A Supposedly Fun Thing That I'll Never Do Again

So, about this "fun" thing…

You know that feeling when someone tells you to try something once, just for the story? Yeah. I fell for it. Hard.

My friend, let’s call him Dave (because that’s his name), convinced me that a weekend “luxury cruise” was the ultimate escape. He painted a picture of endless buffets, gentle waves, and zero responsibility. I pictured myself in a linen shirt, sipping something with an umbrella in it. A fool’s paradise.

Day One: The Welcome Aboard

You step on the ship, and it hits you. It’s not a boat. It’s a floating city with a noise ordinance problem. There’s a man in a sequined blazer greeting you. Why? No one knows.

The buffet wasn't food. It was architecture. Mountains of shrimp, towers of jello, and a fountain of something that looked like melted crayons. I grabbed a plate and immediately felt a wave of spatial anxiety.

Where do you sit? Everyone already has a chair. They’ve staked their claims with flip-flops and towels. I suddenly understood the territorial instincts of a hermit crab.

The Activities (A Masterclass in Regret)

They handed me a schedule. It’s a novel. No, really. It listed 47 things to do between 8 AM and midnight. Did I want “Aqua Aerobics” or “Seminar on Key Lime Pie”? The choice was paralyzing.

I chose the pool. Mistake. The pool was crowded like a clown car. Every square inch was a person. You couldn’t swim. You just floated in a human soup of sunscreen and desperation.

There was a “deck party” at sunset. A DJ played “We Will Rock You” as the ship horn blared every 12 seconds. I looked at the horizon. It was beautiful. Then a guy in a Hawaiian shirt spilled a frozen margarita on my sleeve. Fun? That’s a loose definition of the word.

Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again David Foster Wallace First

The Food: A Glorious Abomination

You’re supposed to love unlimited food. I get that. But there’s a dark side. It’s available constantly. You can’t escape it. It follows you like a loyal, greasy ghost.

By dinner, my stomach was a war zone. I ordered the “Chef’s Special Pasta.” It arrived in a bowl the size of a hubcap. The sauce was the color of construction paper. I ate three bites and felt a profound emptiness. Not hunger. Existence.

Dessert was a chocolate volcano cake that took 20 minutes to arrive. The waiter smiled like he knew a secret. The secret was that I was now a hostage to my own appetite.

The Uncomfortable Truth

The thing about “fun” on a cruise is that it’s organized. Everything has a start time, an end time, and a staff member with a microphone. You can’t just be anywhere. You’re on a schedule to be happy.

You meet a guy named Gary from Ohio. He tells you about his timeshare in Orlando. You nod for 45 minutes. You can’t leave. The ship is moving. There is nowhere to go.

Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again David Foster Wallace First

I spent the last full day sitting on a deck chair, watching the ocean. It was the first quiet moment in 72 hours. The water was gray. The wind was cold. I felt alive. Not happy. Just not at a seminar about key lime pie.

The Escape

Getting off the ship was a declaration of independence. The moment my shoes hit the solid dock, I felt a lightness. No more buffets. No more Gary. No more margarita stains.

You know what I did next? I drove to a diner. Ordered a grilled cheese. Sat in a booth by myself. Silence. Heaven.

So, would I do it again? Let me be clear: Never. Not even if you paid me. Not even if Dave begged. Not even if the chocolate volcano cake came with a personal apology from the captain.

Some things sound fun in theory. Like bungee jumping. Or owning a parrot. But the experience is a wild, sticky, overwhelming beast. This one was a beast with a daily schedule and a synthetic buffet.

So next time someone says, “You should try a cruise! It’s the best!” smile politely. Nod. Then run the other way. Fast. I’ll be right behind you, probably holding a napkin with a stray shrimp tail tucked inside. Don’t. Do. It.