Post by Misa Kita on Jul 14, 2014 19:32:37 GMT -5
"No, it's Misa. M-I-S-A. Misa Kita. It's right here on my passport. The booking agent I spoke to over the phone must have misspelled it in the database. Please, I need this fixed as soon as possible. My flight is in a week. Yes, I'll wait." Misa made sure to speak in the American accent that she had meticulously perfected with years of English classes, voluntary speech therapy, and many summers spent as a foreign exchange student in the States. The Americans seemed to take her more seriously when she used their native tongue, complete with every harsh, overly pronounced syllable, as if enunciation was their measure of competence, even though every travel agent she spoke to seemed incapable of spelling a four-letter name after multiple repetitions of the appropriate letters in their appropriate order.
As the airline employee navigated through the computer database with impressive finger fury in response to Misa's disgruntled but polite yet very firm insistence, Misa mentally put on her polite hat and suppressed the frustrated sigh that threatened to escape from her lips. She absentmindedly twirled the keys to her Toyota pilot around a bit on her index finger as she waited, wondering to herself if it had been worth it to drive all the way to the airport to pseudo-harass a worker until the grown man or woman could do a simple job correctly. The answer was, of course, a resounding yes. She could have taken her chances at hassling her way through an automated system until she was finally put in a queue to speak to a representative. Then, she could have manicured her hands and finished the novel she had been reading until it was finally her turn, only then to be redirected to another queue to speak to a specialist, who would impatiently rush to finish the call as quickly as possible. Finally, at the end of that ordeal, she could have prayed to the air travel gods that she wouldn't find out in a week that the error had not been resolved after all. But Misa felt that it was better to be safe than stuck in the States for another week when her family needed her to come home and clean up another one of their messes.
"All right, Miss Kita. It's been fixed! You're all set."
Not batting an eyelash at being called "Miss" by a 42-year-old woman, Misa gave a polite smile as if she were truly reassured. "May I see, to be sure?" she asked in her most kind yet professional tone, flawlessly sugarcoating the underlying fact that she was calling the older woman a moron.
"Of course." The employee turned the screen of the monitor to display the correction. Misa shook her head and pointed.
"Kita. K-I-T-A. Not two e's. Yes, perfect! Thank you so much. Have a wonderful day." With a final smile and wave, Misa turned for the exit and, only after walking halfway across the airport, let out the audible sigh she had been containing. All in a day's work.
As always, Misa made it home to her family in time. Just in time to meet the Ashford agents who would take her to a remote island where she would never again see her friends or dream of graduating high school or receiving the university acceptance letters she had worked so hard for, dedicated her every breath since her first word for... In a heartbeat, Misa made the decision to sacrifice every ambition that she had held so close to her heart to help out the family she loved.
It had always been instinctive to her, but as she finally sat in the Ashford dining room, where her arranged husband, a stranger, might have been among the crowds, Misa started to question her heightened sense of duty to her family for the first time. The baked potato originally on her plate had transformed into mashed potatoes over the hour that she picked at it without eating, an anxious habit she indulged in as she reminded herself, "Never let them see you cry."
The beautiful life she had envisioned, no, meticulously and aggressively planned for herself since she was five years old, the life she had almost reached, the life that barely slipped away from her fingertips, was gone. It would never return to her. She told herself to accept that and to accept her new prospects: a systematic quarantine and a stranger husband. Misa sighed once again. At least the island had a nice gym.
As the airline employee navigated through the computer database with impressive finger fury in response to Misa's disgruntled but polite yet very firm insistence, Misa mentally put on her polite hat and suppressed the frustrated sigh that threatened to escape from her lips. She absentmindedly twirled the keys to her Toyota pilot around a bit on her index finger as she waited, wondering to herself if it had been worth it to drive all the way to the airport to pseudo-harass a worker until the grown man or woman could do a simple job correctly. The answer was, of course, a resounding yes. She could have taken her chances at hassling her way through an automated system until she was finally put in a queue to speak to a representative. Then, she could have manicured her hands and finished the novel she had been reading until it was finally her turn, only then to be redirected to another queue to speak to a specialist, who would impatiently rush to finish the call as quickly as possible. Finally, at the end of that ordeal, she could have prayed to the air travel gods that she wouldn't find out in a week that the error had not been resolved after all. But Misa felt that it was better to be safe than stuck in the States for another week when her family needed her to come home and clean up another one of their messes.
"All right, Miss Kita. It's been fixed! You're all set."
Not batting an eyelash at being called "Miss" by a 42-year-old woman, Misa gave a polite smile as if she were truly reassured. "May I see, to be sure?" she asked in her most kind yet professional tone, flawlessly sugarcoating the underlying fact that she was calling the older woman a moron.
"Of course." The employee turned the screen of the monitor to display the correction. Misa shook her head and pointed.
"Kita. K-I-T-A. Not two e's. Yes, perfect! Thank you so much. Have a wonderful day." With a final smile and wave, Misa turned for the exit and, only after walking halfway across the airport, let out the audible sigh she had been containing. All in a day's work.
As always, Misa made it home to her family in time. Just in time to meet the Ashford agents who would take her to a remote island where she would never again see her friends or dream of graduating high school or receiving the university acceptance letters she had worked so hard for, dedicated her every breath since her first word for... In a heartbeat, Misa made the decision to sacrifice every ambition that she had held so close to her heart to help out the family she loved.
It had always been instinctive to her, but as she finally sat in the Ashford dining room, where her arranged husband, a stranger, might have been among the crowds, Misa started to question her heightened sense of duty to her family for the first time. The baked potato originally on her plate had transformed into mashed potatoes over the hour that she picked at it without eating, an anxious habit she indulged in as she reminded herself, "Never let them see you cry."
The beautiful life she had envisioned, no, meticulously and aggressively planned for herself since she was five years old, the life she had almost reached, the life that barely slipped away from her fingertips, was gone. It would never return to her. She told herself to accept that and to accept her new prospects: a systematic quarantine and a stranger husband. Misa sighed once again. At least the island had a nice gym.
