Patient was alert and unresponsive.
When she fainted, her eyes rolled around the room.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I worked in a central reservation office for American. After more than
130,000 conversations-all ending with "Have a nice day and thanks for
calling American Airlines"--I think it's fair to say I'm a survivor.
I've made it through all the calls from adults who didn't know the
difference between a.m. and p.m., from mothers of military recruits
who didn't trust their little soldiers to get it right, from the woman
who called to get advice on how to handle her teen-age daughter, from
the man who wanted to ride inside the kennel with his dog so he
wouldn't have to pay for seat, from the woman who wanted to know why
she had to change clothes on our flight between Chicago and Washington
(she was told she'd have to make a change between the two cities) and
from the man who asked if I'd like to discuss the existential humanism
that emanates from the soul of Habeeb.
In five years, I've received more than a boot camp education regarding
that astonishing lack of awareness of our American citizenry. This
lack of awareness encompasses every region of the country, ethnic
background and level of education. My battles have included
everything from a man not knowing how to spell the name of the city he
was from, to another not recognizing the name "Iowa" as being a
state, to another who thought he had to apply for a foreign passport
to fly to West Virginia. They are the enemy and they are everywhere.
In the history of the world there has never been as much communication
and new things to learn as today. Yet after asking a woman from New
York what city she wanted to go to in Arizona, she asked, 'Oh...is it
a big place?"
I talked to a woman in Denver who had never heard of Cincinnati, a man
in Minneapolis who didn't know there was more than one city in the
South ("wherever the South is"), a woman in Nashville who asked,
"Instead of paying for your ticket, can I just donate that money to
the National Cancer Society?" and a man in Dallas who tried to pay for
his ticket by sticking quarters in the pay phone he was calling from.
I knew a full invasion was on the way when, shortly after signing on,
a man asked if we flew to Exit 35 on the New Jersey turnpike. Then a
woman asked if we flew to area code 304. And I knew I had been
shipped off to the front when I was asked, "When an airplane comes in
does that mean it's arriving or departing?"
I remembered the strict training I had just received--six weeks of
regimented classes on airline codes, computer technology and telephone
behavior--and it allowed for no mean of retaliation. "Troops," we
were told, "it's real hell out there and ya got no defense. You're
gonna hear things so silly you can't even make 'em up. You'll try to
explain stuff to your friends that you don't even believe yourself,