Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.
As the day sets on our ship, it also sets on our trip. We got off the ship early in Greenwich to stay by Heathrow and beat the Mean Time rush, as we head home tomorrow.
Today, we started to get with our reimmersion back into our life in states. We are certainly tired and poor (tip rant to come), but haven’t been hungry since we left the airport. When they’re not feeding you on the cruise, they have you on continuous IV drip with a giant version of a hamster water bottle near your pillow flowing with frozen daiquiris. Although we kept up with laundry, the ship has a complimentary laundry room due to the length of their cruises. Unbeknownst to me, I entered the World Cup of Competitive Laundry with passengers fighting for the few machines. Of course, the Chinese Laundrists held the highest seed with their dominance in the spin cycle. However, the Australians, Canadians, and Americans fielded strong teams with Canada favored as the only Washerwomen who could possibly upset the Chinese. Sadly, the Russian Team was disqualified for doping. Scott began at 9:30am, but couldn’t secure a birth into a washer. I relieved him at 9:50a getting a machine edging out a polite Brit. However, I stepped out mid-rinse and was unseated by the Chinese, as I found my load removed. Although the British threatened by moving the Aussie’s laundry out and exacting a permanent press on the Chinese, the Chinese won the Cup. As my load took nearly 4 hours 15 minutes, the US failed to medal.
Now for the tipping rant. I believe in tipping. I’m a generous tipper. In my past, I have supported myself on tips. First off, there needs to be a standard monetary unit for tipping. I’m tipping in dollars in a place that takes Euros only to get Euros, but now need pounds. Maybe we should tip in bitcoin. While I have no idea what bitcoin is nor do I care to listen when someone explains it to me, I have no idea about tipping either. Sure, some is straight forward, but does everyone who gently strokes your luggage from hall to hailing a cab to cab to doorman to bellman to Scott moving the luggage away from the doorway deserve a tip. By the time we got to our hotel, I think I should’ve just hired a Sherpa and called it a day. As for on the ship, sure we had no problem overtipping the waiter, the assistant waiter, the maitre D, his nephew, and the cabin stewards, but is it really required to tip the crouton cuber, the Creme brûlée torcher, and the conga line captain. Frankly, I think that because we sailed with an entire passenger manifest of Thurston and Lovey Howells, you don’t want to look cheap. Meanwhile, as we are greasing the palms of every Stanislaus, Dick, and Harry; the rich probably don’t tip. While the service was impeccable, I wonder who do you have to know to get some towel art on that ship? A nice towel elephant would’ve gone a long way towards having me mine some bitcoin for that service. Of course on the way off the ship, as we were separated from most of our foreign currency except some Euros, the only taxi we could get wouldn’t take a credit card. Scott said, “Just give him Euros”. I said, “Sure from the guy who throws a fit, if you get a Canadian dime in his change.” He found an ATM, so we were able to make our Brexit.
As this will likely be the last entry in the log, unless travel brings the need for a Day 17 entry, thanks to all who’ve traveled along with us via these posts. Wishing all the Dads and the Moms, who double as Dads, a Happy Father’s Day. As Scott and I conclude our longest trip together to date, my dear husband turned to me and whispered, “You’ll have to get dinner on your own Monday night. I’ve had enough togetherness.” As Day 19-25 has me in Rochester, NY, Wilmington, DE, and Nashville, he can enjoy his soup for one come Tuesday. As they say in London, Ta ta for now!
Rubber Chicken 