Brace Yourself for the Airport Ticket Agent

He sat on his throne looking like King Midas, or Genghis Khan.  No I am not talking about royalty, I am talking about the ticket agent at the airport, or the customer service representative at the mall, any person who believes they are in a position of authority due to their job description.  In my case, this ticket agent at the airport was the seat keeper, the keeper of the first class seats that I was coveting.

And he understood the power he had, and he yielded it.

He looked up at me, then back to his computer screen.  Obviously something on that screen was much more important than customer service?  Rather than saying something immediately, I waited patiently, hoping this gesture of good will, this showing how important I thought he was by not interrupted what seemed to be a very important computer something.  After waiting several minutes, I finally couldn’t stand it anymore so I coughed and said, “Excuse me?”

He looked up at me through his glasses perched on his nose, a stern look on his face at being interrupted at his IMPORTANT job.  I was not mentioning that I noticed his fingers not moving on the keyboard for quite a bit of time.  

“What can I do for you,” he asked in a nasally voice, emphasizing DO and YOU.

I almost said, “YOUR JOB,” but bit my tongue.  “They told me that I should check with you about seats available for 1^st class on the flight from Charlotte to Phoenix?”

He looked at me, acting like I’d said, “Sir, can you please take that umbrella in the corner and stick it up your ass.”  There was another long pause as we stared at each other, like playing some kind of game of war.  Who was going to blink first.  I felt like I had won, when he simply stopped staring looking down to his keyboard and started to type.

While I watched him type, a line started forming behind me as other people were hoping to find lost bags, or change seats, or get rebooked after a cancelled flight.  I felt the stress of holding everyone up, especially the woman behind me with a baby in her arms, a baby that took one look at me and started crying.  I started sweating, partially because of the baby crying behind me, but also because I noticed that he boarding passes put her and Napoleon there right next to me on the 4 hour 37 minute flight.

My eyes went back to the agent, who was not noticing Napoleon starting to scream, or me sweating, he was very intently typing on the keyboard, looking at the screen as if he were typing up the long lost scroll of the bible.

I waited while Belzebub’s screaming got louder.  Watching him on the keyboard.

What is he typing?  Why is it taking him so long to just check a flight for seats in first class?  He’s still typing, is the system

broken.  When he paused typing, I felt a moment of exhilaration, only to have my hopes dashed as he then went back to typing again.

I wanted him to look up at me, so I could silently communicate with him with my eyes.  I wanted to say, “It can’t take you that damn long to check if a seat is available.”  Then I would add with more glaring potential, “I need to know if I am seated next to spawn of Satan for the next flight so I can go slam down a few martinis and make the flight tolerable.”  But he wouldn’t look up, so I couldn’t communicate anything.

I thought he found his answer because he clearly stopped typing on the keyboard.  When I thought he would give me an answer, he went from typing on the keyboard to clicking with the mouse.  He clicked as much as he typed.  He just kept clicking shit making me wonder if he was contacting the Chairman of USAirways for confirmation of my upgrade to first class.  He just kept clicking while I just kept waiting.

“How’s it coming along,” I asked when I couldn’t stand the Exorcist playing out behind me.  I hoped he would understand my question, see all my eye gestures and understand the communication.

“The computer is running a little slow,” he said as he stared at the screen mesmerized.

No shit, probably all that typing and clicking overloaded the system and now you have to wait, which means I have to wait, praying Linda Blair behind me doesn’t puke on my clean shirt.  My eye communication changed from give me an answer to looking like Oliver Twist, big sad eyes saying, “Please sir, could you spare one first class seat.”

He typed for a few more minutes, I was planning on bribing the flight attendant to slip me a few miniatures of whiskey for the flight when he says, “Looks like you are in luck.”

The heavens opened, I heard angels singing, and Spawn of Satan behind me smiled for a minute before resuming his crying.  I walk like Gene Kelley in Singing In The Rain to my gate whistling a bright tune.

That’s when I realize he’s upgraded me on the wrong leg of my flight, I was already in first class for that one.

I hear a wail in the distance.