10 Idiots and a Boat Party

As a boat skipper, I hate being told what to do on board. The girls started screaming at me that if I accelerated too fast, our towels would fall into the sea. The guys were howling and beating their chests. I pushed on the throttle to shake off the impact of a big tanker. The stern dug into the sea. And the crate of beer flew backward until it was lost in the water. That’s how the party started with 10 idiots diving without tanks but with bottles. 

It wasn’t a big deal. Most of the people who go on a bender on a friend’s boat can’t wait for something to fall into the sea so that they can rescue it. Of the 30 beers we lost in the water, we recovered 83. So, I decided to throw one of my rich friend’s wallet full of bills overboard as well, but we were not able to find it, and to this day he is still in hysterics.

Yacht manufacturers design yachts with catalogs in mind, not real life. That might explain why they all make the same mistake: There’s nowhere to put anything so that when a hothead takes the helm, it doesn’t all end up at the bottom of the ocean. You usually buy a boat to avoid falling into the sea, you and your stuff. That includes your drink, your cigarettes, your books, your phone, and your girlfriend. Manufacturers have only made provision for lifebuoys, life jackets, walkie-talkies, and the like. What’s the point? Even the most romantic skipper won’t start calling on the walkie-talkie when the boat starts to sink. Everyone broadcasts it live in WhatsApp groups. Your friends start to worry if they see that you have left the group in the middle of a video. There is no longer any chance of drowning in anonymity, unless you’re shouting on the walkie-talkie. Those things are only good for your drunken friends to radio illegal stupidities when the party starts to degenerate and you are unable to find the harbor entrance lights. You probably should have read the lights manual to know that those red bulbs are not Christmas decorations in May.

Luckily, when I do party, I choose my friendships wisely. A boat is too small a place to be with someone who annoys you, unless you want to throw them overboard as soon as the first hungry sharks show up. My theory is that all sharks are always hungry. Yesterday I wanted to prove it by sticking both my hands in the sea right after throwing in a couple of roasted chickens, and now I’m writing this column with my elbows and nose.

At the party we played music at a volume that could be danced to all the way over in Beijing. The atmosphere was so seaworthy that I was going to put a white cap on, but in the end I was overcome with responsibility and figured that the blue stripes on my polo shirt were more than enough. If you get carried away, first you put on the beanie, and then you end up eating cans of spinach and punching cruise ship masts to impress Olive Oyl, who’s always oblivious anyway.

Someone decided it was a good idea to grill some lobsters on top of the gas tank. And it’s a typical occurrence that you can’t say no to because, a priori, it seems a smart idea. I don’t think there’s a better place to get a good fire going. And besides, it was lunchtime, and the last thing that comes to mind is that something could catch fire in the sea. It’s like trying to light a cigarette inside a jug of water. But then, when you see the smoke stop smelling like a seafood restaurant and start smelling like a car engine in summer, you realize that it would have been better to hit the live lobsters in the back of the head and serve them as sashimi. I am an impulsive, talented cook. I come up with good ideas but only in emergency situations. Besides, roasting food is out of fashion. That was something cavemen did. 

On the boats we all imitate each other, like at weddings with that chaotic bread plate issue (which one is yours, the one on the right or the one on the left?). A girl brought out her sunscreen. I think the party was still getting started when all the people started slathering on the cream to the cry of: “You can get really burned out at sea,” but I dipped my elbow in, and it seemed reasonably cool to me. So the sun cream thing seems silly to me. Because all of a sudden people were dropping things as they slipped out of their hands left, right, and center. Keys, cell phones, money, and other personal belongings fell into unreachable areas of the boat, and one guy who was being hugged by his girlfriend slipped out of her arms and fell into the sea. We looked for the guy relentlessly for almost 30 seconds. Then we continued to party until now, as we try to borrow a piece of igloo from some Inuit so that we have enough ice for the whiskies on the way back. 

Translated by Joel Dalmau.

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