Modern Woman

WARNING: I am about to complain about a first-world problem.

You know, the problems that are completely inconsequential when compared with say, the issues faced by starving children in third-world countries or women being attacked on the streets of countries at war.

Or the very real problems faced by the disadvantaged and underprivileged in our own communities.

But - I am not one of those people. I am an extremely privileged and paid-up citizen of a first-world country and dammit, at times, when I have a problem I feel like complaining.

Let's say you were due to catch a plane (politeness forbids me from saying which airline but let's just say it was started by an English billionaire with a penchant for adventure sports and facial hair worn in a style far too young for him) and that flight was cancelled.

Fair enough. I'd much rather airlines grounded planes at the first hint of a dodgy service trolley wheel than send the buggers up with a well-it- will-probably-get-there attitude.

But they could have let me know.

When you buy a plane ticket you give the chaste airline enough information so they could mortgage a house in your name, including your mobile phone number. Not that difficult to let the hundred odd inconvenienced people know via one automated text message the flight has been cancelled and there's a very nice bus waiting to take you to Brisbane to catch another flight to Melbourne and that your connecting flight to Tasmania that you've now missed has been rebooked.

But no.

I queued three times for more than an hour and a half to then be told about the nice bus. One shouty person with a clipboard could have told me that in less than two minutes.

Words that would have made me feel slightly less ill-disposed to unsaid airline: "We're terribly sorry. Here, have a free gin and tonic to make up for the fact that instead of making your destination in time to have a nice dinner with friends you will spend most of the day in queues, buses and airports".

But no.

"Well there's not much we can do is there?" was, in fact, what I was told at the end of the fourth queue.

And no, I suppose there wasn't.

And not much I can do about my dissatisfaction as a customer either - except tell as many people as possible that while a virgin might make a great sacrifice to cruel gods, they're bloody hopeless at communication and rude and self-righteous to their paying customers when they cancel flights. Humph.


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