Cruising with Mom

I’m a good son. I know this because several people have told me so. All it took to go from “Can you believe the way he treats his mother” to “what a good son!” was giving Mom a cruise to Mexico as a Christmas present.

Mom has MS and gets around with a cane because of her balance issues. A rocking ship would only exacerbate the situation. Before leaving Birmingham I rented a mobility scooter for her to use on the ship and in our ports of call. The scooter’s speed was adjustable, with a range that allowed you to either lose a race with a snail, or win a fifty yard dash, all at the twist of a knob. The dozens of dings and dents on Mom’s Camry should have alerted me to the danger of giving her control of another motorized vehicle. It should have, but it didn’t.

I had planned to let Mom get used to the scooter in the parking lot of her apartment, but even disassembled the scooter weighed 150 pounds. After hoisting it into the back of my Prius at the rental place I decided it wasn’t coming out again until we were at the port of Mobile. Thus the first time she used the scooter was in a crowded terminal.

Well, to be more precise, the first time she used it was getting from the car in the parking garage to the elevator that led to the terminal. Mom never was one to waste time, so before applying the gas, she cranked the speed knob to HIGH. You know those automatic doors that sense your presence and then slide open? In a race between the sliding automatic door and a scooter set for Talladega, put your money on the scooter. Fortunately some of the millions of Homeland Security money that made its way to Alabama was spent on unbreakable glass, so no real damage was done…until she went into the elevator. “Where’s the brake?” she screamed, slamming into the back wall of the elevator. Releasing the accelerator lever never occurred to her. When I say “never” I mean “not once in the next six days.”

Either because of her evident handicapped status, or because of the trail of trampled feet in her wake, we were given VIP status and moved immediately to the front of the line. After checking in and receiving our room keys and Sale & Sign cards we were moved to the Priority Boarding waiting area. Twenty minutes later we were lunching on the Lido Deck, but only after Mom had plowed into a dozen fellow passengers. I noticed that her apologies following these impacts were decreasing in both length and sincerity. In fact I’m sure that on more than one occasion she took careful aim before hitting the gas.

We purchased Unlimited Soda cards, which may seem steep to some at $30, but the way we drink soda they lost money on us before the trip was over. Soon our cabins were ready for us and we went to drop off our carry on bags. We were in the lowest deck, as far forward as you can go and still be in the ship. I wasn’t sure what to do about the mandatory lifeboat drill. I knew from my last trip on The Holiday that we’d have to navigate five flights of stairs. I checked with the Purser’s desk who told me not to worry about it, Mom could use the elevator. The elevator took us as far as our muster station, but to get to the actual life boats, we’d still have to hoof it up a couple of flights.

At our muster station four different crew members gave us four different sets of instructions, including, “when no one’s looking, just go back to your cabin.” God knows what would happen in the event that ship actually hit an iceberg. Given the conflicting instructions, there was obviously no standard procedure in place. I guess we’d just go down with the ship. Well, Mom would go down with the ship. I’d revert from “what a good son” back to “can you believe he did that to his mother?”, waving a sad goodbye to the good ship Holiday from the safety of the lifeboat.

We were scheduled for the first seating in the Seven Seas Dining room. I was prepared to ask the Maitre D’ to move us to a table that didn’t require going up steps, but there was no need. Table 242, way in the back of the dining room, was on the same level as the entrance. On subsequent nights we made our own way to our table, but the first night we had no idea where it was, so one of the servers led the way.

I had already learned that it was safer to be behind Mom and her scooter, rather than in front. Our guide set a brisk pace, but since Mom still insisted on keeping the scooter speed set on HIGH, we were in no danger of being left behind. Everything was fine at first. Rather than slow the scooter down, Mom had developed a lurch and stop, lurch and stop method of navigating around corners. On the straight-aways it was every man for himself. Since our table was in the back of the dining room, she had a long path ahead of her. She double checked to make sure the throttle was wide open and then took off.

Her aim was spotty and as she drifted to the left she overcompensated and veered to the right, then a sharp left to avoid the table full of diners, followed by another right and so on. This zig-zag path down the aisle caused the arms of the scooter to snag the table cloths on either side of her. Table cloths, dishes, glasses and silverware came crashing down in her wake, me chasing to catch up with her, the waiter in front of her running for his life, all while she’s screaming, “Where’s the brake? Where’s the brake?”

At the end of the straight-away she was convinced to abandon the scooter and walk the rest of the way to our table. Our servers, Nabil form Morocco and Deni from Serbia, were attentive, friendly, and cute. We were seated at a table for four, but our tablemates never joined us. No doubt they saw Mom’s entrance and requested a safer table.

In the center of the table a chilled dish contained individually wrapped pats of butter. While we waited for our appetizers Mom took some butter, placed it on her bread plate and unwrapped it. She took one of zillion forks at each place setting and a knife and cut off a tiny slice of butter and ate it. She repeated this 3 times until the butter was gone, then grabbed another pat. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Eating,” she said, as if the very question was absurd.

“But you’re eating plain butter.”

“It’s cruise ship butter,” she corrected me.

“Yes, it’s cruise ship butter, but more to the point it’s cruise ship butter!” She glanced at the people at table 243 as if to say, “See what I have to put up with?” and happily ate her second butter pat.

After dinner we went to the Americana Lounge for the Welcome Aboard Show. Kurt from South Africa, a passing barkeep, asked if we’d like a cocktail and Mom flashed her soda card and asked for a coke. I should explain that when people order drinks—even sodas that are bought one at a time—a fifteen percent gratuity is added to the charge. Since our sodas were pre-paid there was nothing to charge and therefore nothing to add a tip to. In other words, the traveling barkeeps don’t make a nickel off of passengers with soda cards, and therefore, we’re at the bottom of their priority list. Before they get to us, they collect a few orders for alcohol, and pass out the beers and cocktails before getting back to us. It may not be fair, but they’re out to make money and quite frankly I don’t blame them. I’ve come to expect it and have learned to be patient.

I explained all of this to Mom and to her credit she did try to be patient. After five minutes though, she stopped a server with a full tray and pointed to one of the glasses. “Is that a coke?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Niko from the Philippines.

“Thanks,” said Mom and grabbed the drink. Mind you it wasn’t her coke, or at least it wasn’t intended as such. Nevertheless, she claimed it. After that she stopped placing orders and just hijacked other people’s drinks. They weren’t even all sodas. I know she grabbed a martini once that she never paid for, but the servers were always too shocked to question her, let alone try to collect.

When the show ended Mom was ready for bed. On the way to our cabins my luck ran out and she ran over my foot. I took the battery from the scooter into my room to charge, thus rendering her immobile. On my own at last, I headed to the late night buffet before turning in myself.

FUN DAY AT SEA

I woke early for a vacation day, 8:00. I took a quick shower and then headed to the dining room for breakfast. I figured I’d wake Mom when I got back. Dinner is the only meal you eat at the same table, with the same people. Breakfast and lunch are spent at whatever table has an empty chair. Claude from the Ukraine led me to a table for 10 already occupied by nine farmers from Ohio. They didn’t know each other, they just happened to all be farmers from Ohio. The Ohio Farm Bureau arranged a deal with Carnival and 600 of their members were on the cruise.

This might be my only Mom-free meal. If I was going to engage in my usual cruise ship antics of assuming new identities it was now or never. I waited for the usual introductions to be made while I decided between being a circus veterinarian or a plastic surgeon employed by the witness protection program. But no one asked me who I was or what I did! Those selfish bastards! How dare they not show an interest in me! All they cared about were crop yields and corn subsidies. I ate in silence and when my plate was clean I stood up announced, “I hate you all!” and marched out of the dining room.

Back on deck 5 I knocked on Mom’s door. No answer. I went back to my cabin and grabbed the extra key to her room and let myself in. She wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom and it was empty, too. The scooter battery was still in my room, so where could she have gone?

Before leaving Birmingham I’d borrowed a set of walkie-talkies with a five mile range. I’d given one to Mom and kept one for myself, which was in my pocket. I took it out and pushed the talk button. “Mom? Where are you?” Silence.

I went to the purser’s desk where Mario from Venezuela asked if he could help me. “I’ve lost my mother.” He suggested that she’d gone to breakfast or perhaps to the pool. “You don’t understand,” I said. “She can’t go anywhere, not without her scooter.”

“Is that your mother?” Mario asked. “Perhaps she was kidnapped. Or pushed overboard.”

I went back to my cabin. With her mobility issues I’d always been able to count on her being where I last saw her. I had no idea where to look for her. Perhaps Mario was right. There was nothing left to do but alert the captain and request a room to room search.

I left the cabin again, wondering how I’d get to the bridge. I started down the passageway and there was Mom, cane in hand, hobbling toward me. “Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.

“I woke up at six and figured I’d go get breakfast,” she said. The Seven Seas dining room is large facility. Nevertheless, I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t seen her there. Or why I hadn’t passed her on the way there. Or on the way back. Without the scooter it takes her half an hour to move 20 feet.

I’m certainly not going to call my own mother a liar. If she says she was in the dining room, then she must have been in the dining room. I couldn’t help noticing though, that for the rest of the trip whenever we passed our room steward (Lothario from Paraguay) in the hall he always had a knowing wink and a satisfied smile for Mom, but only a nod for me.

We attended the “shopping in Mexico” lecture in the Americana Lounge (during which Mom swiped two sodas), then checked out the ships shops. The casualty list was relatively low, Mom only knocked over one display of Tortuga Rum Cakes. We explored the rest of the ship, ate lunch and generally wasted time which is the best thing to do on vacation. At four o’clock we returned to the cabins to get dressed for Formal Night.

No one was brave enough to lead us to our table so it’s a good thing I remembered where it was. Mom’s driving had improved; she only snagged 2 table cloths. Nabil from Morocco proved again how attentive a waiter he was by having extra butter at Mom’s plate. She ordered the lobster tail and raved about it. I had the prime rib which was okay, but not worth getting dressed up for.

After dinner Mom was ready for bed. I dropped her off at her cabin, and with free time on my hands headed to the casino. Whenever I cruise I allocate fifty dollars for the casino. When the fifty bucks is gone (as it always is) then that’s the end of my gambling for that particular trip.

I don’t understand all the varied pay lines of the slot machines, and anyway, I don’t trust ‘em. It seems to me the odds are against you in Roulette and I don’t know how to play craps. I choose to lose my fifty dollars at video poker. I picked a machine at random and fed it a twenty dollar bill.

There were several variations of play available to me. I chose Deuces Wild and for each hand bet the maximum number of credits, which worked out to a buck twenty-five. My twenty dollar investment gave me 80 credits to play with. For every five or six hands I lost, I won a hand. Nothing spectacular, three of a kind, a straight—a full house once that paid thirty credits, which for me is a windfall. Eventually though I lost the few coins I’d won and fed the machine another twenty dollar bill. Nine of those twenty dollars were gone when I was dealt an Ace, Queen, Jack, and Ten of spades and a three of clubs. I held the spades and sat there for at least thirty seconds feeling sad and angry. It wasn’t nice of the machine to tease me this way when we both knew it had no intention of replacing that three of clubs with a King of spades.

Finally I pushed the “draw” button.

King of spades. Royal flush with no wild cards. I looked at the payout line. The machine operated on a progressive jackpot that kept going up until someone won it. When I was dealt the King of spades the jackpot was $6,240. I looked again at the royal flush, then at the jackpot amount. No lights flashed. No bells rang. Clearly I hadn’t won anything. I sat there for several minutes trying to figure out why I hadn’t won what it looked like I’d won. I looked at my credit balance. I’d had forty-four credits before this last hand. I now had 24,960 credits.

Not daring to hope, I pushed the “cash out” button, waiting for the sound of twenty-five thousands quarters dropping into the hopper.

Nothing. A message flashed on the screen: Please Call Attendant. I knew it was too good to be true. I raised my hand and the blackjack dealer saw me (Nancy from Canada) and she sent David from America to me. “Yes sir? Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know. I think I won six thousand dollars.”

He smirked. “It’s nice to dream, sir.” Then he looked at the screen. “Holy shit you won six thousand dollars!” he shouted and ran away. I looked helplessly at Nancy from Canada who shrugged her shoulders. David from America came trotting back with the Casino manager, Hottie from Who Cares, right behind him.

“Congratulations!” Hottie from Who Cares said.

“Frannit gleep,” I replied. “Bumblebox diggory zap.” After that nothing came out at all. My throat had never been so dry. I pulled a Mom and grabbed a mystery drink from a passing barkeep and downed it in one. Hottie from Who Cares had me fill out a form with my name, address, and social security number, then told me he needed to see some photo id. My passport and wallet were both in my cabin. I told Hottie from Who Cares that I wasn’t leaving this machine as long as it had 24,960 of my quarters in it. Hottie from Who Cares assured me that he and David from America would guard the machine with their lives and I was finally persuaded to go get my wallet.

On the way to my cabin I banged on the door to Mom’s room and shouted “I won six thousand dollars!” and kept going. I retrieved my wallet and ran back to the elevator, which took far too long to get to deck 5. It finally showed up and I pushed the 9 button. When I got off on deck nine I ran towards the front of the ship and into the teen disco.

Teen disco? Where the hell is the casino? Back to the elevator, and down to deck 8, then to the front of the ship to Doc Holiday’s lounge. Damn it! To the back of the ship…Americana Lounge. Where the blankety blank is the freaking casino??? It took me five minutes but I finally found it. Hottie and David were still at their posts, but when they saw me Hottie shook his head sadly and said, “I’m sorry sir, but if you take more than three minutes to bring your photo id you forfeit your winnings.”

“I see. And how many teeth are you willing to forfeit?” Hottie filled out a receipt for me and told me he left $10 in credits on the machine so I could keep playing. “Are you high?” I asked and pushed the cash out button. Believe it or not, the little yellow light on top of the machine started flashing for the ten dollar payout. I pocketed my quarters and followed Hottie to the cashier cage. Nicki from Belarus counted out sixty 100 dollar bills and gave me the rest in twenties.

Unexpected riches make me generous. “Are you allowed to accept tips?” I asked Nicki from Belarus. When she answered in the affirmative I told her to keep twenty for herself. Then I turned to Hottie. What about you? Can you take tips?”

“Yes sir,” he assured me.

“Indeed. How much of a tip would get you to have a night cap with me in my luxurious state room on the lowest deck, at the very front of the ship?”

He gave me an appraising look. “More than you won.”

I shrugged and tossed him a twenty, then beat a hasty retreat to my cabin where I locked my winnings in the room safe. Not a bad payout for a thirty-one dollar investment.

PROGRESSO

The pier in Progresso is four miles long. Fortunately we only had to walk a hundred yards of it before getting on the tour bus that would take us to points of interested and a couple of shops. There was no way to get the scooter onto the bus, so Mom relied on her cane. There were about forty of us gathered under the “Progresso Tour & Shopping” sign. They were polite enough to let Mom at the front of the line since she was feeble.

Politeness only goes so far, though. Our guide, a short Mexican woman with a ready smile led the way to tour bus a block away. She never looked back, confident that her group was right behind her, and soon she was out of sight. I could hear the grumblings and panic building up in our fellow tourists behind us, and soon they were in front of us, making a mad dash for the bus before it took off without us. I was in a bit of a panic myself and tried to hurry Mom as much as possible, but she’s only got so much hurry in her. She did her best, but we weren’t getting anywhere fast.

The bus was still there when we finally rounded the corner and we even found two seats together. It took ten minutes just to get off the pier, and then another half an hour driving into town. The driver described all the fascinating things we passed. “Look there’s a house! Look there’s another house! On the left we see a stray dog. Oooooh”

After a while the bus pulled over and we all piled out. Our first stop was the oldest cathedral in North America, and I have to admit it was beautiful. We stayed there for half an hour or so, then walked to some public square with lots of murals of Mayans being killed and tortured by the Conquistadors. Skulls and skeletons danced in the background as the Mayans were slaughtered.

During the brief walk from the cathedral to the square, dozens of local men and women, their arms literally covered in tacky souvenirs, descended on us. They didn’t say a word, they just enveloped us, arms outstretched, offering their wares. It was like a scene from Dawn of the Dead, only instead of zombies we were attacked by hucksters. Most of the women had itty bitty hammocks tied to their backs, in which slept babies of varying sizes. As they drew near I said “No thanks. Estoy bien.” And kept walking. Mom smiled pleasantly at them. They naturally interpreted the smile as an invitation to crowd in closer.

They got more and more aggressive, thrusting gewgaws and knick knacks at us. The men began shouting angrily at me, “Senor! Buy this for your lady!” Apparently they weren’t permitted in the actual plaza (reserved for tourists?) so they lingered on the perimeter while we studied the Slaughter of the Mayans.

Bathrooms were available at the square. The souvenir venders were all contained by the Neutral Zone, so I figured it was safe to leave Mom unattended while I emptied my bladder. When I went to wash my hands I noticed all of the soap dispensers had been ripped out of the walls. Not to worry, standing by the sinks was a local man holding a spray bottle of who knows what. “Soap, senor? A dollar a squirt”.

“All I have on me is six bits. Gimme half a squirt.” He did, but since I didn’t have any change left to buy a paper towel I relied on the ‘shake your hands real fast and then wipe ‘em on the seat of your pants’ method of hand drying.

Outside in the square, our group was heading down the street to the shopping destination. As soon as we hit the public street the baby-backed women and shouting men converged on us. The rest of the group, eager to avoid the street vendors, kept up a good trot behind our guide. Mom and I were soon left trailing the pack. As if Mom’s cane wasn’t slowing us down enough, we had to fight our way through the pack of people waving fans, wooden toys, woven handbags, and painted rocks at us. Finally, in my best high school Spanish I said, “we don’t want any. We aren’t buying any. Now go the hell away!”

Eager to drive the point home, Mom added, “How much?”

That was all it took. They descended on us like flies on a dead dog by the side of the road. I watched helplessly as our tour group rounded a corner. I had no idea where they were going, or how to catch up with them. Meanwhile, Mom is digging through her wallet, trying to find six dollars to buy a hand bag, ignoring my warnings that our group had left us behind.

Even after Mom completed the transaction we were still besieged. Is this how it ends? Abandoned in a strange land, sellers of painted rocks pecking away at our sun bleached carcasses? Suddenly the crowd parted. Our guide, she of the ready smile, had come back for us! The rest of our group had been deposited at a store. Our guide was content to amble back at Mom’s pace. Not only that, she shooed away the street vendors.

Twenty minutes later we joined our comrades at a local shop. I saw some skeleton pottery, similar to ones depicted dancing over the slaughtered Mayans. Mom was tired after her walk and found a folding chair to sit in. I said, “I’m going to the back of the shop to look at some pottery. Don’t go anywhere and don’t buy anything from anyone!”

I traversed the maze to the back of the shop. The skeleton turned out to be cuter than the ghoulish figures in the mural, but that only made it more appealing. I have no haggling skills, but it turns out my natural shock at hearing the inflated prices is almost as good. “Eighty bucks? Are you insane?” I turned to leave, which they can’t stand. I was physically detained while the virtues of real 100% terra cotta were explained to me. He kept insisting it was the deal of the century and I kept insisting he was out of his mind if the thought I was paying eighty bucks for a clay planter. Eventually he settled on $25 which was still too much if you ask me.

When I got back to Mom she was smiling triumphantly and waiving a fan at me. “Look what I bought!” she exclaimed.

I tried to smile back. “How much?” I asked.

“I bought it from that nice man outside,” she said, pointing to one of the ubiquitous street vendors. “And I got a real bargain!”

“How much?” I asked again.

“And it’s hand made!”

“Hand made? It’s plastic? How many Mexican orphanages have plastic factories in the back yard?”

“Hand made!” she insisted. “And he wanted twenty dollars for it! But I told him I wouldn’t pay more than ten! And he took it! I sure put one over on him!”

“You evil gringo,” I said. “You practically robbed him.” I didn’t have the heart to point out that the folding chair she was sitting in was next to a bin of those self same hand made plastic fans, selling for five dollars apiece. It wasn’t the hand made fan that made her so happy, it was winning the bartering game. I congratulated her again on a job well done and our guide told us it was time to head back to the bus.

There was one more stop, this time at a mall, but Mom was tired so we stayed in the bus. When we got back to the ship we had lunch on the Lido deck and then both took a nap.

At 6:00 I dropped Mom off at the elevator. The elevators on the Holiday are small, and with the scooter there’s not much room for other passengers, but that’s not why I dropped her off and took to the stairs. Every time she used the elevator she drove in with little problem, but then had to back out. She was forever confusing the backward and forward controls (and left and right as far as that goes). It took several minutes to get her out of the elevator, and never without banging into the walls or other passengers. When she did manage to find reverse she shot out like a champagne cork, driving blind, squeezing the accelerator, shouting, “Where’s the brake?” at the top of her lung.

It was much safer for me to walk up a few flights of stairs and avoid the mayhem.

After dinner we debated on whether or not we wanted to attend the Shout! show in the Americana Lounge. Neither of us were enthusiastic, but there was nothing better to do so we headed that way.

Daaaaaaamn! No one told me the male dancers were going to be shirtless from the waist up and in spandex from the waist down! I have no idea what the women were wearing, or even if they were there at all. Mom stole drinks indiscriminately from passing barkeeps and I ordered a drink or two myself, just to calm down. Mom wanted a camera to use in Cozumel so we stopped by the photo shop. She bought a camera (which is still in its original box, having taken exactly zero pictures in Cozumel or anywhere else) purchased a couple of photos from Formal Night, then headed for bed.

COZUMEL

Our Cozumel shore excursion was a submarine ride, so once again we left the scooter behind. It was deja-vu all over again as we and 50 other cruisers met our guide, only to be left behind as everyone rushed to follow her to the pier where our boat waited for us. I was convinced they’d leave without us, but I worried needlessly.

In fact, since we were “last on” that meant we were “first off”. The boat took us out into the gulf to another boat that served as a floating X. That is, it marked the spot, for minutes after the skipper cut the engines, the submarine surfaced off the starboard bow. As I said, I was first off and, following instructions, stepped into the hatch and climbed down a six foot ladder, then went to the very front of the sub and sat down.

I’m still not sure how they got Mom down that ladder, but they did. She says one crewman grabbed each of her feet and treated her like a marionette. At any rate, she joined me at the front of the sub. Our seats were on the left port side, facing very large windows. There wasn’t much to see at this point.

After everyone was on board, the hatches were sealed and down we went. Six feet. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred and one feet down! Mom and I looked out our port windows at a bunch of nothing while the guide described all the wonders of the deep visible outside the starboard windows. I turned around to get a peek but the starboard passengers were all out of their seats, faces pressed against the windows oohing and ahhing. I looked out the port window again at a bunch of green water and some sand.

For the next hour the folks on the right side of the sub got a show and a half while me and the rest of the port-side shlubs stared at a minnow or two. What a gyp!

The sub surfaced and again, I have no idea how they got Mom out, but she soon joined me on the boat that took us back to the pier. As soon as we got off the boat the skies opened up. This was no spring shower, but a real downpour. We sought refuge under a flimsy awning and a policemen took pity on us and fetched a ‘rickshaw’ taxi—a bicycle attached to a two-wheeled cart. It didn’t keep us very dry, but at least we didn’t have to walk back to the ship.

After lunch Mom wanted to do some shopping and we still had a couple of hours before the ship was due to leave. Since there were no busses or ladders to conquer, Mom retrieved the scooter. The gangplank off of the ship was pretty narrow. Anyone else would have slowed the scooter to a crawl and crept over the gangplank one inch at a time. Not Momma Kneivel. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! She cleared the gangway with no problem, screeched to the right, and was off. Other tourists and rickshaw taxis fled before her. I caught up with her at the end of the pier.

She checked out several shops and found some earrings she liked, but—what a surprise—she’d left her money on the ship. I bought her the earrings but now that I was wise to her, I distracted her whenever she approached a jewelry store. We stopped in a local pharmacy where she bought enough antibiotics to last through three plagues. After that she was tired and ready to head back to the ship.

The pier side of the gangplank wasn’t flush against the concrete. There was a two-inch bump that she had to roll over first. She had the scooter right next to the ramp, but even at full speed, she couldn’t get over it from a stand still. No worries—she put the scooter in reverse and backed up to get a running start.

We had to clear security before boarding the ship. Purchases had to go on a conveyor belt to be x-rayed, and we had to walk through a metal detector. If there’s more than a handful of people trying to get on at any given time, it can bog down, and the line backs up. People stand on the gangplank, suspended over the gulf between ship and pier, waiting their turn to go through security.

Picture it: Mom has backed up to get a running start while PEOPLE ARE STANDING ON THE GANGPLANK.

She took off like a shot and cleared the two-inch step with a mighty bump which jerked the handlebars to the right. the front wheels rolled off the gang plank as the scooter tried to turn right, then Newton’s first law took over and the scooter slid sideways up the ramp, plowing into a little old lady laden with shopping bags.

“Where’s the brake? Where’s the brake?”

I could only watch in horror as the little old lady abandoned her purchases and clung for dear life to the hand rail. Miraculously Mom did not skid off into the drink, which in hindsight is too bad, as it would have made a great story. Crewmen came running, shouting in several languages. Billy from Malaysia led the little old lady onto the ship while Gulzar from India and Kris from Georgia pulled the scooter back onto the gangplank and slowly guided it down the ramp and into the ship.

Once inside, Mom put it in high gear and raced through the metal detector and never slowed down as she rounded the corner to the elevators.

That night we had our last dinner in the Seven Seas Dining Room. I think Nabil from Morocco and Deni from Serbia were sad to see us go. That would explain why they were crying as Mom left the restaurant after dinner, dragging four table cloths behind her, a trail of dishes in her wake.

We had rough seas that night. So rough that a stack of plastic cups fell over without any help from Mom. After dinner we packed our bags and left them in the hall for the stewards to take away. The rough weather was such that just standing still took an effort. Perhaps it was psychosomatic, but my stomach started to feel a little queasy, even though I was wearing a seasick patch behind my ear.

Better safe than sorry, I always say. I went to my medicine bag and took out the rest of my patches. One behind the left ear, one behind the right ear, one on each arm, a couple on my forehead, and one more on my neck just for good measure. Within an hour I was so drunk I couldn’t blame my stumbling on the ship’s motion.

Mom stayed in her room reading while I went to the Americana Lounge hoping for more shirtless/spandex dancers, but alas, it was Talent Night and all I saw were American Idol rejects and unfunny comedians, all of whom remained fully clothed. (Although in the case of one of the unfunny comedians, that was a good thing.)

By the time I staggered back to the cabin and went to bed the seas that had been merely rough before were now downright hostile. During the night the ship pitched so badly that I literally rolled out of bed, though I was still so drunk on seasick patches I slept through it.

The next day we joined the queue to disembark. It took a while, but considering how many people had to get off the ship it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. We cleared customs with no problem. A porter helped us get all the luggage to the car. Five days on the scooter had done nothing for Mom’s driving skills and she slammed into the back of the elevator in the terminal and slammed into the back of the porter in the parking lot. We put the luggage in the back seat and I hoisted the scooter into the hatch, grateful that Mom would never drive it again.

Six hours later I dropper her off at her apartment, tired, but happy. I went on to the Mobility Rental store and unloaded the damn scooter for the last time. Damn, that thing is heavy! By the time I got it out of the hatch I was all in. My back hurt, my legs were sore, and it was just too far to push the scooter to the store. The scooter was designed to carry people up to 200 pounds, which means it was not designed to carry me. Nevertheless, if I put the speed up a little the extra power should be enough to carry me across the parking lot.

I took a seat, turned the key, and squeezed the accelerator. Nothing. I cranked the speed dial up a notch and tried again. Nothing. I turned the damn speed dial all the way to the right and tried again.

The last thing I remember before crashing into the shopping carts was yelling, “Where’s the brake! Where’s the brake!”