[1779] in Humor
HUMOR CLASSIC: Reservations of an Airline Agent
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Andrew Bennett)
Fri Dec 27 12:39:40 1996
Date: Fri, 27 Dec 1996 12:31:55 -0500
To: humor@MIT.EDU
From: abennett@MIT.EDU (Andrew Bennett)
From: Espacionaute Spiff domine! <MATOSSIAN@aries.colorado.edu>
Date: Fri, 06 Dec 1996 15:19:22 -0800
From: Carl Christoff <cchris@sba.umtri.umich.edu>
Reservations of an Airline Agent
(After Surviving 130,000 Calls from the Traveling Public)
by Jonathan Lee -- The Washington Post
I work in a central reservation office of an airline. After more than
130,000 conversations--all ending with "Have a nice day and thanks for
calling"--I think it's fair to say that I'm a survivor.
I've made it through all the calls from adults who didn't know the
difference between a.m. and p.m., from mothers of military recruits
who didn't trust their little soldiers to get it right, from the woman
who called to get advice on how to handle her teenage daughter, from
the man who wanted to ride inside the kennel with his dog so he
wouldn't have to pay for a seat, from the woman who wanted to know why
she had to change clothes on our flight between Chicago and Washington
(she was told she'd have to make a change between the two cities) and
from the man who asked if I'd like to discuss the existential humanism
that emanates from the soul of Habeeb.
In five years, I've received more than a boot camp education regarding
the astonishing lack of awareness of our American citizenry. This
lack of awareness encompasses every region of the country, economic
status, ethnic background, and level of education. My battles have
included everything from a man not knowing how to spell the name of
the town he was from, to another not recognizing the name as "Iowa" as
being a state, to another who thought he had to apply for a foreign
passport to fly to West Virginia. They are the enemy and they are
everywhere.
In the history of the world there has never been as much communication
and new things to learn as today. Yet, after asking a woman from New
York what city she wanted to go to in Arizona, she asked, "Oh... is it
a big place?"
I talked to a woman in Denver who had never heard of Cincinnati, a man
in Minneapolis who didn't know there was more than one city in the
South ("wherever the South is"), a woman in Nashville who asked,
"Instead of paying for your ticket, can I just donate the money to the
National Cancer Society?", and a man in Dallas who tried to pay for
his ticket by sticking quarters in the pay phone he was calling from.
I knew a full invasion was on the way when, shortly after signing on,
a man asked if we flew to exit 35 on the New Jersey Turnpike. Then a
woman asked if we flew to area code 304. And I knew I had been
shipped off to the front when I was asked, "When an airplane comes in,
does that mean it's arriving or departing?"
I remembered the strict training we had received--four weeks of
regimented classes on airline codes, computer technology, and
telephone behavior--and it allowed for no means of retaliation.
"Troops," we were told, "it's real hell out there and ya got no
defense. You're going to hear things so silly you can't even make 'em
up. You'll try to explain things to your friends that you don't even
believe yourself, and just when you think you've heard it all, someone
will ask if they can get a free round-trip ticket to Europe by
reciting 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.'"
Well, Sarge was right. It wasn't long before I suffered a direct hit
from a woman who wanted to fly to Hippopotamus, NY. After assuring her
that there was no such city, she became irate and said it was a big
city with a big airport. I asked if Hippopotamus was near Albany or
Syracuse. It wasn't. Then I asked if it was near Buffalo. "Buffalo!"
she said. "I knew it was a big animal!"
Then I crawled out of my bunker long enough to be confronted by a man
who tried to catch our flight in Maconga. I told him I'd never heard
of Maconga and we certainly didn't fly to it. But he insisted we did
and to prove it he showed me his ticket: Macon, GA. I've done
nothing during my conversational confrontations to indicate that I
couldn't understand English. But after quoting the round-trip fare the
passenger just asked for he'll always ask: "...Is that round trip?"
After quoting the one-way fare the passenger just asked for he'll
always, always ask: "...Is that one-way?" I never understood why they
always question if what I just gave them is what they just asked for.
Then I realized it was part of the hell Sarge told us about.
But I've survived to direct the lost, correct the wrong, comfort the
wary, teach U.S. geography and give tutoring in the spelling and
pronunciation of American cities. I have been told things like: "I
can't go stand-by for your flight because I'm in a wheelchair." I've
been asked such questions as: "I have a connecting flight to
Knoxville. Does that mean the plane sticks to something?" And once a
man wanted to go to Illinois. When I asked what city he wanted to go
to in Illinois, he said, "Cleveland, Ohio."
After 130,000 little wars of varying degrees, I'm a wise old veteran
of the communication conflict and can anticipate with accuracy what
the next move by "them" will be. Seventy-five percent won't have
anything to write on. Half will not have thought about when they're
returning. A third won't know where they're going; 10 percent won't
care where they're going. A few won't care if they get back. And
James will be the first name of half the men who call.
But even if James doesn't care if he gets to the city he never heard
of; even if he thinks he has to change clothes on our plane that may
stick to something; even if he can't spell, pronounce, or remember
what city he's returning to, he'll get there because I've worked very
hard to make sure that he can. Then with a click in the phone, he'll
become a part of my past and I'll be hoping the next caller at least
knows what day it is.
Oh, and James... "Thanks for calling and have a nice day."
