I manage a department on a cruise line. We have to go above and beyond for our customers, often to the point of ridiculousness; that’s kind of expected in this industry. This does mean that, within reason, we take a bit more flak from guests than the average service worker, but as a manager, I get to define what the boundaries are.
There are countless processes and procedures for working and maintaining large cruise ships, and I would bore you all senseless if I tried to explain them in this story, so it’s been edited for brevity and sanity.
It’s embarkation day, and the ship is a flurry of activity as guests board and hundreds of staff are guiding the guests around, delivering luggage, and generally doing all we can to ensure we depart on time.
I can see one of my guest relation officers experiencing some issues with an older couple. I hurry over.
Male Guest: “Can you not speak English?”
Guest Relations: “Yes, sir, I am fluent. As I was trying to explain, all guests are expected to—”
Male Guest: “I guess you can’t speak good English if you have ‘expectations’ of us. It’s us who have expectations of you, and don’t you forget it.”
Female Guest: “We paid a lot of money to be here, whereas you get to be here for free. You should be grateful you get to be in our country.”
I can see that my guest relations officer is having a tough time. She is from the Philippines, so she has a very slight accent, but her English is impeccable; it has to be for her to hold the position she’s in. I decide to take over, all smiles.
Me: “Hi there. I’m the guest relations manager. Is there anything I can do to help your boarding?”
Male Guest: “Yeah! This little girl here thinks she can tell us we have to be somewhere at some time! That’s unacceptable! We’re the guests, and we’re the ones that have to tell you what to do!”
Me: “I understand, but please note that all five-thousand-plus guests must report to their designated muster stations for a safety briefing before we can depart. It’s a legal requirement from the Port Of Miami — and from our insurers. It’s not something we can skip, I’m afraid. This was explained in your confirmation email—”
Female Guest: “We paid a lot of money to be here!”
She’s parroting that line again. Does she think it means something else?
Me: “Yes, ma’am, but every guest, regardless of their package, has to report to their muster station for a safety briefing. It only takes fifteen minutes, and you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of your cruise uninterrupted immediately afterward.”
Male Guest: “Where are you from?”
Me: “I am local to Miami, sir.”
Male Guest: “That’s not what I asked, boy. Where are you from?”
Me: “I was born in California, sir.”
Male Guest: *Squinting* “But you’re the same color as her! I guess they didn’t teach you good English, either. Let me say it clearer. We tell you what to do. You don’t tell us what to do. Clear?”
Me: “Yes, sir.”
They get directions to their cabin from me and off they go. This is going to be an issue and is a legal requirement, but I’ve done my job, and now I have to report them to my manager in turn. Their attitude is going to become their problem.
Something must be sorted out because halfway through the cruise, as we’re docked at a Caribbean island, I see the couple disembarking to explore the local town. I am set up at a desk that’s just outside the ship, on the jetty, explaining to guests what time the ship disembarks.
Me: *To another guest* “Please note that the ship leaves at six sharp, and you’re advised to aim to be back on board at least an hour before this time to count for any delays on your return to the ship.”
All the guests so far have been understanding of this; obviously, a 225,000-ton vessel has a schedule to keep! Then, that same couple from before passes me. Before I can say anything, they speak up.
Female Guest: “Look, honey, his English has gotten worse. He’s still telling paying guests what to do!”
Male Guest: “You’re right! I guess we’ll have to have another talk with his manager when we get back on board. He says he’s from California, but his parents must have taught him some weird dialect.”
I simply smile at them as they pass. There’s no point in giving information out to guests who refuse to hear it.
The day proceeds without incident, and as we approach six that evening the last few guests are running back onto the ship. (There are always a few.)
At 18:05, I am going over the final list with my staff, and guess who isn’t back yet?
Guest Relations Officer: “Shall I call [Port Office] and let them know we’re missing two passengers?”
Me: “Yes. We’ll follow the procedure. Tell them we’ll prepare to disembark as usual, but we’ll leave this door open for another fifteen minutes to give them every opportunity. Get all this packed up and back on board.”
Fifteen minutes come and go as we pack up our tables and gear, and I finally have to close the door. Technically, the ship will stay in place for a few more minutes as some technical checks are made, and I could theoretically open the door again if the passengers made a last-minute appearance up until the captain gives the final order. As the manager down here, it’s my call.
Guest Relations Officer: *On the phone, but talking to me* “It’s [Port Office]. They say that our guests have just pulled up to the front and are arguing with them. They’re estimating they’re about fifteen minutes away from us. What shall I tell them?”
I go over to the phone and take over.
Me: “Please tell the guests we can’t speak English.”
And with that, I hung up. The already-too-late ship departed at speed to make up the schedule.
I guess I just couldn’t understand their dialect of racism?
