Mackenzie's lunch gives her a bad feeling

Mackenzie unfortunately had another feeling. This one was rapidly gurgling up from deep down in her tummy.

As she teetered down the swaying cruise ship hallway, Mackenzie's lunch was well on its way back up. She was usually relatively fine when it came to seasickness, so she hoped it was just something she ate, but what she hoped didn't really matter at the moment. There was only one thing that mattered right now. With no trashcans in sight, Mackenzie needed a restroom, before she made a big mess of this pristine hallway.

Back while she was waiting for passengers to be allowed onto the ship, Mackenzie ate at a chili dog vendor on the pier. Getting that bite to eat was quickly coming back to bite her.

The redhead frantically scanned up and down the hallway, desperately searching for a bathroom. Then, Mackenzie found her target: a small lit up sign with a stickwoman on it, at the far end of the hallway. The same sign with a stickman was across from it.

Mackenzie grimaced and power-walked down the hall. One hand pushed her upright four-wheeled suitcase along, while the other switched back and forth between rubbing her upset stomach and holding her mouth. Although that did little to actually lessen the nausea, it eased her mind a little.

Over the intercom, a man's voice could be heard, calm and collected. He said, "We'll have rough seas for a little while here. Please secure your belongings within your room as soon as possible. Unattended luggage can be dangerous to other passengers and should be secured in designated areas within your rooms..." Mackenzie tuned out the rest of it, but it droned on about belongings and liabilities for a couple more sentences.

Mackenzie wished the rough seas would calm down a little. That would make it a lot easier to hold her lunch. She got most of the way to her destination, passing a couple dozen closed doors, and thought she just might make it...

When she was just a few feet away, one of the last remaining doors suddenly flew open right in front of her. A man exited the stereotypical kitchen filled with metal stoves and counters. He pushed a cart loaded with several silver platters right in front of the queasy redhead. He had on a white apron and the platters each were covered in an assortment of fancy snacks.

Mackenzie suddenly stopped, nearly colliding with the cart.

Looking down, Mackenzie saw that the nearest platter to her was covered in tiny little weenies on sticks.

"Excusez-moi, madame," said the surprised man with a French accent. "Would you care for one of my delicacies? They're complimentary for all guests of course. Perhaps one of the mini sausages that caught your eye, hmm?"

"Ulff-" Mackenzie let out a guttural noise that originated from places she didn't want to think about. The redhead barely held back the floodgates long enough for her to aim further down and narrowly save the man's delicacies from being showered with chili dog chunks.

Mackenzie hurled all over the floor, but a large portion splashed on her pants and shirt.

The man rolled his cart out of harm's way and, completely dropping the accent, asked, "C'mon, were the weenies really that bad?"

He turned to see if Mackenzie was okay, but only saw the tail end of her suitcase flying into the bathroom door less than ten feet away. He shrugged, continued rolling his cart down the hallway, and put back on his faux French accent to radio in a clean-up.