The Worst Deal in New York
It’s one of those terrible ideas that you come up with while entertaining a multi-generational party from out of town. The deal is suspiciously cheap for the promised “gourmet dinner cruise” on a “European-style, glass-enclosed Bateaux”, featuring “panoramic, breathtaking views”, and a “live band performance with female vocalist.” Your consumer hackles are raised, but how bad could it really be? You upgrade to the VIP section just in case.
The VIP section turns out to be a sort of frigid greenhouse on top of the ship, and the crew has some bad news: the heat isn’t working, and neither is the upstairs restroom. They hope to have both issues resolved shortly. Your family sits down, still dressed in coats, hats and scarves. You can pretend this is sort of festive since you resemble Christmas carolers, but you’re pretty sure the waiter is wearing a uniform from the Russian navy:
The menu comes around, and two drink tickets each. You order a gin and tonic but the waiter shakes his head in confusion, pointing at the menu. Long Island iced tea… dirty martini… a few other things you don’t especially care for. You order the dirty martini, but could it possible be less dirty? The waiter smiles and indicates that he will see what he can do, but you realize that everything must was prepared in advance, and there must be a bucket of vodka and olive brine behind the bar.
The in-law beside you asks for an iced tea. When he takes a sip of what comes back he nearly chokes, passes it to you for a second opinion. You try it and yeah, it’s basically a tall glass of rum. So he tells the waiter no, iced tea, please. The second glass comes back containing a strange two-tone concoction, which could also not possible be iced tea. This too is politely refused, and the bartender, who looks like a sort of exhausted Ms. Biljana Electronica, comes to see what the problem is. She explains that the drink is a virgin long island iced tea, which... I think that would just be an empty glass? The in-law asks for a sealed can of Diet Coke.
On the other side of the greenhouse a couple in eveningwear is nearly shouting at the waiter about whatever he had served them. At one point you hear the hilarious phrase, “You call this prosecco?” The waiter and bartender attempt to console them in fractured English, but they had already been incensed by having to go among the hoi polloi to use the bathroom, and the substandard wine was beyond the pale.
The biggest issue with a dinner cruise is that by the time you realize how screwed you are the ship has already left the dock. But two courses later it’s so historically bad that your family is laughing, and you’re feeling desiccated yet gregarious after two salt-bomb martinis.
You go below decks to stretch your legs. The seas are rough, and the main dining room is listing dramatically. The stench of disappointment among the diners is palpable, and any illusion of naval glamour is wrecked by the one guest wearing a hockey jersey. As the vessel comes in range of the Statue of Liberty a central-casting DJ sets up on the icy deck, two fingers thoughtfully tucked against enormous headphones as he busts out Empire State Of Mind. An aside: can we as a city retire this ruined and hacky anthem now, or at least put it in mothballs for the rest of this mayoral administration?
After the frankly bizarre main course the grouchy couple in VIP incites a full-on mutiny. The entire crew has assembled, the manager, the captain, the admiral, whomever else, and the couple are shouting, and have the attention of the entire room now. Grim epitaphs and legal threats rain down. It’s just awful to see this harried staff abused, and the tirade surely never reaches whatever villainous oligarch owns this floating scam, probably safely trading blood diamonds for munition shells in Monte Carlo. Afterward you walk over and try to comfort that waiter and bartender, but without a shared language the task is difficult.
“They are mean,” you mutter uselessly, patting their shoulders. “You… good. You do good.”
It’s no use. Your party is assembled at the gate as soon as the gangplank hits the dock, and you escape into the night.
