He says …

This saga unfolds during Echo Drop’s stint as resident musicians on a cruise ship. Strap in for a nautical tale full of twists, turns, and the quest for the elusive golden tickets – rolls of toilet paper.

Here’s the scene: Four months on the high seas, touring from the frosty landscapes of Alaska, down the western seaboard to vibrant cities like Seattle and San Francisco, through the engineering marvel that is the Panama Canal, over to the tropical wonders of Colombia, and finally culminating in the sun-soaked bliss of the Bahamas and Miami. You might be thinking, “What could possibly go wrong on a luxurious cruise?” Well, dear reader, let me tell you about the precious commodity that toilet paper became on that floating paradise.

It was like gold, and every Sunday, the ship’s staff would embark on a mad dash to secure their weekly ration – the coveted golden tickets. (We were in port on Sundays so that’s when it was stocked.)

Here’s the kicker: you couldn’t buy your own. As the tale goes, conventional toilet paper would allegedly wreak havoc on the ship’s plumbing. And if you tried to bring your own aboard, it would get confiscated at security on the way back onto the ship. Seriously. So, every Sunday turned into a competitive sport where crew members clutched their precious rolls, guarding them with the zeal of dragons protecting their hoard.

One fateful Sunday, disaster struck. There was no toilet paper to be found. Panic set in. And in a desperate bid for comfort, I hatched a cunning plan: enter the housekeeping cupboard, a treasure trove of bathroom essentials that beckoned to me like a siren’s song. It was only a floor above our staff quarters and we were in a sunny port so it was a quiet day. A perfect day for a heist you might say. I, in my misguided wisdom, decided to liberate a few rolls until the next Sunday’s replenishment. Was it stealing? Well, let’s just say it was more of a covert acquisition, a shit ticket rescue mission.

However, my escapade did not go unnoticed. Caught red-handed with my ill-gotten gains, I found myself facing the stern gaze of a no-nonsense staff member. And not just any TP totalitarian, this was the grand puba of housekeeping; before me stood the Chief Steward/Housekeeper. Yikes! On a ship this would be akin to trying to drive the ship while the Captain isn’t looking.

I searched her eyes and face for any sense of haha, lest I drop a funny pun like, “Well this is a shitty situation!” Nada. This woman was stone cold and breathing heavy. She’d scare the shit out of Jaws, and I knew I had an ass chewing coming my way. Needless to say, a serious scolding ensued, complete with a rundown on the potential penalties for my misgivings that included being sent home. I felt that the only response that would save my ass (literally) was to plead my case. Given the area of the world we were in (South America) my daily constitution was amiss due to the exotic food and drink. With promises on my part to never let my sticky fingers near the housekeeping cupboard again, this concluded my brow beating as she about-faced and was gone. No doubt, to track down some other heathen who dare take more than their fair share of moon floss. But, dear reader, I had my toilet paper victory.

And so, the Great Toilet Paper Debacle became a legendary chapter in our seafaring adventure. Lesson learned: never underestimate the value of a good Sunday morning wake-up call, especially when it involves securing the golden tickets that keep your nautical journey smooth and comfortable. Until next time, fair winds and a fully stocked bathroom to all!