There was an American Airlines representative standing 2 feet away. Her name tag said Yoko. She was just standing there watching the bags go around the carousel. I asked her if she could call the bag room, give them my bag numbers and confirm that my bag had been loaded in Tokyo, which would save at least 40 minutes of my time.
“I won’t do that, it’s not my job,” she said.
“Really? What is your job? I asked.
“Customer Service” was her answer. I started to laugh. I kindly reminded her that, this indeed is her job.
She again refused to make the call, so I asked her to give me her first and last name. She refused.
“I am not required to give you my last name. I will not do it,” was her response.
When an exchange like that happens, I get focused very quickly. I asked to see a supervisor. Ten minutes later one arrived. I asked her for Yoko’s last name. The supervisor was no help. In the meantime, the crowds just grew larger. Then, 40 minutes later, all the bags came through, and my bag was still missing.
Now, Yoko told me, I needed to go back over to terminal 4 and file a claim. It was my turn to refuse. Ultimately the supervisor said she would take responsibility for my bag and would call me. And that the bag would be on the next flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles.
That wouldn’t work. The next flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles will land 24 hours later, and I’ll already be headed to New York. “I need the bag delivered to me in New York, so let Tokyo know to put it on the next flight to New York, NOT Los Angeles,” I said. “And when it gets there, I do not want it put in the back of some broken down van driven by a guy named Vern who throws it in front of my place at 3 in the morning because I was number 85 on their list for deliveries.” She said she couldn’t guarantee that.
