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 company.
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
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 of "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 my 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. 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'."
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 one-way?" I never understood why they always question if what I
just gave them is what they just asked for.
But I've survived to direct the lost, correct the wrong, comfort
the weary, 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 of 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."