Why Can't They Make Up Their (little) Minds (Part Deux)

Last month I told you about the gruesome journey that was the booking/unbooking/rebooking/unbooking/rebooking again nightmare that was my Beloved attempting to help me buy her air tickets to the UK.  (See Why Can't They Make Up Their (little) Minds)

Last night the second, and I sincerely hope, last instalment in the process came to a head.

Having despaired of making all the little changes my Beloved wished, I had instructed, asked begged her to go into a Travel Agent to explain exactly and in excruciating detail what she wanted .

She went into an agent in Upper Hutt, close to where we live, gave them all the instructions and returned to chez TSB.

The agent responded with an acknowledgement a couple of days ago, and then last night their quote arrived by email.

My kind of agents

She (for the Travel Agent was of the female variety...God, you'd think they'd learn by experience.  I wonder if they can make up their minds as well.  Probably they can, but I bet it needs some really intensive training) gave the details of a flight they proposed for my Beloved.

Via Wellington, Sydney, Hong Kong, London and at last to Edinburgh in the land of midges, haggis and whisky. (plus snow, cold, unending rain and an appropriate dour outlook on life.  Look, living in that bloody climate in the winter, and putting up with midges in the summer and an anti-Scottish Parliament based in bloody London all year long would make you dour as well)

BUT

The agent had booked Qantas.

Her agent

Qantas on every flight.

You may remember that the previous escapade was partly initiated because my Beloved had insisted, very vehemently, that Qantas had a rather racist outlook on passengers of Asian descent and appearance, and that she would never fly with them again.

I printed out the email and carried it through for Der Führer's inspection and said the fateful words:

Me "Look Darling, the stupid agent has offered to book you on Qantas"
MB(My Beloved; pay attention please) "So?' "What's the price?"

Me *confused* "They're saying NZ$2980" "But it's Qantas" 
MB "So?"

Me *accusingly* "Didn't you tell them to only book AirNZ or Singapore?"
MB "No" (And really sit down for this bit) "WHY WOULD I SAY THAT?"

I tell you, in the words of the late, great (but very odd) Frankie Howerd "My flabber has never been so gasted"

Me "But you told me that you'd never, ever fly Qantas again"
MB "No I didn't"

ME "YES YOU BLOODY WELL DID"

Long silence. With hints of strain.  I could hear the faint sounds of veins bursting, just under the skin of my temples.

MB *almost tearfully* "I really wish you'd listen more carefully to what I say and remember ALL the details"
MB "I said I didn't want to fly Qantas unless they were cheaper"

Cheaper?... CHEAPER?... CHEAPER?...

Those words had never, ever passed her lips.

The words that did pass that I remember were NEVER and RACIST and $%##&@ AUSSIE BASTARDS.

Me "So are you saying that you'd be happy in flying Qantas if I can get a cheaper flight?"
MB "Yes, of course"

I retired back to my computer and started a furious web search

I managed to find a good flight, with shorter stopovers at about NZ$250 cheaper.

On QANTAS.

Checked (of course) with my beloved and then confirmed and booked the flight.

Done.

I did not mention, even once, that if my beloved had decided on this course of action two weeks and 2 cancellations ago we would have saved abut NZ$600.

I'm proud of my restraint

I was really proud of my restraint.

Really proud.

Wimp.