Page 8 of A Perfect Disaster

Maika opens her notebook.

“Perfect,” she replies calmly.

Captain Duarte sits at the head of the table. At his side are the heads of operations, catering, maintenance, and reception. The cruise ship’s entire key team. People who are hoping this works out.

I hope it works too, although a part of me—the most honest and least convenient part—knows that ever since Maika walked through the door, this meeting has turned into a game of darts.

I project the close-up.

“For the opening party, the stage will be on deck eight. Recommended maximum capacity: three hundred eighty people. Two main evacuation routes to stairwells B and C, and a secondary route through the side corridor leading to the elevators, which are blocked off for operational use. There will be security personnel at these four points.”

I point to each area with the laser pointer.

And of course, Maika raises her hand. “God, but it hasn’t even been two minutes. What have I done to deserve this?”

Okay, I need to focus.

“Yes, Maika,” I say, and unfortunately, it comes out with a hint of sarcasm.

“Can I jump in?”

“That’s why we’re here,” I reply.

“The secondary route through the side hallway isn’t going to work the way you expect if we put the music and the bar near the entrance. People always move toward where they see lights, drinks, or a group of people dancing.”

A couple of people smile. I, of course, do not.

“The signage will be clearly visible,” I reply.

“Yes, but a passenger with a drink in her hand, elegant sandals, and zero sense of direction won’t read those signs. I’m telling you this from experience,” she notes, with a professional smile on her lips. “She’ll follow the crowd, the noise, or the guy who thinks he knows it all because he’s already been on three cruises and is wearing a shirt with palm trees on it.”

Silvia, from the deck, lets out a little giggle. I look at her and she composes herself instantly.

“I understand your point,” I say, “but the signage is part of the evacuation protocol.”

“I’m not saying you should remove it. I’m suggesting you accompany it with entertainment or security staff to guide the flow from the start. If we get passengers used to moving in two directions from the beginning, in the event of an incident they won’t feel like we’ve suddenly changed the map of the world.”

I watch her in silence for a few seconds. I hate to admit that the idea makes sense.

“The entertainment staff isn’t trained to direct evacuations.”

“I’m not talking about evacuations per se, but about the flow leading up to them. About preventing congestion before it arises.”

“Congestion is avoided by limiting capacity and demarcating spaces.”

“Also by reading people.”

That’s the essential difference. To Maika, people are waves: they’re felt, anticipated, and accompanied. To me, they’re variables: they’re calculated, contained, and protected.

And the worst part is that we’re both right. But only one of us has printed, backed-up protocols, plus an assignment I’ve earned through hard work.

“Reading people doesn’t replace a safety plan,” I reply.

“I never said that.”

“But that’s what you implied.”

“No. You’ve decided to interpret it that way.”