The Big Man on the Boat

    This guy has not left my head. Not the man pictured below. The one in my brain is the one that I will tell you about. Verbal descriptions, nothing too special.

    He may bespeak life, or some aspects of life that I think about. In the winter where I am trying to cut the extra 15 pounds of extra weight that plague me, I think of this guy as perhaps typical or stereotypical of things. My bosses, my organization that I work for part time want me at 208 pounds. I want me around 215. I am at and around 225. Too much. I have to find the right balance. There is balance in life. Not going too hard, not too soft. Not too fast, not too slow. Going just right. Hard to find, a lot of times.

    This man was in the cafeteria open to all us customers near the back of the ship, deck number 9. I think. Or ten. There were a lot of people eating, there were tables by the windows looking out on the local port. Starboard side, I believe. Was it before we left, still docked? Had we finished our day on the Bahamian island? I wanted to sit close to the water horizon, and the part of the island by where we were docked, and see the things that I do not normally see. Boats, like a fast one with an outboard motor, or a tug, or a smaller cargo ship, scooting below us. We were high up, as I described. I think at this point I saw houses with their inland connections to the harbor, and not far on the other side the open ocean to the north.

    Freeport. A place, or city location, that captured my attention back in the 1980s because of USA Today, the national newspaper, the data source of my younger years. Especially when on vacation, I acquired this information diversion, like the vacation that I found myself on a month ago. Back to the good old days. Once is not enough, I heard the song again live the day before in Nassau.

    I am certainly no longer a young man; I hear and see things, I believe, with a more critical ear, heart, mind. I can be critical, surely, as I am criticized, and I find faults in others. But at least I like to write and I think I can make some hay from such matters. Here's hoping!

    This big man, perhaps in a Polo shirt, perhaps sporting long pants, came to the table of his children, in their late teens or early 20s, loudly complaining that the lines were the worst that he had ever seen and that he did not get any food. He was tall, and large. His belly would make some Santa Clauses appear feeble. His face was nothing to write home about, also girthy or stout, or plump, as you will.

    I looked at him and them (his progeny, normal sized) ahead of me, alone at my table, and the water and beaches and ocean to my right. Starboard side. 

    Complaints of long lines, obviously hungry, now "hangry": hungry-angy. Grumpy. This man was used to eating quite a bit. Like a few people on our ship. One of four thousand tourists, I heard said. How many of us were obese? Half? Maybe not that many.

    He sat, complained, spoke with his kids. I did not want to pay that much attention, but I guess I did.

    Modern problems. First world issues. Spoiled and fat, and getting fatter. I think I had a hot chocolate, but probably a few things from the more easily accessible dessert bar. I did not need much. I ate and drank well the whole cruise, by the way. No complaints from me, about my intake. I could find easier lines to infiltrate. My complaints could revolve around the concerns of others. Observe closely.

    Yes, I was fine with my tastes and purchases.

    I purchased two Bahama Mamas on the Grand Bahama beach, sans alcohol. Those parts are the trick, I surmised, since it had coconut rum and a couple other rum or tropical tastes. I did not get the coconut flavor because I am the opposite of a lush. I am a teetotaler, and happy for it. Less calories, less money expended, more memories saved. The religious part is apart from that, if you get my drift. 

    Less issues, keep it alcohol-free.

    This guy, he did not need spirits and sudsy libations now, he needed food. Substance.

    Gracefully and fortuitously, or on cue, his normal-sized wife appeared with a full plate of food for him. He accepted it. She had conquered the "worst lines ever", and came through as the hero of the hungry, big, grumpy man. He was assuaged. Thankful, I am sure. Filling his mouth, and his formidable gut.

    It was big, this gentleman's belly; too big for any healthy person, even for a tackle or center in the National Football League. The Eagles and Chiefs won last night, by the way. On to the Conference championships next week. But I digress. We are talking the week before Christmas, not the week before Chinese New Year.

    His stomach was big, his eyes were the same, for this reason. His mouth and voice and attitude were large, for these reasons. He had paid for food, and he needed it. More than most, I presume. He got it. Families work together, an efficient economy.

    This is my tale of the big man on the boat. 

    And life moved on.

[This guy pictured, below, from a random Google shot was smaller than the man I observed. Thanks, though, random Google image!] Ugly American? You tell me. We get used to what we are surrounded by and exposed to.   

I am the random observer making a deal out of this thing. It has stayed with me, and now maybe will stick with you.

Poor guy. Poor me. Woe is life on a cruise ship.