Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely

I ran up to the buffet today to eat a quick breakfast before we went to the mall. I got an omelet and sat down with Ellie, her husband Laszlo, and the saxophone player Narlisio. To make a long story short, Ellie asked me if I would be willing to do cabin inspections for her since she and Laszlo were going to Epcot that morning. What are cabin inspections, you might ask? Once a week, all of the cabins in the crew area are inspected by the officers to make sure that everything is working and there is no contraband present. It is basically authorized snooping, which is right up my alley. Ellie explained to me that she wanted to select her replacement herself because she didn't want one of the security officers doing it in her stead. My job would be basically to look in the bathrooms to check for general cleanliness and open the refrigerators to make sure no rotting meat was inside. I felt up for the challenge and agreed.

Ten minutes later I found myself paired with the Executive Housekeeper, a very nice woman who I had never met before but whose picture I've frequently seen on the many “Officer Collages” around the ship. She would knock on the door, announce “Cabin Inspection,” and then let herself in with her master key (or “Skeleton Key.” I should have thought to mention that to her and we could have talked about the movie). Ellie's responsible for the cabins of the dancers and then a few random crew members. There were only two awkward moments. One when the Shore Excursion guy opened the door in his towel and seemed annoyed that his shower had been interrupted. I stayed a respectful distance behind and let the EH do all the talking. Another time we walked into the Trombone Player's seemingly empty room. In an unheralded act of foresight, I knocked on the bathroom door before I entered, and a voice replied from inside. I spent the next ten minutes getting nervous about the potentially disastrous consequences. But Ellie had also mentioned that everyone knows when the inspections take place, so maybe these were acts of exhibitionism?

In all, I wasn't able to spend as much time in the rooms as I would have liked. The EH seemed much less interested than I was in examining each framed photograph, reading any of the lists left carelessly on the desks, or finding out what books people were reading. Later on, the rest of the cast grilled me on what I had seen (after they got over their initial belief that I was lying), and I wasn't able to give them many details: a bouquet of roses, pictures of significant others, souvenir photos from theme parks. We all agreed I am the worst person to do that type of job and for the sake of everybody's privacy I should never be allowed to do it again.