Maitre ‘D

Maitre ‘D (
Or as Greg tells me, Master of the Hotel)

“I am not going to pay the Maitre ‘D. What does he ever do for me?”

I actually hear people say this.

 I have a different feeling about pay that service provider.  Take for example, our first night on the second cruise on the boat.  We needed a table change and stood in the line-up outside of the Metropolitan Dining Room, waiting for our chance to get a different table.

 Everything was wrong for others.  They were saying,  I asked for a window table and I am not at the window; I wanted a table for two and I am at a table for four; I want to be with my friends; I want to change from late dining to early dining (even though the person knew when they bought their ticket that only late dining was available).

We are an accommodating five: any table would do, but we needed to have a table where we spoke the same language as the other guests at the table. At any rate, the Maitre 'D arranged a place for us and told us to come back if that was not suitable.

A couple of days we saw him pitching in, carrying the huge trays of food on his shoulders from the escalator to the serving stations when there was a crush of people wanting their meals at the same time. More food headed to the dining room than the waiters and assistant waiters could manage.

He arranged a lovely party, cake, music, all for my 73rd birthday – just had to say 73 again, even though Richard has ordered me not to mention the exact number of years again, since he thinks of me as still 50. Now the maitre d is finding us a new table for the next 7 days – not that we haven’t thoroughly enjoyed our dining companions for the last 2 weeks – just time to mix it up – 1200 staying on the vessel and 800 staying in Alaska to enjoy the natural parks for a few days. Most of them are taking another vessel down in the coast in five days, but we are in the group that are travelling on to Vancouver tomorrow.

Yesterday afternoon when I spoke to him, I told him that I needed some help in the evening at my dining table but that I couldn’t remember the number of the table. “I know where you are,” he said. “At table 335.”

O.K. That guy is doing his job, even though some think he is only there as a window dressing. Ajay is his name. Gotta love those maitre ds.

Arta