It’s what has to be done when it seems like the passengers are just going through the motions. All those ocean liners that hit the news after turning into massive, stranded toilets, they were no accident. It’s captain’s orders, always, to shut it all down when it seems like the people need a little nudge toward each other, when they need to be reminded just how much they count on each other.

Walking along the lower deck, I see them, families huddled together in the open air, as far away from their stinking rooms and as far away from the scalding hot sun as they can get. I see them resting in embrace, consoling and reassuring each other.

“It’s like camping,” a mother tells her sons.

“We’ve never gone camping before!” they respond excitedly, their faces and hands filthy from the lack of wash water and chapped from the constant barrage of salty sea air.

We give them heaven on the ocean and they don’t respond. So we turn it into a floating, excrement-sloshing hell. That sends them into each other’s arms, camped out on the decks under the stars where the air is still breathable. That’s when they remember what holds them together. They are each other’s comfort in a sea of adversity. For the next 36 hours, they’ll discover they might not have toilets, but at least they have each other.

Or not.

Some families are turning on each other. Their true colors are coming out. As I walk past I hear a little girl confronting her Dad about his secret stash of toilet paper and saltines that he’s not sharing with the rest of the family.

“You were my hero until today!” she declares.

Further down, closer to the bow, I pass a teenage boy seated alone, staring off into the distance.

“Shouldn’t you be with your family?” I suggest to him.

“No, ma’am,” he says. “I overheard them saying they’d never have come on this trip if they weren’t trying to save their marriage, and they’d never have tried to save their marriage if I hadn’t been born. So I prefer to be by myself for a while.”

I toss him a Capri Sun and keep walking.

This is what a cruise is for, to get away from the trappings of dry land and shine the hot light of sunshine on the truth of your family unit. These people will uncover secrets and reveal animosities they might otherwise have taken to the grave had they not booked passage on my vessel. It’s easy for them to be distracted by the buffets and the water volleyball. It’s easy for them to just pass the time. When I see that happening, I make the choice to act.

I’m their captain. Sometimes, when they aren’t feeling it, I have to do what I can.

I must keep it to 36 hours, though, in order to not attract attention. This happens often enough now that CNN won’t even bother covering a broken down ship until it’s been a sewer for at least three days.