Qantas – Is anyone there?

The other day I booked by phone – at a price for the cheek of wanting to talk to a human being, and possibly even an Australian – flights with Qantas to Darwin and from Broome.  I had to use the phone because this laptop has a virus.  I did not get the promised email confirmation.  The next day the hire car company offered me a real inducement to reverse the air travel and fly to Broome and from Darwin.

Back on the phone.  After about twenty minutes, of waiting while those parroted ads drive you mad in cycles, I put the phone down  – and I lost the connection.  I started again.  At nearly forty minutes, I thought I might explode.  A remarkably sane operative pacified me, and changed the flights.  She said that the previous booking had not been confirmed because it was unworkable, but she said I would shortly get an email confirmation.

That has not arrived.  My unwell computer shows no sign of recent activity on my Frequent Flyer account – except that they recently cancelled 120,000 points without warning to me.  So I look for an address to send a query to.  Not on your Nelly mate.  We are not into talking to people, much less long standing customers.

This confirms my view that if you have any option, you are a mug to fly Qantas.  They must be the most notorious business in the world for abusing their best customers.

I recall that I wrote a note about nasty and incompetent corporates many years ago.  I will try to attach a copy.  Nothing has changed.  I then had to hire a travel agent to do combat with the flaks at Frequent Flyers.  Well, they have now seen to that, and I just have to get ready to give up half an hour or so for aural abuse, and then run smack into a wall of inept silence.

A little bird tells me that management – yes, they do claim that title – are getting ready to get rid of the flak-catchers they have on shore.  Perhaps the Indians are tougher as well as being cheaper.

In the unlikely event that you trip over someone connected with Qantas, could you ask them to let me know about my flights.  They know where I am – which is more than I can say for them.

Further reflections on the decline and fall of courtesy follow.