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. A've done nothing 
during my conversational confrontations to indicate that I couldn't 
understand English.  But after quoting the _round-trip_ fair 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."