Waiting on Orlando

During every cruise there are one or two individuals who simply "make" your trip. On our recent cruise to Mexico, this person came in the form of our head waiter, Orlando. The first night at dinner he introduced himself to our table with a shy smile, and quickly beguiled us all with his humble manner and gracious service. "Something for dessert, Misses Soosahn?" "How is your steak, Meester Reechard?"  We were charmed.

Over the week, he told us of his family back in Manila. This was his fifth contract with the cruise line. He worked for seven months on board and then spent two months back in Manila in between stints. His wife in Manila kept the home fires burning in his absence, raising their three children ages 13, 10, and 8.

"My son ees now tirteen. It ees harder every year," he said, teary eyed.

Then it was time for the wait-staff entertainment, and we discovered a different side of Orlando.  This sweet little Filipino busted moves that would make a Chippendale Dancer blush! He shimmied and gyrated like a pro, and we were laughing so hard, I feared we might have to use the Heimlich Maneuver on someone at our table. (Whoever said that "laughter is good for the digestion" clearly never took into account the consumption of Molten Chocolate Cake after a meal of Roasted Duck.) "Does your thirteen-year-old know you can dance like that?" we teased him.

"Oh, no!" he said gasping in horror. "What happens on cruise ship, stays on cruise ship."

One night after dinner he entertained us with table tricks, involving silverware and water glasses. The next evening it was sleight-of-hand magic. Was there anything this shy little waiter couldn't do? We soon found out. One night he tried out a joke he'd heard on a transpacific flight. The punch line got totally lost in translation, but we all laughed anyway. We simply warned him not to quit his day job.

Late in the week, after a day when we'd all been in port, the unthinkable happened. Our table of eight sat down to dinner, only to be greeted by two total strangers. Two different waiters handed us our menus and served our bread. I glanced around the table and met several questioning gazes. Finally one of my fellow diners voiced what we were all thinking. "Where's Orlando?"

"Oh, they put him off the ship in port," cracked the substitute waiter. I swear, he actually sneered when he said it.

Someone cleared his throat. No one spoke. No one made eye contact.  In silence, we perused the menu options of entrees. It was as if we were all holding our breath in subdued anxiety. 

Then, by the magic of pure intention, Orlando appeared. And everyone exhaled. The tension at the table evaporated. Stories of what we'd done that day were traded back and forth, an easy banter of good will and joking.

And suddenly I saw the irony of it. For a week, Orlando had been waiting on us, attending to our every desire, our slightest need. But for one brief moment, we were the ones who had been waiting...waiting on Orlando.