Don't want no more of the crying game.

"If I told you, you'd cry!"

Huh, what? If you did what, I'd do what? I'd cry? Uh, why? What was this strange little woman saying?

I looked closer at her, taking in the details. Short, round-bodied, her jet black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her dark skin made me think she was of African and Spanish descent and with her slight foreign accent, I felt she might have been originally from the Caribbean. Large, dark glasses covered her eyes and quite a bit of her face. Movie star glasses, I thought, the type you'd see someone famous wearing, when they want to hide. She sat hunched down in her wheel chair.

We'd barely even sat down, we'd smiled, said good morning, and asked how they were, as we lowered ourselves into our seats, taking our menus from the waiter. This was the way we started all our mornings on board, after our run up on deck. We always asked for a shared table, where we'd meet different people, hear where they were from, what they did, how many cruises they'd been on, and what they had done in port. Some people were more talkative than others, some friendlier than others, but all were happy and excited about their vacations.

"Oh no! That bad?" I replied, trying to sound concerned.

Nodding her head, she looked down at her lap in misery. The white haired man sitting beside me just stared at her, unspeaking until his coffee came. Then he started barking orders at me.

"Cream!"

I responded by quickly passing the small white cream jug, thinking to myself "The rude jerk!".

"Sugar!" he barked again. I wanted to tell him to at least say please, but the dark woman looked up and said it for me.

"Say please...", she moaned at him, cocking her head to the side. I had the feeling if I could see her eyes, they'd either be dark pools of misery, or hard, and calculating, like the children on the docks of Acapulco, as they tried to sell me chiclets and wilted flowers. Perhaps both.

The old man grunted. "I don't speak before noon."

Looking at the man beside me, I was able to see him in more detail, as I thought about what he'd just said. Elderly, white hair, pale white, very wrinkled skin. An outback hat on his head, one of those hats worn by the older, traveling set. The Indian Jones type. The hat, not the man. He looked a lot older than the woman, older even than my own parents. Did he not know it was rude to wear a hat at the table?

You don't speak before noon, I thought, and she is a pile of misery. So why would you ask to share a table? Why aren't you off in some dark corner instead of ruining my breakfast?

I kept my thoughts to myself, except to look over at Harold, to see my feelings mirrored in his eyes. Looking down the other way, at the long table, I counted another six seats, three on each side, three couples worth of a chance at salvation from these two. As if reading my thoughts, a hostess weaved her way towards our table, followed by an elderly couple. At first glance they appeared happy, friendly, our respite. They looked down the table, and as I heard their words, I felt my stomach drop in disappointment.

"We'd like another table thank you." the woman said, her husband nodding beside her.

I wanted to stand up, and call them back, at least demand an explanation. Did they know these two? Had they sat with them before? Played bingo with them? Been barked at or whined at by them? Oh sure, there was a pole right behind where one of them would have sat. That could have been it. I sure wish I'd thought to notice that pole and ask for a different table. Maybe someone else would come along soon, though. Someone who didn't know them, and someone who didn't mind the pole.

Our breakfast arrived, and we did exactly as we always tell ourselves not to, when in social situations. We stared at our plates, and ate our food in total silence. Misery stared out the window, sighing, and heaving her shoulders. Hat-man stared at her, as he ate his toast.

"Eat your froot loops." He ordered, and she turned back dejectedly, picking up her spoon and complying.

I suppose Harold thought there was still a chance at conversation, as he surprised me by looking over to the old man and asking him one of the standard cruising questions.

"Have you been on a cruise before?"

Hat-man surprised us by not only responding, but then refusing to stop talking. On and on he went for the rest of our meal. We heard about cruises and train voyages. We heard about how Canada charges too much for train trips. We heard about how they had toured all around the continent, never getting off the train even once, except to switch trains. It sounded like pure misery to me, and I caught myself thinking, "Perfectly tailored for such a miserable couple!"