Kristy Kelly: The Tampa Experience
I’m starting to understand all the Florida jokes. From fog that seemed unfazed by the sun to a power outage in a parking garage, my day was one long string of minor inconveniences that managed to feel much bigger than they were. It really did start with wearing the wrong shoes.
Let me say first that the cruise was wonderful, and I should never take up gambling as a hobby. I got an unreasonable amount of joy waking up to the sun coming up over the ocean in a jacuzzi, only to watch it go down as I paid to play slot games while fully aware the house always wins.
On the final day, a blanket of fog swallowed the Gulf and ruined what should have been a smooth morning. There is something surreal about dense, white fog surrounding a cruise ship in open water. When I was a kid, the school bus pulled over if the driver couldn’t see more than four power poles on the roadside. This cruise ship couldn’t even see the water. When the sun came up, I expected the fog to fade because that is what fog normally does. Florida fog apparently follows its own rules. Multiple cruise ships circled like hungry sharks while angry tourists waited for someone to blame. We were supposed to be off the boat at 9:00 am but didn’t leave until 4:30 pm. The chicken curry and a margarita calmed whatever instinct I had to be annoyed, and honestly the delay didn’t bother me. We drove home, so I thought it wouldn’t matter.
That optimism did not survive the parking garage.
We parked at Port Tampa, the garage directly across from the dock. After an hour of getting off the ship, we finally arrived with our duffles, ready to head home. A young man with a flashlight stood in front of the elevator and kindly pointed us toward the stairs. The power was out in the entire building. Our car was on the fourth floor. I will spare you the details, but it involved complete darkness, some questionable decisions by people around us, and two tired adults climbing with bags. By the time we figured everything out and managed to get out of the garage, it was seven.
Once Tampa was in the rearview mirror, I told my husband, who drove the entire way, that we were never returning. I am sure it is a lovely city, but it and I will have a strictly penpal relationship from here on out.
Now we are back. The sudden 45-degree temperature drop as a homecoming gift was a bit dramatic, but there is nowhere else I would rather be.
Of course, by the time this is published, that may be a lie. I am fairly certain I want to retire on a Royal Caribbean ship, sailing around the world where the temperature never drops below 85 degrees, and a man named Bernard keeps bringing drinks I do not remember ordering.
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