I’m on hold with Expedia right now, because their POS website doesn’t work. It wouldn’t let me add my husband’s name to our trip, which I think we can agree is a problem, because TSA tends not to take your word for it when you tell them that you meant to fill out your traveling companion’s name.
Then I got someone on the actual phone to book the trip, and while she was lovely, she clearly could not type. Because when my itinerary arrived, my name was spelled J-E-N-N-E-F-E-R.
Well. I’ve known some Jenifers in my day, and a few Gennifers. I have never, not once, met anyone named “Jennefer.” I don’t even think that name exists. What makes it worse is that she spelled it out, and I swear she spelled it right. Either that, or I was so intent on listening for the two Ns that I didn’t hear the E instead of the I.
Either way, I’m now on hold while a customer service rep is trying to get a hold of the airline so that we can go see my sister and her new baby without TSA agents deciding that we’re spies or something.
I understand that none of this is actually important. But some days it really does feel like all the little shitty things are banding together into a giant shitty thing Voltron in order to take us all down.
Jennie Smash 