Remember when flying was glamorous? I remember taking my first flight when I was five, and my parents and I went to Pennsylvania to visit my father’s family.

I remember the excitement of packing and dressing up for the flight. I remember my mother telling me that I must be on my “very best behavior” on the plane so all the other people would know that I was raised well and a “perfect little southern lady.”

When we arrived at the Columbia airport, I was enchanted with everything. Back then all the stewardesses (there were no stewards) were immaculately attired in their starched skirts and jackets and wore those little hats jauntily tilted on their heads as they sashayed down the aisle of the plane passing out food and beverages with a smile and a warm greeting. All of the passengers were well dressed, and it was sort of like a party atmosphere.

Times have changed.

On my recent trip to California, there were no suits and very few dresses on those planes. The stewardesses looked a tad haggard, and you had to pay for every morsel of food and your drinks. With a credit card. Apparently cash is now banned from airlines.

My husband has always been infuriated when they come by with the complimentary pretzels and p-nut tray because he thought it was pretty cheap of the airlines to only offer that after we were shelling out hundreds of dollars in plane fare. He would always take two of each. It made him feel vindicated somehow.

He’s in for a surprise on our upcoming trip to the Bahamas because now they don’t even give you the pretzels and p-nuts anymore. Now you have to buy a “snack box.”

When my husband and I travel, it’s me that searches out the best deal. This time, the aggravation, the recorded messages, and the lack of human contact almost made me call off the trip.

With unemployment at an all-time high, is it really so horrible to ask businesses to hire HUMAN BEINGS to answer the phone? And preferably human beings who speak my language and who are in the same general area of the globe that I am.

I once called a local paper to complain that my paper hadn’t been delivered. I spoke to a man with a thick accent who lived in some third world country that had never even heard of South Carolina, much less my little street in Columbia.

I proudly reminded him that Columbia was the capital city of the state.

He wasn’t impressed.

At least with the airlines, I do get to speak to a person who lives in the continental United States. But it takes a whole lot of button pushing to get there.

I like talking with human beings. They are far better than computerized voices that cannot answer my questions.

While struggling with these reservations, I spoke to a very nice lady at U.S. Air who was chatty and quite amicable. She was trying hard to help me. The problem was there was a necessary plane change to Continental Airlines on one leg of our trip, and the people at that airline wouldn’t answer the phone.

The U.S. Air lady had to put me on hold forever, and although she kept coming back to apologize, the Continental people never answered the phone. She told me I could stay on hold with her, or she could hold our current reservations, and I could try to call Continental myself.

I agreed to that plan, naively thinking I would have better luck than a trained professional.

So I dialed the airline and put the phone on speaker. I put dinner on the table, and my husband and I sat down to eat.

We. Ate. The. Entire. Dinner.

I’m not talking about a stick of celery and some p-nut butter. I mean a dinner that involved a salad, an entrée and veggies on the side. We ate the entire dinner, and I was still on hold.

I couldn’t believe it. I was furious. I was raging at the airline. How could they keep us on hold for half an hour. And I have the cell phone records to prove it.

As I was stomping around the kitchen totally forgetting my New Year’s resolution to clean up my language, my husband caught me in bear hug and slowly pried the cell phone I was screaming into from my enraged fingers. He sat me down, poured me a glass of wine, and massaged my shoulders until I stopped spewing and spitting.

He then looked up the number of a travel agency and told me to call them the next day.

I did. They have us booked on our flights and have sent us an itinerary. We have confirmation numbers. We are set to go.

I used to think kindergarten teachers had the patience of Job. Now I know the truth. It’s travel agents.

I specifically instructed our agent not to book us on the airline that wouldn’t answer the phone. She had to because they are the only ones who fly to the island we’re going to. That frightens me.

Call me crazy, but if Continental Airlines hires people who don’t know how to pick up a phone or won’t hire enough of them to provide actual customer service, I don’t have a lot of confidence their pilots can fly a plane.

I’mjustsaying……………