Inspired by Teobi, so I thank her to the bottom of the lagoon and back! This is how all of the castaways officially meet, since the writers didn't show that part. Enjoy, and happy Labor Day!

They both gave each other one last look, squinting their eyes. Skipper narrowed his even more. Gilligan did the same, only they shut. He opened them, turning around. He went across the street, the Skipper the opposite. They both turned around again, glaring at each other, and then turned the corners.

Gilligan sighed with relief when the Skipper was out of sight. It was a bright, sunny day in Honolulu. The town square was buzzing with people from everywhere; Gilligan thought there were even some from Ohio! He held up the sign.

Two teenagers passed by, giggling.

"Care for a three hour tour of the isla—you're walking away from me."

Two men walked by, looked at Gilligan, and laughed. They walked away before he could say anything.

He sighed, certain that the Skipper had already got a customer, maybe two by now. The Skipper always out-did him, at least by three or four passengers. The limit for The Minnow was twelve, but they always got nine or ten. Business was only busy around the summer, but even then they just barely get twelve, possibly thirteen. Their tours were well-worth it, but there were a lot of other boat tourings out here.

Gilligan moved to another spot, seeing that the current one wasn't working.

He saw a woman round the corner. Gilligan looked down.

She was beautiful.

He started sputtering when she got close.

"Um . . . hello?" She was wearing a bathing suit cover-up, the straps of a black suit showing. Her hair was dark brown, and she was carrying a suitcase.

Gilligan finally managed to say, "H-hi. W-would you like to island a three hour tour? Er, tour a three hour island? Island a tour hour three? No, come-on-a-three-hour-tour."

She laughed. "So that's what the sign says."


"Your sign. It's upside-down." She pointed.

"Oh!" He fixed it, "So that's why people have been laughing at me."

Her delicate face showed sorrow. "Oh, people out here can be so mean!"

"It's not so bad. Just the other day, a man came up to me and offered his ice-cream. Even if it was almost finished and the spoon had dropped on the ground, it was still nice."

"Awww!" She stuck her lower lip out for a second, and then extended her hand. "I'm Mary-Ann."

He shook it, "Gilligan."

She frowned, "Gilligan? Is that a last name or first?"

"Well, it's my last name, but I don't like to be called 'Willy.' As a matter of fact, forget I said that, please."

She smiled. "Of course. So you're advertising a three hour tour?" She looked at the sign again.

"Oh. Uh, yeah—y-yes ma'am."

Mary-Ann looked thoughtful for a second, and looked back up at Gilligan. "I'd like to help you out here."

"Oh, no thanks. I have money and a home already."

She laughed, "No, silly! I mean, I'd like a three-hour tour!"

Gilligan's grin was still up. He had managed to hook in a passenger in less than two hours! And, with the sign upright, nobody was laughing at him! They were going to meet at noon, and it was 11:33 already. Gilligan hoped the Skipper had hooked in several people, it would be awkward to have two sailors and a girl onboard.

But nobody wanted a tour.

A couple rounded the same corner Mary-Ann did. They looked like they were arguing.

"But Lovey! We left the car running!"

"Thurston, it's perfectly alright! I told Smithers to take a small break if we weren't back in an hour."

"You did what . . . my dear?"

"But Thurston, I thought this would be the perfect time to relax together. Just you and I . . . on a boat...surrounded by the sea . . ."

He laughed. "Yes, of course my dear."

They both stopped in front of Gilligan. He was speechless. He knew who they were, they were the Howells! THE billionaire Howells!

"My dear boy, my husband and I would like a three hour tour!"

"Three hours!" Mr. Howell stomped his foot, but immediately settled down after a warning gaze from his wife.

"Y-y-yes ma'am. Sir," Gilligan couldn't believe it. Even if he hadn't uttered a word, he had gotten the HOWELLS to tour.

They were all together. Gilligan shook the passengers hands: a professor, Roy Hinkley. The Howells. Mary Ann. And then . . . Gilligan blushed deeply, too shy to ask for an autograph. It was Ginger Grant, one of Gilligan's top favorite actresses, if not his favorite.

Stupid Skipper. Always has to outdo me. But I did get more in number.

When they were all onboard, it was Gilligan's job to entertain the guests and show them the highlights of the Hawaiian Islands while Skipper manned the wheel.

The Howells chose to sit on the side of the boat, watching several dolphins that were swimming along.

"Oh, Thurston. Isn't this wonderful?"

"For how low the price was, yes. Forty-eight dollars, HA!"

Gilligan was too busy talking to say anything to them. "You see? Bottlenose dolphins. I think."

"Actually Gilligan, from the color of their backs and the general fact that dolphins usually travel in pods, this is a rare pygmy sperm whale! We almost never see this species anywhere but beaches! Does anyone have a camera?"

Gilligan had no idea what the professor said, but he let him go into the hold. "Anyway, if you look real close, you can see rain coming down right over . . . there. I-I'll be right back." He started running to warn the Skipper of the on-coming storm.

"Skipper! Skipper! There's a storm, a real bad storm, Skipper! And we're drifting right into it!"

The Skipper didn't look up from the sea. "I can see it as clearly as you can, Gilligan. Don't give it another thought, it's gonna pass right past us. We won't even see a drop."

"So we'll be safe?"

"Perfectly fine."

"Whatever you say . . ." He went back out.

Ginger was waiting for him right out the door. "Oh Gilligan, I wanted to ask you something, if you have the time."

"Sh-sure, Ginger. Anything."

"Well honey, off the subject you need to get to a doctor about that stuttering of yours. Maybe ask the Professor. But anyway, I wanted to ask you if we were going to be delayed? Because that looks an awful lot like a hurricane storm."

"What? Delayed?" Gilligan winced as the Howells got up, joining the conversation.

"Don't be silly! We're the Howells, no storm would dare rain on a Howell!" Mrs. Howell was lost in thought by the end of the sentence. "Unless, of course, this was a Powell storm, that I would get. That witch would do anything to get me out of the way . . ."

The Professor joined in the fighting as well:

"I for one think I should get my money back!"

"Oh, I need to check into the hotel and call my aunt and uncle by seven!""

"-I refuse to believe that Mrs. Powell wants me!"

"—And my agent's going to hear about this!"

"Oh, can you not see the way she looks at you every time you two are alone at the punch table? It's like a wolf and a deer."

"Everybody, shut up!" The Skipper came up behind Gilligan, making him jump a total of four feet into the air.

Everybody shut up.

"Now listen here. I don't know who told you this," he glared at Gilligan, "but we aren't stopping this tour for a little bad weather. I doubt it'll even hit us. If it does, we'll all just get inside, continue the tour from in there, and wait until it clears up. Just settle down, relax, and let Gilligan and I take care of everything."