I left in such a crashing rush on Friday that I forgot to finish my files properly, missed ticketing one or two things, utterly effed up someone's itinerary which caused the passenger a delay at the airport (though it was fiendishly complicated to begin with, and he was philosophical about it), plus I completely blew off replying to someone's email and thus pissed her off both royally and with cause. If hara kiri had been an option in my society I might have considered it today about noon. I was one unhappy, stressed out, mixed up zombie agent. It's been a long time since I had that many things go wrong at once. Boy, did I remember how much I hate that.

I put out all the fires successfully by the end of the day, although my mistakes cost my agency a $75 change fee. Considering the thousands of dollars it could have cost I feel a tremendous sense of relief. I got tickets issued at the correct fares, I got advance purchase requirements waived, I begged United to let me file a lost ticket application even though I hadn't technically lost the document, I'd simply printed it out and then forgotten to exchange it. I also took a lot of phone calls and made a lot of reservations in between quietly freaking out and pleading with airlines to save my butt. I didn't need coffee; I was high on adrenaline. My boss asked me if I knew why so many things had gone wrong, and I told her quite plainly that I'd been running a race with time on Friday. Even though I made my plane I'd say I lost in the end. Whew. No more Friday flights for awhile.

I'm feeling much better this evening. I ran around delivering tickets to clients after work, and brought home a pizza for John and I to munch on while we watched the new animated Dilbert tv show. I didn't think much of it. It seemed rather mean-spirited, bland, and baffling. I still don't know why everyone took their clothes off in the meeting to name the new product, for instance. Maybe it's my sense of humor, but I don't think Dilbert is going to make the translation to animation. Watch this space.

And now, for my next act, I'm going to finish reading the book my folks gave me, Tom Brokaw's The Greatest Generation. I like this book very much. It's clarified something I've pondered more than once, sometimes with exasperation but more recently with a sense of awe: my dad's approach to life is not isolated but common to his generation. He shares many characteristics and personality traits with people who were born in the 1920's. He was defined by growing in the Depression, living without a safety margin, learning to be frugal. He was raised to be honest, accept responsibility, work hard, share whatever you could with anyone who needed it, be inventive and creative about solutions instead of complaining that things didn't go your way. He tried to raise us kids that way, but we were inclined to consider our desires as commands, and prone to taking our comfortable lifestyle for granted. Brokaw has gathered together portraits of ordinary and extraordinary Americans who came of age during World War II, and their attitudes repeatedly mirror my father's.

I admire my father. I wish I were more like him. I thought of him today every time I wanted to blame someone else for my own mistakes. Instead, I buckled down and just fixed what I'd broken. I feel good about that.

Past Life The Index Next Incarnation