Ropati was still getting his bearings in the water, though mostly out of an abundance of caution. His tub of choice had been sponsored by one of the vineyards he worked with; apparently, they used to crush grapes in it but got an even bigger tub. It had since been painted with the vineyard’s branding.

A drunk woman teetered past, and into a small young woman’s tub. Before he could even think otherwise, Ropati was closing the distance and sweeping a large arm out for her. Though roughly in the moving vessel, he managed to get his arm under her waist in the first attempt.

“Ma’am!” he shouted, pulling her into the tub and setting her in front of him … leaving him with the predicament: forward or backward?

The waves chose for them, and even with both of their weights the tub hurtled forward.