This is just a drill

One of the first things we did when we got on the cruise ship in Greece -- after seeking Bekim's ill-fated advice about electrical equipment -- was to participate in a lifeboat drill. This was a mandatory drill, and as you can imagine most of us were not too thrilled at having to don an orange straitjacket and wait around a few hours for instructions. We would much rather have been sunbathing or exploring the ship, or even reading the instructions for the lifeboat drill.

I wish I could say that the drill was conducted in a manner of the utmost order, filling us with the assurance that we would all survive if, indeed, something really did happen. But it was more like a herd of errant cattle wandering aimlessly in the hills far from the homestead, tended by only a few cowpokes who knew little about cowpoking.

The lifejackets all had a series of numbers on them, which had some vague connection to where on the ship you were supposed to congregate. But because we could never figure out this connection, we just joined ourselves to the group that was closest to the beverage area. Finally one of the cowpokes told us that not only were we in the wrong group of cattle, we weren't even supposed to be together. My lifejacket number corresponded to a group near the gift shop, and my sister's to one on the opposite side of the ship. It was comforting to know that in a real emergency, we would, right from the start, be separated from our loved ones. After the emergency is over, I guess, you would be allowed to meet up with them, assuming you were both still alive and remembered you have loved ones.

We conveniently ignored this information and stuck together. Nothing would pry us away from the beverages! They were necessary to sustain us through the very long, extremely boring wait. We cattle just milled around, mooing at various decibels.

And then there was the little matter of tying your lifejacket. First of all, it is physically impossible to accomplish yourself, according to the way we were shown how to do it. You need at least three strong men who have an intimate knowledge of belts and clasps and knots. When the lifejacket is properly secured, the wearer gradually loses all feeling from the neck to the waist. This is so that if you do happen to perish in an emergency, you won't feel as much.

I had quite a bit of trouble getting my lifejacket to this point, and a cowpoke from another group had to come help me. After wrenching the jacket in several directions, causing the upper part of my anatomy to shift to various unfamiliar positions, he declared himself satisfied.

And just in time, for the whistle blew, indicating that we were to proceed to the deck for the captain's inspection. All was silent.This was not an easy task to accomplish, what with some 500 cattle on board, but the suffocating properties of the lifejackets helped keep us quiet, as we had little breath for any extraneous noise. Indeed, here and there a few of the weaker cattle fell over from lack of oxygen.

The captain -- who, I noticed, did not have a lifejacket on -- came striding on deck, his shiny shoes clip-clopping through the silence. He did not deign us important enough to make any sort of announcement but just went from group to group, occasionally pointing something out -- we were too far away to hear what he said -- until he stopped at our group. As luck would have it, he stopped right in front of me. I drew myself up as much as my straitjacket would allow, knowing he would be impressed at how perfect my lifejacket was. His eyes roamed our group; occasionally he would nod at someone, and then his eyes finally came to rest on me. His face became a mask of disapproval. He held both hands in front of me, as if to show off a particularly bad specimen of something.

"This is a disaster!" he said angrily in clipped English. The whole ship could hear him, and people pressed closer to see. "You would drown if you went overboard in this -- this -- mess!" he sputtered. And he reached out again, undid the whole thing -- air! blessed air! -- and expertly did it up again. I could tell that it was better than before, for now I could not breathe or move at all.

"There!" he declared, looking around at everyone. "That is the way you put on a lifejacket!"

I looked directly at him. With what little breath was left in me, I said, "But, sir, your staff members did this for me."

It was fascinating, watching his face turn that particular shade of red. At least, that's what the other group members told me later. I had fainted from lack of oxygen.