Opinion
I have a friend, a lawyer who specialises in both marine and space law, and thus consults with shipping lines, space agencies, island nations and nascent despots. One morning, while living in Montreal, he woke and checked his frequent flyer points and was outraged to find United Airlines had shortchanged him.
Walking to work, he ordered a coffee from a hole in the wall and when he held out a tenner to the barista she just shook her head and smiled sadly as if money was yesterdayβs answer and retail suddenly declasse. βAn incipient hippy,β he thought, happily tonguing the foam on his gratis latte. βMore fool her. With any luck Iβll be a dozen cups to the good before she goes belly-up.β
Once settled in his office he rang United Airlines and, after an aggravating wait, got through to a woman named Belinda at customer service. It was immediately apparent to him that Belinda was a flighty type. A good thing in a pilot, but not in customer service.
βBelinda,β he said, βSettle down and listen up. On the 15th of last month I flew to Florida with your airline to meet with NASA. Five days later I flew with you to Greece to meet with … never mind who I met with there. To date Iβve received no frequent flyer points for either flight. Now, Iβve been a regular customer with your airline over the years, and this isnβt good enough.β
βYouβre ringing about your frequent flyer points?β
βDoes it not appear so, Belinda? As thatβs all Iβve been talking about?β
βToday?β
βIt must be today. It always is. There isnβt any other.β
βWell, our systems are stretched …β
βI donβt want to hear about your systems, Belinda. Any mention of your systems makes me think less of you. Your systems are A-OK when Iβm paying for my flights. Thereβs no talk of stretched systems then.β
βItβs just, Iβm fielding a lot of calls, and …β
βYouβre paid to field them, Belinda. Field this one with equanimity … with grace, if you can.β
βA call about frequent flyer points.β
βYes. Two trips: Montreal-Florida return, Montreal-Athens return.β
In this brusque manner my friend got a promise from Belinda that his frequent flyer points would be credited to him by dayβs end. After he hung up, with Belinda defeated and his flyer miles defended, he put his feet on his desk and switched on the office TV to catch the dayβs news. Just in time to see the first of the Twin Towers detumesce in plumes of rubble and blood. It was September 11, 2001. America had been having a rough day. And United Airlines more than most.
Though Iβve made him out to be a fink, my friend is a kind man who does a lot of work pro bono, defending moribund ecosystems and wheezing cultures against modernityβs appetites. He would have been more polite than Iβve made him out to be in the conversation above β I wrote the call as I thought it must have sounded to a dazed Belinda as the towers burned.
In the years since that terrible day he frequently thinks, with horror, of Belinda and the wound he surely inflicted on her view of humanity. He imagines her sitting there watching incoming calls queue on her screen, family members desperately wanting news of loved ones, while he argues for his flyer miles. Part-way through that conversation she must have realised that with the world on fire a certain kind of man, sniffing the smoke, will demand an immediate upgrade from Economy to Business. Itβs something we all learn eventually, but usually by increment.
I imagine Belinda, 50 now, living in a lawn-sprawl suburb of Chicago, regularly telling this story to outraged Illinoisans over dinner, and them cursing Australians. Here in Melbourne my friend is still telling it as an anecdote against himself, still astounded at the accidental inhumanity he committed as a young man.
That morning he knew what a prick heβd been just by turning on the TV. We arenβt often enlightened about our insensitivities in such a vibrant way β or at all.
But 9/11s arenβt rare. Given the uncertain and fragile nature of life, a hefty percentage of us are undergoing personal, un-newsworthy 9/11s at any time β the death of the dog, the dad, the diagnosis, the prognosis, the loss of a lover or dream … Itβs worth remembering, when youβre next talking to Belinda, that the buildings are always burning somewhere, for someone.
Anson Cameron is a columnist for Spectrum in The Age and the author of several books, including Boyhoodlum and Neil Balme: A Tale of Two Men.