It’s really no wonder I’m feeling psychopathologically unbalanced these days, Pumpkins. One minute I read that travel agents are as unwanted as an aging diva at her hunky chauffeur’s stag party. (I’m sure he said I could come.) And the next minute, we’re even more popular than the natural breasted stripper they booked. It’s very confusing. Are they supposed to flop around like that? The press! Not the breasts.
Here, the New York Times claims that waiting on hold interminably for an airline person makes travel agents a very attractive option: Airline Hits Sour Notes With the Wait Times on Customer Calls
And on the same day, some baboons at Yahoo categorize ‘travel agent’ as Dead-End Job #4: Five Dead-End Jobs, And How To Escape Them. If you ask me, the article’s author Andrea Duchon’s research skills are a No-Show job.
These people should all get together with President Obama and decide if we exist or not. It’s not like you have to travel to Area 51 to find a travel agent, dahrlings. We’re everywhere – doing billions of dollars in business. OVER HERE! T-R-A-V-E-L A-G-E-N-T!
And speaking of being toyed with in the ‘he loves me or not’ department – wacked out suppliers don’t exactly provide a sense of balance either. In their high pressure rush to minimize spoilage – they use me for all I’m worth and then toss me like my dog’s disemboweled and drool covered teddy. Oh my! I suppose that does have its upside, Pumpkins. At least they know I’m there.
