After twenty minutes of witty banter with the android who insulates the human beings at United Airlines from riff-raff like me, I finally got past him. (By the way, I managed that by saying, "Agent," which the android inadvertently tipped me off to, after I said my last name:
"You said, 'Agent,' right?" he asked me.
Why, no, I didn't, but it sounds like maybe I should. Now I am on hold, with an "estimated wait time of 7 minutes." Seven minutes passed by forty-three minutes ago. I think I have probably heard the excerpt from the once-beautiful Gershwin piece, Rhapsody in Blue about thirty times, now. Anyone who flies United is already sick of it before being put on hold for an hour - YES! IT HAS NOW BEEN AN HOUR! - because they play it on the airplane at various times, like before the safety movie.
I give. They broke me. I'm hanging up. What's more, I am not even going to fire off an irate letter, because no one cares.
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