I was literally shaking yesterday as I psyched myself to contact Hawaiian Airlines about getting a refund on my tickets to New York.
I hate talking on the phone and loathe confrontation, so I’d been putting it off for weeks and emailing to avoid verbal interaction. But that hadn’t worked.
Someone suggested I message the airline on Facebook, which sounded appealing.
But I decided it was time to bite the bullet, take the bull by the horns, put my mouth where my money was …
I looked up the “contact” section of the Hawaiian Airlines website, which said: “Due to the high call volumes we’re experiencing, we ask that you please refrain from calling us unless you are traveling within the next 72 hours so that we may focus on guests with the most immediate travel needs.”
And that’s when I spotted “Live chat”. I clicked on the Live Chat icon and a nice man called Rupert got straight onto it for me.
After a few confrontation-free minutes he said: “I’ve queued your reservation for refund. It’ll appear on your card statement within 1 to 2 billing cycles.”
How easy was that? I’m so excited! But I’m not counting my chickens until they’ve hatched in my bank account. Keep everything crossed for me.
If the money comes through, Rupert and Hawaiian are my heroes.
I feel terribly sorry for all the airlines struggling to stay afloat during the health crisis. It can’t be easy for Hawaiian and it must be awful for all the staff who’ve been stood down. But I really don’t know when I’ll be travelling internationally again and I couldn’t afford to have that much money parked somewhere for eternity. Besides, $2000 of it belongs to my ex.
Despite the positive outcome, it took a long time to get my heart rate back to normal. I was still vibrating with anxiety at midnight, doing deep breathing exercises to try and sleep. Yawn.
In other good news, the builder started installing my new garage doors yesterday. He looked a little bleak when he saw they were completely unassembled, without framing or hardware. Well, there was framing and hardware, but it came in separate pieces and bags. Apparently that’s not how it’s normally done. Also, despite me paying a king’s ransom for a bloke to come and measure up the doors, they were the wrong size. Cue more grumbling from the builder.
Much hammering and drilling ensued, which drove the youngest out of her adjacent bedroom and onto a banana lounge in the backyard to sunbake in a tiny bikini.
She fled inside when the builder appeared in the backyard looking for a ladder. I think he was quite startled too, going by the strange sound he made.
I copped such a serve when he left. Apparently being spotted by a man in your backyard in a bikini is horrifying, but being checked out by heaps of blokes at the beach is totes fine.
Teenagers are weird.
I expect to see more of the bikini today. The Indian Summer is finally upon us, after a burst of winter chill. They’re predicting the temperature could even hit 30C.
Stay cool and safe and well.
Song of the day: The Beach Boys “Kokomo”