Needed to change my flight in order to recover from Irene before coping with a transcontinental dose of high-altitude radiation, cramping & low-grade hypoxia. On the advice of my lovely travel agent at Pacific Harbor Travel, I called JetBlue directly: hi, I’m disabled, I have to change my flight due to Irene.
Unfortunately I missed their Irene fee waiver by one day. Okay, distasteful but I can respect their limit.
Seating was a problem. The staffer was very sweet and very insistent about having no window seats … but on a later flight, there is one on the aisle.
After being straight-faced and literal about my limitations, then hearing her say “aisle seat” with a straight face, I sorta gave up. I confessed, “I would rather be BEATEN with a CATTLE PROD than sit in an aisle seat.”
I didn’t shout, I really didn’t. But I know there was a certain amount of top-spin on the words, because the person in front of me on the bus flinched.
Things changed. I won’t use her words because they were ignorant and would sound too harsh without the audible melting that happened, but she found me exactly the seat I’d have ordered if I had the whole cattlecar to choose from.
I hate bitching about this condition and I don’t like to be so explicit about what it does to me, but sometimes that’s what it takes. So this evening I’ll raise a glass (or mug) to, “Humanity — in spite of ourselves.”
Sometimes it’s useful for the rest of us to know exactly what it does to you. And we don’t think it’s whinging. Hugs – or oops is that too ouchy