I hate cruises. I despise them. They're the bane of my existence.

Thousands of people crammed on a boat, who poke their nasty fingers in the buffet after they vomited 20-minutes earlier from being seasick. 

Gag. Disgusting.

So I decided to book a cruise. Makes sense, right?

My goal for the trip was to disconnect, celebrate twelve years being with my wife, and now with our two beautiful sons.

We bought an upgraded package, and it was the first day of our family vacation. 

So I thought…

My wife and older son began fighting. Him, screaming his demands, and Nicky bound to teach him a lesson. 

The shower water dripped down my face as I watched the scene unfold. 

Then it hit me. 

In two-hours, I'm going to be stuck on a boat with these two.

What was a minor WWIII battle turned into a full-fledged war. Noah screaming at the top of his lungs, Nicky frustrated and slinging your-going-to-learn-your-lesson comments. 

It was a nightmare.

Loud noises enter my brain but slam against it like a semi-truck crashing into a bridge.

It causes immense anxiety.

After several minutes, which felt like hours, things began to settle. The tension in the air was starting to ease. 

Then it hit me again. 

We have a ninety-minute drive to the port, and no one is happy.

My vacation has started as a failure.

As we drove, the sky was crisp blue. A beautiful Florida morning. Not too hot. Perfect. 

It was the type of sky you see and think to yourself, when I die, I want to enter heaven through this.

We successfully made it to Port Canaveral. Both kids fell asleep.

I slowly pulled up to the parking lot, which is located right next to the fourteen-story ship. 

The customer experience journey starts at first contact. 

I rolled my windows down to ask the parking attendant if we were in the right spot. 

He looks at me, and says, "yup, just head to the top floor of this parking garage, we're full."

At that moment, I wanted to die. Again. "I knew the drive went too easy," I thought. 

A full parking lot means there's a shit ton of people on the boat or waiting to get on the ship. 

My mind races, and I compare it to having to wait in a crowded airport security line.

My heart begins to pump—my fists clench. I already hate this boat.

We get the boys out of the car and head down the elevator to where we need to check-in. 

They take our luggage and explain it'll be waiting for us outside our room. 

Easy enough. 

Then I see them. 

The doors that I'll have to enter to check-in. There's going to be hundreds of people breathing on each other's necks. 

I'm not excited. 

We enter the doors, and ALL the staff smile. Two older women walk up and begin talking to our sons. 

They're sweet.

As we do, a gentleman speaks to my wife. She uploaded our pictures to their system days prior. 

He quickly confirms and hands us a check-in slip. We enter a short screening line. There's only one person in front of us. 

As soon as we entered, we exited. 

I'm amazed at how fast we've been screened.

An older gentlemen walk us to the elevator since we had a stroller. 

I look at him and say, "This is so smooth." He smiles and replies, "they've made it that way." This process was meticulously thought through.

From the parking lot to our vacation, starting in our room was less than thirty minutes.

The moral of this story is this; Royal Caribbean reduced all of the friction you feel during the boarding process. 

Yes, it's likely because we paid a little extra, but it's worth it. 

After this vacation, my wife and I tried to think about the negative parts of being on the ship. We couldn't think of one. 

The staff was well trained, genuine, and sincerely wanted to help. Everything was clean and organized. 

They reduced ninety-nine percent of the friction from our entire trip. 

Everything was seamless and simple.

They now have a LOYAL and REPEAT client. 

I will not take another cruise, even if they paid me. Okay, maybe if they paid me, but you get my point.