DAY THREE
(I never quite understood why one would get souvenirs for folks back home. What’s the purpose? “Here, this is a remembrance of the trip you didn’t go on.” I like giving gifts, so it’s nice to pick up something if you think someone back home will like it, but I get a little uncomfortable when the obligation factor kicks in. It’s like turning my vacation into Christmas.)
We toured a few shops. Getting something for my sons was problematic, since I established the rule that whatever we got had to be something that they wouldn’t stick in a drawer or closet and forget about within 2 days of receipt. For Ben, this narrowed it down to an article of clothing, since there aren’t any Alaskan-themed video games (note to myself: contact Nintendo with idea for Grand Theft Bobsled). Ditto for Sam, although Sue had one other idea. Sam has started a modest sword collection (before you pull your children off the street, be aware that these are “non-edged” collector’s versions). So far there’s only three pieces: a Claymore (some sort of English or Scottish or Irish thing), a Japanese sword, and a Star Wars light saber. Sue was thinking that maybe we could find a uniquely Alaskan contribution to his collection.
When we walked into a knife shop, I saw what she had in mind: a blade used by the native Alaskan population called an ulu. At first glance it looks sort of vicious; it’s a curved half-circle blade held in one hand by a handle attached to the flat part of the half-circle. It looks like something a Klingon might hide in his pocket. Trouble is, it’s used for cooking. Apparently, when it came to weaponry, the native Alaskans’ creativity stopped with the club and harpoon, and the wicked-looking ulu was used to cut vegetables and blubber.
Sue thought the ulu still looked pretty nifty on its little stand, but I convinced her that, in a collection of weapons used to slice and dice invading Visigoths, hostile Ninjas, and Imperial Storm Troopers, an Eskimo Veg-O-Matic wouldn’t fit in.
So we found Sam a letter opener with an Alaskan motif. I doubt if Sam will add it to his non-edged weapon collection, but since he’s always complained that he can’t open an envelope with his hands without destroying the contents, we’re hoping it will get some use. If someday he uses it to threaten someone, well, all the better.
Getting back onto the ship from Juneau was a bit of a challenge. I knew we’d have to show our photo ID and passenger ID; but I didn’t anticipate having all our packages x-rayed, and frankly I didn’t see the point. Once on board, I had access to steak knives and other sharp instruments. Heck, I could carry my five-pound Swiss Army pocket knife in my checked baggage and, once on board the ship, take it out and carry it around. So why was the cruise ship personnel scrutinizing what I bring back from an American city?
I still don’t know, but they were. I put everything on the x-ray machine conveyor belt that I could think of, then went through the metal detector gateway and, of course, set it off. I was about to point out my fillings and make up a story about my hip replacement, but I was told simply to step back through again, but this time don’t brush either side of the gateway, which had a space of about 18 inches between sides. It was sort of like playing “Operation” with my body as the tweezers, but I somehow managed to suck in my buffet-enhanced gut and get through the metal detector the second time without setting of any alarms.
That couldn’t be said of my packages. After threading
myself through the eye of the needle, I was immediately pulled aside and
asked if I had purchased a knife in
That night at dinner, at the late seating, Sue and I were the first ones to be seated at our assigned table. We knew the other two couples had arranged offshore excursions, and folks didn’t have to be back on board for departure until later that night, so we entertained the possibility of dining alone this evening. But the waiter (who’s the same every night) felt sorry for us, and insisted that the same couple that Linda had invited the night before sit at our table tonight for the whole meal. The awkwardness potential reached critical level when, ten minutes later, after we’d started our dinner, both of the other couples assigned to our table showed up. So Linda and Don volunteered to sit at the other table alone, which made the first couple feel bad, and resulted in getting them back over to our table by dessert and then the lights turned off, a shot rang out….
Just kidding about that last part, but it was more complicated than any dinner (which, really, is just putting food into your mouth, for goodness’ sake) should be.
After dinner we saw the show (a juggler who was quickly flown aboard when it was discovered that the entertainment budget was a little lean this week). Then we went back to the stateroom. Tonight the little towel animal was… well, I’m not sure what it was. Possibly a dog, or maybe a horse. Because of the ambiguity, I decided not to leave a tip tomorrow morning for the housekeeping staff.
All material copyright 2009 Chuck Thornton