VT 5081 schrieb:
-
>
> "Wenn Sie wütend sind, drücken Sie die '1'..."
> ;-)

So ungefähr. ;-)

> --> Interesse besteht! *g*

Bitteschön:

Adventures in Telecommunication

Going to a foreign country for the first time always feels like going back in time. Back to the time when you were a little child with great big eyes, looking into this strange world and trying to figure out what’s going on. I had such a moment when I was trying to use a pay phone on my recent journey to the United States.
Having just arrived at Kansas City International Airport we found out that my Mom’s suitcase was missing. We asked a stoic looking man behind the information counter in a room that seemed like a large closet with luggage and boxes standing around. His eyes said ”whatever you’re saying, I’ve heard it before,” while his mouth told us that our suitcase might be in the next plane, arriving in 2 hours. Well, there were some similar looking suitcases on our last stop in Chicago, maybe it met some brothers and sisters and missed the plane while celebrating family reunion.
So we decided to do something useful in the meantime and call home to tell Dad we had touched ground again and were OK. I did see many pay phones around, some of them could be used with credit cards. At that moment I remembered I wanted to look up the pin for my credit card before our departure. I could, of cause, call my Dad and ask him, but to do that I would need the pin of my credit card to make the call ...
The other option was to get a phone card, so we asked for one at a newsagent: ”Phone cards?” the shop assistant looked at me like I had just asked her where to get a laser scanning electron microscope. ”We don’t have any, but maybe the gift shop at gate 3 has got them.” We walked all the way from gate 80 to gate 3 just to be told there was a vending machine at gate 67. After inspecting several similar looking machines we identified them as a) a stamp vending machine, b) an ATM and c) – where is the celestial choir singing Hallelujah? – a phone card vending machine! And – choir again, please – it did not require credit cards! Some cheers, hugs, kisses, tears of joy and a ten dollar bill later we were the proud owners of an AT&T pre-paid phone card. What we needed next was the number I had to call, not my Dad’s number of course, but the international code or rather the digits before that. So my very first call went to the friendly operator at 411. I recall the following conversation like this:
”Welcome to AT&T!”
”Hi, my name is ...”
”Please press 1 for English, 2 for Spanish, 3 for French, 4 for Kantonese, 5 for Kiswaheli, ...”
I was not in the mood to talk Kiswaheli right now.
”Please press 1 if you want to make a regional call, 2 if you want to make a long distance call, 3 if you want to make an international call, 4 if you want to make a transgalactic call, 5 if you don’t know.”
I felt my finger growing long, starting to glow and reaching out for the No. 4 button, and a voice in my head kept saying ”Phone home!”
”If you want to talk about the weather press 1, if you want to have a raunchy sex talk with your lover press 2, if you want to give away top secret information to the secret service of a rogue state press 3, if you want to wake a sleeping terrorist press 4, ...”
After having ”spoken” to about every talking computer in the country I was finally connected to an operator. The complete and utter surprise of hearing a human voice left me speechless for a moment – which caused the operator to hang up ...
My next attempt was more successful. Meanwhile my Mom returned from window shopping and asked: ”What did Daddy say?”
”Nothing.”
”What do you mean, he said nothing?”
”I didn’t speak to him yet.”
”So for heaven’s sake, who did you speak to then?”
If I only knew ...
After knowing my code (011) I had the naive idea I could start to dial right now. How wrong I was! My friend, the talking machine, asked me to enter a pin. Pin? Didn’t I just buy this card to avoid needing a pin? I tried again and again, using different routes but always ended up being asked for a pin. I didn’t find a pin, but I found my way back to the human operator – now that I knew all the right answers to have an audience granted. I was told that the pin is printed on the card. I took it out of the slot and gave it a thorough inspection: Indeed, unlike the European phone cards, it didn’t have any magnetic strip or microchip on it. Instead there was this gray, rubbery substance to scratch off, to reveal a pin - just like on those instant win lottery tickets. I scratched it off and it revealed my pin: SORRY YOU LOSE – BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME.
When I regained consciousness I remembered that local phones have letters on their buttons, which gave me the number 76779 968 5673 – 138837 5815 6398 8463. I proudly entered it upon request, and finally I was granted kind permission to dial my number, including regional and international codes.
”That number doesn’t exist, stupid!”, I was told by an unemotionally angry machine.
I was not amused. ”Of course, it does exist! It is OUR number!”
The machine insisted the number didn’t exist and finally hung up. I tried again – after all I might have gotten a digit wrong.
”Didn’t I tell you, this is the wrong number, you dimwit! Dial the international code, plus the regional code minus the first 0, then dial the local number.”
”Well, that’s what I just did!”
”No, it’s not!”
I was trying to figure out, where I had gone wrong. I had dialed the hard earned 011, then the international code 49, then ... well, maybe I didn’t need the 011 after all, when the machine already knew this was going to be an international call! I decided to try – what could happen if I were wrong? A dumb machine laughing at me – but it would do that anyway.
I never felt more relieved to hear my Dad’s voice on the phone. And he must have felt the same: ”According to my timetable you should have landed HOURS ago! have you been hijacked?” I wasn’t sure ...

And what happened to Mom’s suitcase? By the time we returned to the missing luggage counter the next plane had long arrived, and the one after the next, too. Without Mom’s suitcase. Pokerface told us it had decided to go to the East Coast and visit Boston. And one day later we still didn’t have it back. So I had to call the United Airlines Missing Baggage Hotline. I decided to dial the number from the hotel room and not let any cheeky computer have another laugh at my expense.
”Thank you for calling the United Airlines Missing Baggage Hotline. For damaged luggage press 1, for missing luggage press 2, for ...”
Unfortunately there wasn’t a number to press for nervous breakdowns. I soon found out, this was the advanced version of a talking machine. It was able to understand what I said:
”What is the passenger’s name?”
”Dürr – that is D – U – E – R – R.”
”Can you please spell that?”
This sounded like my ex-boyfriend. He, too, would only listen to half of what I said.
”I repeat: Djuwr. Is that right?”
Could be. Well, close enough. Just before midnight I didn’t feel like arguing with a machine about how to pronounce my name, so I said ”yes”.
The machine kept asking questions, like:
”What was the flight number?”
”What is the number on the baggage slip of the missing baggage?”
”Please enter your birth date (MM/DD/YY).”
”Are you kidding? Your REAL year of birth, please!”
”Shoe size?”
”Color of your underwear?”
”Date and number of sales receipt for each item in the baggage?”
This seemed to be the modern equivalent of the mythological Sphinx, a menacing monster of Greek mythology which would besiege Thebes until someone would solve her riddle. Or the Oracle of Delphi, who would give cryptic answers to vitally important questions and request 12 heroic deeds from Hercules, before giving him immortality. But I didn’t want immortality - all I wanted was my Mom’s suitcase! Countless riddles later the UA Sphinx asked the only question I wanted to hear:
”... if you want to speak to an operator say 5.”
The Oracle of United was now ready to hear my question, and her mystic answer was, that Mom’s suitcase had been delivered to us; then she hung up.
I was utterly speechless, which made it quite impossible to repeat that call and ask the next question. So I went to Mary, the assistant hotel manager, who had offered to make any phone calls for me. I felt terrible to abuse such a sweet offer by making her call this menacing microchip, and I doubt she will ever offer to do that again. While she kept saying names and numbers I was trying to guess the questions. ”2”, ”Djuwr”, ”UA...” – I was impressed: I had heard about 20 different English pronunciations of my name while I was living in England, but Mary actually managed to pick the one the computer would understand without even asking for the spelling! Finally it turned out the driver couldn’t find the hotel. So Mom’s underwear enjoyed another hour’s ride through the Missouri countryside, before finding its way back to us.

So what did I learn from that? I have traveled to a great country with wonderful people and chatty machines. I kept the numbers of the AT&T operator and the UA hotline, and if ever I feel like talking to someone and don’t want to bother my friends, I know there will be a talking machine that’s all receivers to listen to my problems, will ask me to spell them out and give advice like: ”Please hold on, you will be connected shortly.”