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Trifle The Ticket Man "If you obey all of the rules, Following our night's blackout, we awakened refreshed for the first time in ages. After breakfast, Roger bid us adieu and drove off to work. With Suzanne's help, we phoned several travel agents. Roger and Suzanne had convinced us that, rather than fly from Halifax or Toronto to Spain or Portugal, we would get a much better deal by flying from Montréal to Paris. And since their daughter Sonia had flown to Paris the previous month, they already knew some good places to check. Airlines' price variance shocked me. A thousand dollar difference stood between the lowest and highest fares. Narrowing our choices to two, we wrestled with the final decision. Sharon's favourite: a Paris package consisting of three night's hotel, continental breakfasts, and airport transportation. (Transportation cost wasn't a trivial matter: Sonia's taxi ride had cost her big bucks ... when she found one that would take her. The first cabbie had brushed her off, "I don't have time to take you into the city." Huh? Wasn't that his job? She tried the train next. An agent told her, "Go back where you came from! Immigrant!" And that was how folks in France treated someone who spoke fluent French? Yikes. Sharon and I, true monoglots, were more than a little apprehensive about our foray into their territory.) The other finalist was a one-way flight to Orly airport, south of Paris, for a paltry amount. The deal clincher came down to the fact that the three-night Paris package had a later flight date. Combined with the three nights in Paris, we would have six fewer days to reach Lisbon where we were to meet Sue and Vicky. It would be difficult enough without losing any riding days. Sharon conceded her Paris aspirations for the time. We phoned to book the one-way tickets. The travel agent said he was sorry, but he couldn't accept a verbal confirmation. "What?" I gasped. "For a credit card transaction?" "We require a signature, sir." Flummoxed, I blanked, then stammered, "Will you accept a fax confirmation?" "Oh, yes, sir," he said. "As long as you sign it." "I'll send a fax right away," I promised. I hung up the phone, and belly laughed. "He has no idea what my signature looks like." "Certain rules make no sense," Sharon agreed when I explained why I had to send a fax. Suzanne phoned Roger at work. Roger helpfully signed my signature and faxed the confirmation to the ticket agency. A few minutes later, I rang the travel agent back. "Have you received the fax with my signature?" "Yes, sir, everything is in order," the agent assured me. "Your tickets will be waiting for you at the airline counter." I hung up the phone. Sharon smiled. "Now," she said, "all we have to do is get to the airport on time." "Piece of cake," I prattled. Perhaps I was being just a tad over-confident? |
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