Hello, I'm Mrs. Mith.  ...   Hello? 

"Hello, this is Deathtrap Airlines-dot-com service, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Jill Smith, and despite being incredibly frustrated with your website, I'm being earnestly cheerful because I know it isn't your fault personally, but you see I had signed up for an upgrade when I bought this ticket, and it turns out they aren't letting me use the seventy-bajillion frequent flyer miles I have accrued to accomplish this, but are instead making me use some sort of arcane coupon which I don't have.  Since I don't have it, the website is asking me to buy it, which would double the price of the ticket, but I can't tell the website to just forget about the damn upgrade and go with my original seat, and so I can't check in."

"May I have your reservation number?"

"Yes, XYZ-PDQ-WTF." 

"And your name?"

Okay, I am over-explaining as usual, but geez.  I did introduce myself.  "Jill Smith."

"And who is the ticket for?"

"Jill Smith.  Me."  

"Okay, ma'am.  Please let me check on that for you."

"Okay."

...

"Ma'am.  You need the coupon for the upgrade."

"Okay.  But if I need the coupon, I don't want the upgrade."

"Yes ma'am."

"So I can't check in."

...

...

...

"Hello?"

"Yes, ma'am."

...

[wars begin, empires fall, the earth becomes a charred husk]

...

"So, that's a problem."

...

...

[protozoa form in improbable, life-sustaining goo and become multiple-celled organisms]

...

...

"Hello?"

"Yes, ma'am.  Let me check that for you ma'am."

Check what, exactly?  "Okay."

...

...

[multiple-celled organisms grow legs and crawl from their life sustaining goo]

...

[they invent sex]

...

[and television]

...

"Ma'am, I must put you on hold to check that for you, ma'am."

"Okay."  What was I on before?  Candid Camera?

...

...

"Ma'am?"

"Okay - yes, fine - please put me on hold."

...

Oh, I see - being "on hold" means listening to a bombastic version of a Gershwin masterwork heaving away while I look at the table and realize that a piece of fishing junk-mail is addressed to "John S. Mith."  I'm married to a man named John.  I live at the address on the envelope.  Does this make me Mrs. Mith?  I guess it must.

...

...

Bombastic Gershwin surges and batters away.  It's the soundtrack to "multiple-celled organisms invent the internet and realize there's way too many cat pictures in the world."  Endless.

...

...

I swear to god, Gershwin is spinning in his grave like a chicken on a rotisserie.  Poor man.  dadadadadumdadadadadadaDADAdadumdadumdadumdadadaDUMMMM.....

...

"Ms. Smith?"  No, man - you've got it wrong.  That's Mrs. Mith to you, boyo.

"Yes."

"You cannot check in, ma'am?"

"No."

...

[multi-celled organisms the world over decide that House has jumped the shark]

...

"Hello?"

"Yes, ma'am.  Let me check that for you, ma'am."

WTF is he checking?  What's with the checking?  Are you ever more specific than this?

...

"Ma'am?  If you log in and log out, you should be able to check in now, ma'am.  Thank you for calling Deathtrap Airlines.  Enjoy your flight, ma'am."

[The multi-celled organisms discover their front appendages and applaud]