Absolutely Funny Jokes

(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 "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 I asked 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 I assured 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.