My Sickness, or Complaining About Noise Like I Am an Old Woman

Complaining About Noise Like I Am An Old Woman

Preface: I, personally, in life, run my yap a lot. I believe there are many proverbs about what you put out, you get back 3-fold, yes?

I just went all over the ship to find somewhere quiet to work. Another cast member told me to go down to the restaurants that are very busy at night, but empty during the day. Unfortunately people are already in there and there is already soft mood jazz blaring and it reeks of cigarettes and cigars and a bar. Another cast member told me to go to the place where there are crew Jacuzzis, which, p.s., are always lukewarm and people don’t like. The only problem with this spot is that, “well, it’s outside” which is fine, except for how being outside means you can’t see your screen except for like a square inch and then you lose your pointer and you have to sit in a deck chair, meaning recline, meaning fall asleep. I thought I could try a table in the card room, but they were totally full except for one in the middle and that would be weird and someone would yap to me. A cast member told me to go into the spa into the relaxation rooms. This was fine, although there was relaxation music blaring and 3 French Canadian women who decided to have a loud conversation and sit on either side of me and run their yaps over me and get up and sit down and walk around and yap and get more tea and yap and yap and yap. My roommate was in my room and so I went to the only place where there is enough white noise, and that is in the spa, in a regular chair by a sculpture on the wall next to a large fake indoor plant. A random passenger came up to me and said “no laptops in here” and I said “really” like I was going to pass out because I thought he was somehow spa security and he said “can’t you wait until tomorrow? Just one more day?” and I said “I LIVE ON THE SHIP! I LIVE HERE!” and he said “hahaha” because he clearly didn’t understand me. There were people running their yap there also, but the whirlpool is on and the motors are making a lot of noise and I can’t hear the blared relaxation music. Also people are having fun walking around constantly and a small woman came over and said, with a huge smile “DO YOU HAVE WIRELESS IN HERE?” and I said no. Everyone was in a deck chair with a bathrobe or a suit on, I had a laptop on my lap (appropriate) with jeans and running shoes and a long sleeve t-shirt and sat in a regular chair. Then my computer died. Aaah.

Today I heard “Red, Red Wine” in the Irish Themed Pub at 9 a.m. I heard “YMCA” while sitting in a hot tub outside at 5:30 p.m. I heard “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” in the Lounge/club thingie at 11:45 p.m. The unfortunate effect of hearing “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” for the 80 millionth time was that I was filled with black seething rage and had to immediately leave and go home, even though we got to the bar and sat down right at the beginning of “I’m Bringing Sexy Back.” On the way back to my room, I heard 6 different songs. I would say 7, but they play the same song on both elevator lobbies. This song is different from the one that they play in the all night diner thing with brightly colored stools. That was the instrumental version of Andre Bocelli’s song, whatever that one is. Andre Bocelli is how I decided to spell the name of that blind guy who is an opera singer. This song is everywhere. I am not swearing in the preceeding sentences, because I only want to swear, so please read this paragraph with all swearing, all the time. There was a different song in the atrium, there was a different song playing CONSTANTLY. There is CONSTANT MUSIC.

There is a church room, but they usually keep the doors open and it is, obviously, right by a heavily trafficked hallway. Specifically, it is on the way to bingo, which you can now play with an electronic keypad and you can play a crazy amount of games at once. By crazy amount, I mean something like, in the 100s. I feel like I am making that up, but I think I am not.

The standup on board never gets off of the ship at the ports. Apparently, he never goes out and he rarely leaves his room. He lives below decks. He is going to be on the ship for a year and a half, solid. He went home for one week to do his taxes. I am starting to see how a hermit life would not be entirely, deeply insane. This week, there are either 400 or 600 children on board. Next week, there will be 800 children on board. Last week I walked by the children’s center and they were all screaming. Clearly not part of a game. Clearly just willy-nilly screaming.

I have spoken with the lighting technician. He gave me his pager number so I can reach him at any time and have him open the back rooms of the stage, like the place where they keep the instruments. In my opinion, there is a magic room somewhere where nothing will change in my field of vision and nothing will change in my field of hearing. It will be totally silent and I will be born anew.

We also went to the same show again earlier and heard the same jokes:
“You’re Canadian, you say ay. Well, I think the Americans should say ‘be,’ because the Mexicans say ‘c.’” insert: hahahahahahahaha. This human always adds “uh” to the ends-uh of his-uh, worrrds-uh.