And now it’s time for yet another edition of, Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists! This one’s a doozy. First, though, I want to share with you a random comment that was made on my final tour of the season.
Guest: (speaking of our Riverboat Discovery cruise where we make a stop at an “authentic” Athabascan village.) That was really interesting. It’s good to learn about the savages and see how they live. (Noticing the mortified look on my face by merely hearing the Native people of Alaska that presented at the village who just so happened to all be graduate students in Engineering, and who, I might add, do NOT live at the Disney-esque village that is only there for tourists, she said,) Well, I guess they’re not called “savages” anymore, but they were. Now they’re what? Indians?
Me: Native is the appropriate term.
Guest: Right, that means the same thing.
Me: (Smiling as always, I issued my standard line when I want to leave a conversation.) You’ll have to excuse me. I think it’s time for me to eat.
WOW! Savages? Really? I don’t think native people have been called savages in at least a century. And maybe a century is too much. Let’s go with 50 years. Seriously. Savages? As Shaggy would say, “Yoinks!”
And now back to our regularly scheduled programming:
Rhonda, You’re Not Helping.
As much as I hoped it would be different, I knew it was going to be a bad tour. Why? Well, for starters, it was a Tour 13 (by far, the worst itinerary…and coincidentally, the cheapest). Also, it was my second Tour 13 in a row, as I had just completed one the day prior, and I was livid that I had to do another one (especially after the insulting tips I received for the one I’d just completed which were the result of crappy people (many of whom opted out of our last day’s activity, thus opting out of tipping me) AND the fact that we started our tour with a 10 hour bus-ride on a motor coach WITHOUT air-conditioning). But, I sucked it up and got up at 2 o’clock in the morning to catch the bus to drive down to Seward.
Now I don’t remember what weird thing happened on the bus ride, but I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities. My morning started with a creepy adventure. The first possibility was that this was the morning where I saw Anchorage as the bars closed, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Not only did I see all the creepers outside, a very drunk woman bumped into me, then ran out into the street, and attempted to get into a moving car. The cop that was behind the car that chose to speed off while she was holding onto the door, causing her to flail into the other lane of traffic arrested her as she screamed and pointed at no one in particular, whilst allowing the motorist who sped off to go on his merry way. After that, we started our three-hour drive to Seward and came within inches of hitting a full-grown male moose. The other possibility is that this was the morning I got into a cab, and as we pulled into the Hilton, a group of belligerent English guys tried to convince the cab driver to get them onto Elmendorf Air Force Base. The driver refused and got into a verbal fight with them before I was able to get out of the car. Once I managed to free myself from the cab’s interior (in the middle of the fray), I went to the trunk to retrieve my suitcase, and the cab driver attempted to speed off, causing me to chase the car, banging on the trunk. Luckily for me, he stopped after 20 feet, opened the trunk, and allowed me to get my belongings. Meanwhile, I was surrounded by an angry, drunk mob.
Neither was a good start to the day (at 2:45 in the morning), and one of them definitely happened that morning.
We arrived at the ship around 6:15, went through security, boarded, and grabbed some food in the Lido deck. Around 7:15, we headed to the showroom, and I met my group. They seemed okay. There was a family of thirteen that claimed they would be trouble. As it turns out, the one that claimed they’d be trouble was a pain in my ass. The whole family was a rude, though they were completely unaware of their behavior and thought they were a dream. Of course, in the beginning, I just thought they were making idle threats.
Our debarkation group was called, and I led my group of 43 hardy travelers to our bus. And which bus was I lucky enough to have? Oh yeah, that’s right, #869, the same bus I had exactly one week prior--the same bus that didn’t have air-conditioning, had rattling windows, and a smelly lavatory. How did I know the lavatory was smelly? Well, because I had 44 passengers, and when that happens, I am relegated to the back seat next to the lavatory, where it’s especially hot, and especially smelly (especially when the driver decides to put the trash bag next to my seat). Less than pleased? Yes. Optimistic that maybe, just maybe, they took my complaints seriously and fixed the air-conditioning on the bus? I made my best effort.
Everyone settled in, the family of thirteen sat in the back, and I set up camp in the front. The best seat in the house is reserved for the handicapped. How is it reserved? There’s a sign on the seat. If someone who normally has to sit in the front seat boards the bus, they know to sit there. No one did, so I moved a lucky couple (who I really liked) to the front seat. They were, by far, the most pleasant couple next to whom I’ve had the pleasure of sitting. I made a couple of rounds to the back of the bus trying to gauge the air-conditioning situation. At first it wasn’t too bad, but I had a sinking feeling that that would change.
On my first sweep, I became officially acquainted with Rhonda. She was the loudest member of the family of thirteen (who will heretofore be known as the Baker’s Dozen), and she was sitting in the back seat next to the lavatory (which happens to have a little desk area next to it as well). Seconds into our first conversation, I knew Rhonda was not someone I wanted to be near. She was the arch opposite of Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the very sweet couple sitting next to me. (He was American and she was a beautiful, reserved, polite, and very proper Thai woman). She was, in a word, class-less.
Rhonda: You know, I usually sit in the front seat.
Me: Oh, well, that seat is reserved for people with mobility issues.
Rhonda: The people sitting there are fine.
Me: Since no one sat there, and the coach is full, someone had to take those seats. The couple sitting there just happened to get them.
Rhonda: Well, it should have been me. I just had knee surgery, so my leg has to be elevated. (I glanced over and noted that she propped up on the desk. Catching my glance, she continued.) This actually works really well for me.
Me: Good. I’m glad you found a place to rest your leg.
Rhonda: The front seat is better.
Me: (Knowing that I wasn’t going to win this battle, even if I pointed out the fact that Rhonda was the first person on the coach and CHOSE to sit in the very back seat, I decided to walk away.) Well, I need to check on something with the driver. I’ll talk to you later.
The ride continued. The lack of air-conditioning was becoming more apparent, but wasn’t horrendous. I talked to the group about optional excursions and answered the most questions from Rhonda’s daughter, Janessa (which happens to be the fake name I made up at a bar one night when I couldn’t decide between “Jennifer” and “Vanessa”). Janessa’s biggest concern was that she had to pay to do anything fun. As someone that is attempting to sell optional excursions, you don’t really want to have a loud conversation about all of the free things that are available on the tour, so I did what I could to keep the question-and-answer period as short as possible.
We arrived at our lunch stop in Wasilla, where I fielded a myriad of questions about Sarah Palin including, “Will Sarah be at lunch?”, “Will we go to Sarah Palin’s house?”, “Why won’t Sarah be here? I paid good money for this tour!”, “Do you have Sarah Palin’s number?”, and on, and on. You might think these questions were facetious. In some cases they were. In many, they were completely serious, and sometimes, people got downright angry with me for not driving by Sarah Palin’s house (of which I’d like to point out that I was not driving, and I don’t know where Sarah Palin’s house is, and I’m guessing they don’t allow tour buses down her street). On one tour, someone accused me of forcing my liberal agenda on them because of this obvious omission from the tour. Let it be known that I NEVER talk about politics (and I have nothing to do with the tour-planning), so such an accusation is unfounded and insulting.
Once we finished lunch, everyone gathered outside of the coach (which was sweltering), and Rhonda’s portion of the Baker’s Dozen complained about everything. The food sucked. The kids were mad that the friends they met on the ship were on different tours (and that was somehow my fault?). The coach was hot. They wanted more cookies.
Needless to say, I was really looking forward to the next portion of the ride. We boarded. I opened up the emergency windows on the top of the bus, and we set off. As we were driving down the highway, I walked to the back to try and keep spirits up in the section where it was steamy to say the least. As I got to the back, I noticed that Rhonda switched places with her eldest son (who, with his love of D&D and social awkwardness, I pegged at 16, but found out much later that he was 19). She was now sitting with her 7-year-old son one seat up. A very sweet Indian family drew the short straw and ended up in front of her (and in the middle of the Baker’s Dozen). The mother and son were sitting in the seats directly in front of Rhonda, while the grandmother was sitting across the aisle with another stray member of the Baker’s Dozen.
As I walked by, the mother (whom I will call Mary), grabbed my arm.
Mary: Hey Cardelia, I have a quick question.
Me: Sure thing. What is it?
Mary: If my son were to lean his seat back, which he can’t do right now because someone is shoving their leg into the back of his seat, how would he do that?
(Rhonda shot me a dirty look and started to get worked up.)
Me: (Looking over at Rhonda, who WAS pushing the seat forward with the force of her bodyweight, then smiling at Mary and her son, Harris.) Ah, well, if that WERE possible, which I see it isn’t right now, it’s pretty easy. He needs to pull the lever on the side of the seat and lean back.
Mary: Thanks. I hope the situation changes in case he wants to do that.
Rhonda: (Yelling and looking around wildly.) I don’t have a choice! My foot has to be elevated at all times!
Gary (Rhonda’s brother): (Shouting from across the aisle.) Rhonda, shut up and put your foot down. You’re making a scene.
Rhonda: I will NOT put my foot down. It has to be elevated at all times. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I don’t. As it is, I don’t know if I can walk. It’s all swollen.
Gary: Then move back to the other seat, where you can put your foot up.
Rhonda: Too late! I’m already here. (At this point, Rhonda uncrossed her leg, then flung her bare foot over the seat and rested it between the window and Harris’ head.)
Mary: (Looking forward, with rage growing on her face.) I would appreciate it if you did not put your foot in my son’s face.
Rhonda: I don’t have a choice! I have to keep it elevated. There’s nowhere else for me to put it. (Then she moved her foot between the two seats in front of her, resting it between Mary and Harris’ faces.)
Me: (Knowing someone had to make a sacrifice and knowing that person was me, I quickly intervened.) Rhonda, how about you come up front and sit next to me?
Rhonda: I don’t see how that’s going to help anything. Where am I going to put my foot?
Me: I feel confident you can find a more appropriate place for your foot up front next to me than where you’ve chosen to put it here. (Mary gave me a thankful smile.)
Rhonda: I really don’t think so.
Me: Well, I do. Get up and follow me.
Rhonda: I don’t think it’s going to work.
Me: Why don’t we try it out. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll rearrange people, so you’re putting your foot into the faces of your family members. (Okay, fine! I didn’t say that last part. I just wish I had.)
Rhonda reluctantly got out of the seat and followed me up to the front. She complained the whole time. I got to the front seat, cleared it off, and let her sit down.
Rhonda: This IS better. It’s much less prissy up here. (She smiled at me, thinking that somehow I was on her side and agreed that Mary was WAY out of line. Then, she resumed to complaining.) My son isn’t going to be very happy with me up here.
Me: (Thinking she was referring to her older son who had set up a fort in the back seat.) He’ll be fine.
Rhonda: No he won’t. My 7-year-old will freak out if he’s not next to me.
Me: I think he’ll be fine.
Rhonda: No he won’t. You need to switch seats with him.
Me: Rhonda, I’m sure he’ll be fine. He isn’t alone. He is sitting with his brother, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I feel confident they can keep him entertained.
Rhonda was quiet for about two minutes, and then she started a running commentary of everything. When I say, running commentary, it was more of a running critique. She complained about the driver. She complained about the people sitting around her. She complained about the heat. She complained about the sun. She complained that she couldn’t see Mt. McKinley at any given time. And then, tragedy struck. There was a traffic jam.
The mood on the bus was far from good, mostly because everyone was hot. So long as we were moving, we were able to get slight air circulation. With the coach being stopped in traffic, we had nothing. I quickly offered up a game. Mr. Williams was kind enough to help me rip up scrap paper to make writing surfaces for everyone. As I finished up the process, Rhonda started in.
Rhonda: Great. Now what are we going to do if we all die?
Me: (Wanting desperately to ignore her.) What?
Rhonda: You just ripped up our Emergency Info sheets.
Me: No I didn’t.
Rhonda: Yes, you did.
Me: No, I didn’t. I ripped up blank Info Sheets that I brought in case I needed extra.
Rhonda: Those aren’t blank.
Me: Yes, they are.
Rhonda: Not the one on the bottom.
Me: (Flipping it over, to reveal the original info sheet with my handwriting on it, stating my name and the tour number.) That was the original. I made copies off of this one.
Rhonda: No, it’s not.
Me: Rhonda, I’m in charge here. I didn’t rip up the information sheets, and I don’t need to prove it to you. This was the original.
Rhonda: Oh, so you wrote up an example one in case we messed up?
Me: No. It’s the original.
Rhonda: Well, you still…
Me: (Cutting her off.) This conversation is over.
I turned around to try and rally support for the game, but was met with anger. Just as I was about to give up hope, the traffic jam cleared, and we continued on our way. The rest of the drive was filled with Rhonda’s running critical commentary and overheated glares from everyone in the back. As we rolled into Denali, I got on the microphone and gave them all of the information they needed, while Rhonda tried to interrupt me and pretend that she and I were in a private conversation. I finally bid them all goodnight, and went to unwind with my co-workers.
The next day, the group had a tour of Denali National Park. I arrived at the lobby to help direct them to the appropriate bus (they were split between two). Rhonda was chasing after her 7-year-old yelling, “He didn’t take his meds this morning. He’s going crazy.” Once she corralled him, she cornered me and informed me that she had to sit in the front seat. I kindly told her that she would need to speak with the driver about that. Her solution was to hover next to me on the sidewalk.
Her hovering made other people crowd around me. I announced that I did not know where the bus would pull up and that crowding around me would not help them get on the bus (that wasn’t there) any faster. Every time I moved, the crowd followed me. Rhonda would push people aside in her attempt to jockey for prime spot. The bus pulled up, and the crowd moved as a solid mob to where it would stop, despite my loud suggestion that a line needed to form. Rhonda, not wanting to get left in the dust, pushed her way to the front of the crowd, knocking people over. She then stood right in front of the door, so close to the door that it could not open.
I told everyone to take two steps back. No one listened. I made an announcement that if they wanted on the bus, they needed to take two steps back before the bus door could open. Rhonda refused to move, saying, “I need to be the first one on!” My reply? “Then you need to take two steps back, otherwise NO ONE is getting on the bus.”
She finally stepped back. The driver was getting off the bus, and she attempted to push him over to get on board. He stopped her, and informed her that she had to tell him her name. She then checked in all thirteen members of her family (who were several people behind in the crowd). She got on board, then she leaned out the window and started yelling to her family. “You’re all checked in! Push through and get on the bus! These people shouldn’t go before you.”
Her daughter yelled back, “We can’t! All these stupid people are in the way!”
Thankfully her uncle stepped in and told her she could wait her turn.
Then, I noticed the Indian family. They, once again, drew the short straw, and were on the bus with the Baker’s Dozen. I sympathized with Mary, and she told me that it was becoming comical more than anything.
For eight glorious hours, Rhonda wasn’t my problem.
The next day, we headed to Fairbanks on the train. Rhonda approached me at the train station.
Rhonda: Do we have assigned seats on the train?
Me: Yes.
Rhonda: Good. I’m getting so sick and tired of all of this pushing. People keep cutting in line, and they push their way onto the bus. I can’t handle it. I had knee surgery, so I have to be careful. I don’t see why people have to be so particular about where they sit.
I said nothing. I wanted to say, “YOU are the one that cuts in line. YOU are the one that pushes people. YOU are the one that yells. YOU are the one that is causing the problem.” Instead, I walked away.
The next day, we had our local day of sightseeing and fun in Fairbanks. Rhonda sat in the front seat, and her father sat behind her. He decided to use the opportunity to take care of every phone call he hadn’t made in the week prior. Throughout the whole tour, he talked loudly on his cell phone. Toward the end of the tour, I passed out my comment cards. As I walked off of the bus, Rhonda said, “So, basically, we have to lie about you on these cards, so the company re-hires you next year.” I answered, “No.”, walked off the bus and muttered, “I hate you.”
The end of the day tour was the end of the whole tour. It was time for me to get paid. Everyone lined up to say goodbye to me, and wouldn’t you know it, the Baker’s Dozen…well, they didn’t tip me at all. They had no trouble telling me about how wealthy they were, but they apparently didn’t think that they needed to follow the guidelines for tipping. In fact, most large families do not tip. If they do, they tip you as though their group of 15 people was one unit. Let me fill you in on a little secret, a 15-person family is comprised of 15 different people. While it may be one family, it is still totally inappropriate and very insulting to tip someone that had to put up with all 15 individuals as though they were only dealing with one (or none in this instance).
I wasn’t surprised, so I wasn’t all that angry. The one thing I would have changed was the fact that once I said “goodbye” to my tour, I had to sit in the lobby for another six hours meeting the people from my new tour. In doing so, I kept running into the people that stiffed me--most notably, the Baker’s Dozen. At one point, Rhonda’s brother and brother-in-law sat down to shoot-the-breeze, and told me all about how crazy there sister was and how they were very unhappy that the black sheep of the family had to be included on the trip.
So was I, because Rhonda, you definitely were NOT helping.
