A Splash Of Misunderstanding

I’m giving the usual safety speech for my group on the White-Water Rapids Tour.

Me: “Alright, everyone, expect a lot of turbulence. Keep your feet inside the raft, listen to commands, and—”

A hand shoots up from the back.

Tourist: “Will we get wet?”

There’s a ripple of laughter. I chuckle too, assuming he’s joking.

Me: “Uh… yes. Very.”

Tourist: “No, seriously. I need to know if I’ll get wet.”

The laughter dies, and I realize he’s dead serious.

Me: “Sir… this is white water rafting. The raft will hit waves. Water will splash. That’s… the entire thing.”

Tourist: “Okay, but which seat gets the least wet? I’ll take that one.”

Me: “…None of them.”

Tourist: “What do you mean none? There has to be one. Like the middle seat on a log flume.”

Me: “This isn’t Disneyland. There’s no ‘dry seat.’ This is a river. It does what it wants.”

Tourist: “This is absolutely not what I was sold. The brochure didn’t say anything about getting soaked!”

Me: “The brochure is literally titled ‘Conquer the Rapids.'”

He stomps off to complain to my manager. After the tour heads out, I find the manager by the gear shed and vent. The manager sighs.

Manager: “A few more years here, and you’ll realize how sadly common that is. My first year I had someone ask what we did with all the rocks after ‘the ride.'”

Me: “…What?”

Manager: “I told him we let all the air out and pack them up every evening.”