Frustration

I have since lost some of the perspective gained yesterday. Yet in the process of attempting to contact the two different airlines I was connected to yesterday, I met a few new friends. They don't really have names, but I named them anyway, to make our conversations seem more meaningful. They are the few, the proud, the voice-automated telephone systems of baggage claim departments.

My first new friend is named Otto, both for the fact that he is, indeed, automated, and for the fact that his male voice has a bit of a northern accent...perhaps Michigan, or Wisconsin, or Minnesota. I spoke with him many times this evening. Like many men I know, he pretends to have a hearing problem when he doesn't feel like paying attention to me, and he forgets my comments more quickly than I would like. We had a very meaningful chat:

Otto: Please state your last name so I can match it with my records.
Me: Swartwood.
Otto: I heard, "Whitney...spelled W-H-I-T-N-E-Y." Is this correct? Please say yes or no.
Me: No.
Otto: I'm sorry...I couldn't quite make out what you were saying. Please state your last name again.
Me: Swartwood.
Otto: I heard, "Ford...spelled F-O-R-D." Is this correct? Please say yes or no.
Me: No.
Otto: Please state your last name so I can match it with my records.
Me: Swartwood.
Otto: I heard, "Swartwood...spelled S-W-A-R-T-W-O-O-D." Is this correct? Please say yes or no.
Me: Yes.
Otto: Please hold while I check your claim.... My records show that your baggage has still not been located. Please say "Agent" to speak with an agent, "Delayed Bag" if you want me to check on another bag, or "Repeat" if you want me to repeat this message.
Me: Agent.
Otto: I'm sorry...I couldn't quite make out what you were saying. Did you say "Repeat"?
Me: No.
Otto: Please say "Agent" to speak with an agent, "Delayed Bag" if you want me to check on another bag, or "Repeat" if you want me to repeat this message.
Me: Agent.
Otto: I'm sorry...I couldn't quite make out what you were saying. Did you say "Delayed Bag"?
Me: NO.
Otto: Please say "Agent" to speak with an agent, "Delayed Bag" if you want me to check on another bag, or "Repeat" if you want me to repeat this message.
Me: Agent.
Otto: I'm sorry I was not able to help you. Please hold while I find an agent to help you.
--Brief passage of time--
Otto: I'm sorry, but all of our agents are busy helping other customers right now. If you would like to speak with an agent, please call back at another time, but please be assured that our automated telephone system will inform you of updates as soon as the airport is aware of them.

I like to think of myself as a reasonably patient person, but after about 13 conversations with Otto (which all ended the same way, of course), I became frightfully perturbed. And thus decided to call my next friend, who I quickly named Darla, not because I actually know anyone named Darla, but because her voice just seemed to fit what a Darlaesque voice would sound like if I ever heard one. Darla and I had a much more meaningful conversation, though her voice was dreadfully snooty and uppity the whole time, as if to say with her tone, "I can't believe YOU lost your luggage. What kind of a dreadful passenger are YOU to have to call this number and talk to me!" I didn't like Darla very much, and I was just on the verge of letting her off the hook when she decided to actually let me wait, listening patiently to elevator music, for an agent--gasp! a real, live, breathing, talking agent--to speak with me.

Ironically, I never got the agent's name.

But I declined "naming" her because she was nice and as helpful as she could be. (The verdict: Even though American Airlines was supposed to be my final carrier, the fact that I ended up arriving on a United flight meant that American had no record of me and would do all of their communication with United, and thus, leave me to do all my communication with Otto.)

So here I sit, typing about my new friends Otto and Darla, while I should be working on ch. 14 of my freelance project. But I can't edit in this state of mind. I can't focus on anything so task-oriented as that. I'm really ticked at Otto and his stupid airline, and I really just want this to be over so I can rest assured that I will be able to wear clean underwear to work tomorrow. (Ok, it's not as melodramatic as that sounds, nor as desperate with regard to laundry, but I'm still frustrated, so if I exaggerate a bit in the process, you'll have to excuse me.)

Yet even in my frustration, I remain irritatingly introspective. Is there, perhaps, some lesson I am meant to learn from all of this? Is this God's way of responding to the Christmas diatribe I wrote on Christmas Eve, where I said (to paraphrase) that Christmas was simply iconic in nature? My point was that my belief in the Incarnation and the meaning of what Christians pin to "Christmas" holds firm regardless of whether people call the day a "holiday" or whether it includes Santa and presents, or whatever. (This was all much more eloquently spoken in the initial work, rest assured.) But I didn't mean to sound heretical or to tempt fate. Really, I didn't.

So I wait, wondering.

I'm not asking for a boyfriend or for my masters to be finished already or for world peace. All I want is my clothes. And my Christmas presents. And my shoes. Is this too much to ask?