina, over the reef and into the ocean. The waves were wavy, but everyone was chatting and getting fishing instruction and advice from our extremely knowledgable and friendly First Mate, Marvin. Fours hours later, Marvin was my best friend and if I hadn't smelled like fear and hot sick when I got off the boat, I would have kissed him on the mouth.
I drank a fruit punch Fanta, laying down a good base coat for all the beers I was about to consume. And then, the unthinkable happened: I had to pee.
Now, I am slightly highly claustrophobic. If you have ever had the unique pleasure of using the bathroom on a fishing boat, then you know that it's right up there with jamming a plastic spoon up your nose, in terms of awfulness. Theyare ridiculously narrow, barely lit, and hygenically deficient. You have to pee in a coffee can sized toilet while pitching around on a rocky sea and praying to God you get out of there without gonorrhea. It is pretty much my worst nightmare.
I managed to pee without peeing all over myself, despite the extreme rocking. It was kind of comical. It would make a good blog, I thought. And then I went to flush. I remembered Marvin saying something about a black button you had to push to flush. I don't remember exactly, because as he was talking, I was telling my new sister-in-law how I had never been even the slightest bit seasick. Ever.
I can't find the button. It's not on the wall behind the toilet, or on the back of the toilet. Nothing by the light switch or by the sink. I look for any other kind of flushing device, and find nothing. I start to sweat. I have a toilet full of pee and toilet paper and it absolutely must go down or I will be mortified. I need help.
I stick my head out the door and see my brother S- at the top of the stairs. "Hey!", I whisper-yell. "Hey! Where's the button?"
"The button to flush the toilet!"
"Oh, naw - it's a pump. You have to pump it!"
Shit! There's not even a button! I start looking for the pump. There is nothing in this cracker box that resembles a pump, except the plunger. Surely I am not supposed to use the plunger, am I? I am running out of options, so I decide it's worth a try. The boat is really rocking now. I can feel the sweat running down my back. My left shoe had found something sticky on the floor. I think I might cry if I can't flush my pee.
So I start plunging. My body bounces off the walls, the plunger sloshes around, unable to find purchase. I am disgusted yet oddly fascinated that one can of fruit punch Fanta can yield so much pee. Seriously, this can't be right. And now the plunger is dripping and I can't decide if I should rinse it off in the sink or just set it down. My shoe pulls away from the floor with a crackle, and I toss the plunger aside.
I have to find that button.
(To be continued)