The Lament of an Early Adopter

I feel that I’ve always been on the vanguard of technological innovation, largely by virtue of the careers of my Dad and stepdad, and because (as a result) I grew up in the Silicon Valley. We had a very early VCR, an original Atari 2600 (before they called it that), a TV with infrared remote control at about the same time, a 1200-baud terminal when the concept of a BBS was brand-new ... lots of neat stuff. As an adult, I joined AOL in 1993 and used the buddy list to communicate long before IM became the bane of schoolteachers’ existence. Chris and I signed up for this newfangled “e-mail” thing in college that required us to tromp down to the computer labs and wrestle with UNIX-based terminals, all so we could send messages to Andy like, “wow, isn’t e-mail neat?” In law school, I was one of the first people to lug a laptop to class. We moved to cable modem before broadband was a household word. We upgraded to digital cable, then HDTV, on the leading edge of those burgeoning trends.

We have also been unafraid to use the internet to find and purchase relatively big-ticket items since before that was customary. Among the tools we have used to great effect at times, we started using Travelocity back in about 1993 or so. Booking one’s own flights; what a novel concept! Today, of course, it is de rigueur, but when Travelocity began, self-booking was quite a novelty. Based upon recent evidence, Travelocity has become the General Motors of online businesses: mature, fat and happy, putting out a shoddy product with little or no regard for the people who make use of its services.

One would think that a simple flight from A to B would be simple to arrange, even if it involved a connection or two, when one’s business is to, well, arrange such events. Through the mysterious marvels of technology, Travelocity conjures up dozens of potential flights, even illustrates which seats are available, and leads the user through the process of buying space on the flights. Travelocity will even throw in a discount on fleabag hotels for the mere click of a mouse button; what could be easier?

Neurosurgery, apparently. I found the flight I wanted, proceeded all the way through all of the selection screens, only to be brought up short by a screen indicating that an “error” occurred. Either I hit the return button on the browser, or there was an internal error. So sorry, start over. Okay, fine. Try again. All the way through, but no dice again. Fine, use the handy toll-free number to speak to a person. Good news: I’m speaking to a human within moments, who walks me through the very same steps, we pick seats, she takes my credit card info, all is good. She is in the middle of the “thankyouforusingTravelocityforyourtravelneeds” speech when she stops cold. It seems that she has run into a screen that says she cannot complete the transaction. Apparently my outbound flight is full. Gee, that’s odd, since it shows lots of seats available on their clever seat-picking graphic. Well, reservations come in from all over, I’m told. With a vision of the dizzying array of flight options dancing through my brain, I decline her offer to select a different itinerary and hang up.

After running through a number of other scenarios with other flights, none of which is nearly as satisfactory as the one I wanted, I followed a flash of inspiration and went directly to United. Mentally holding my nose at the prospect of dealing directly with United (the reason for which could easily fill another blog entry), I found both legs of the round trip, found seats, and booked the trip. For five dollars less than Travelocity. Simple! And, notably, available! All’s well that ends well.

If only it would end. In addition to a confirmation from United, my e-mail box contained a happy confirmation of my trip … from Travelocity. Calling up the document, it confirms that I’m reserved on the very trip I was told could not be booked because it was full, which I now know was not the case two times over. Great. I’m now overbooked. I’ve been warned thirty times in the last 24 hours that I’ll owe my first child’s lifetime income stream as a penalty for cancellation. A call to Travelocity dumps me into their mysterious voice-activated phone system, then into hold purgatory. Funny, when I wanted to book the flight, I got right through to a chipper young woman with a charming Southern accent. Now that I want to cancel, I cool my heels for twenty minutes before Bangladesh picks up the phone.

I may have been ahead of the curve on many things in the past, but experience with outsourcing is not one of them. Now I am forced to explain a mildly complicated situation to someone whose English skills do not give me any confidence that the outcome will be favorable, seeing as how I can understand only two out of every three words she says as she attempts to confirm what I am saying in a language that she probably barely understands. Fortunately, she cheerfully agrees to refund the amount of the ticket, sans airline penalties. Ah, but there is the matter of Travelocity’s five dollar fee. Ordinarily, I might let that go, but I find something slightly askew about being charged for the privilege of having my reservation screwed up. After ten additional minutes on hold while she tracks down her supervisor, the service fee is refunded as well.

Happy ending! Well, no. I am helpfully informed that every dollar I was charged will be refunded to my credit card … within 30 days. Whoa. Did I hear that right? Ms. Bangladesh concedes that it may not take that long, but it will take at least 10 days for the refund to occur. Slick operation, that. They ping my card while my voice intoning the last numeral of my card still reverberates softly in the air, but they can’t reverse the charge for 10 days. I’m thrilled that they will make pennies, maybe even nickels, off that 10 to 30 day float while I run the risk of being forced to pay for the flight on one statement to avoid finance charges, all the while knowing the refund will show up on my next statement, leaving me with an utterly useless positive balance on my credit card. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

My message to Travelocity is the same as what David Spade used to say to frazzled airline passengers in the SNL skit, “buh-bye.”