The Interview

Stacy, my contact in Fort Lauderdale, called to acknowledge receipt of my application and suggested that while she was processing it, I could proceed with my formal interview. I interpreted that as a good sign. Since going all the way to Fort Lauderdale was impractical, she put me in touch with Joe, a man in Alexandria, Virginia, who had been a host for years. I called him and we agreed to meet for lunch in a restaurant in Alexandria near I 95, convenient for both of us. I hadn't had a job interview in a long time and I was somewhat nervous, about what to wear, how to appear, how to present myself. I knew he would report back to Stacy and I wanted to make a good impression. I drew up a list of questions to ask, consulted Mapquest for the routing and set out, wanting to be the first to arrive so I could case the joint and compose myself for the interview.
I needn't have worried. Joe was already there by the time I arrived and turned out to be a very nice guy. About 60 (more or less - I'm not a very good judge of age), he'd retired from a facility management career with a Fortune 500 company some years ago and now acted as a consultant in the oil industry. Between cruises, he worked with oil companies in the Middle East so he traveled extensively and often. He was very forthcoming about the gig, telling me how much he enjoyed it and giving me hints on the routine. He cautioned me to be careful to spread myself around. Often, he said, one or two women would want to have all his dance time and one had to be careful to be sure no one became jealous. He'd had invitations to staterooms, which he always declined - going to one can get you kicked off the ship - and urged me to connect with the entertainment director as early in the cruise as possible. He said he always volunteered for every shore excursion but sometimes, getting back to the ship, showering and dressing, going for cocktails, then dinner, then dancing until midnight made a very long day. He also urged me to pay attention to single men traveling alone, suggesting that often there was one or two who'd recently become a widower and needed social care. He urged me never to volunteer for Cunard, saying their dance floors were like football fields, with whole cadres of women lined up against the wall like spiders ready to pounce on any host, and an entertainment director insisting that he dance every dance. He'd traveled mostly with Regent Seven Seas, a line he liked a lot. He also advised that my first cruise should be a short one so I could really see whether I liked this gig or not before I committed to a longer one. Over his objection, I paid for lunch and we agreed to keep in touch. I thought it went well enough. One more hurdle passed, I thought. And promptly got lost in Washington, trying to take what I thought was a shortcut home.
(I call this trip a "gig" because I don't quite know what else to call it. While I'm sure it will be an experience, it seems awkward to refer to it in that way. And it's not a job in the usual sense of that word since probably for reasons of liability, the gig is set up so that a host doesn't legally "work" for either the cruise line or Stacy's organization. That's made very clear in the contract. Instead, a host is considered a volunteer. So there you are. I'm becoming a gentleman host volunteer. Sort of like a man with no country, on a gig, from country to country.)