Popping balloons

I admit it, I’m not a telephone person. One of the reasons my job suits me well is that I don’t have to talk to people a lot: a quick note here, a short call there, but most of the time, it’s just me and the words on the page.

So I had to wipe an appalling amount of sweat off my palms this morning to call Alaska Airlines and try to calmly explain that their balloon display is a problem while my hands shook. I explained it to a patient Alice of Alaska twice, and then she asked to put me on hold. It was a long wait, as I anticipated. She returned, and let me know that my best option was to print out the boarding passes online, and then go around the middle part of the airport to avoid the balloons, and proceed straight to security. Unless I needed to check bags. Did I need to check bags? Um, yes.

Oh. Undaunted, Alice put me on hold again. When she returned, she announced that she had called the gate itself, and was assured that all the balloons were already gone, it must have only been for a few days. I thanked her, and asked her to pass my concerns on. She sounded relieved that I hadn’t said the word “lawyer” or “sue,” but I somehow doubt she’s going to take up my crusade.

So I cuddled up with my computer and drafted a follow-up letter, the old-fashioned kind with a stamp that am popping in today’s mail to the Alaska folks. While I was at it, I sent off an electronic note to Trader Joe’s, which they assure me will be read by a real person.

My brother, livid at the thought of losing his mechanic to latex allergy (An aside: I’m still having trouble with why mechanics need latex gloves—do engines carry HIV? Can they catch it from infected mechanics? Or is soap too expensive?), hollers that I should hire a lawyer, but the nervous toll of one phone call is enough for me. For now. We’ll see if I’ve popped any balloons today.