The Delta Debacle

Have I mentioned how much I love Delta? We are forced to fly Delta because it's the one my husband must use when he travels for business, so I don't want any comments about us changing over to a different airline. Retirement looms on the horizon, but until then...

Here is my diatribe after my flights on Thursday last week. Nothing leaves on time or arrives on time and everything is always always overbooked, sometimes more overbooked than other times, but always overbooked. Other details vary. This time our pilot called in sick 10 minutes to take off. One must assume he called from the bar at the airport. So we sat and waited for the new guy to arrive. Well, he sounded like he might have been almost 14. He starts up the engine, and it dies, so they have to bring in the starter cart, or in layman's terms, the jumper cables. And we're off to Detroit, because no matter where you are flying from or to, now that Delta owns the skies, everyone is routed through Detroit. And next to Delta itself, I think I hate Detroit next worse. Since everything is always screwed up with flight times, I mean why even give a flight time, they could just say, "Hey, come on over, hang out at the airport, and eventually there will be a plane going somewhere close to your destination. So, inevitably you have to race like crazy down through Detroit's little rain forest place, which I'm sure would have a calming effect if everyone wasn't late and in a massive hurry. And you arrive at your gate only to find your plane has been delayed. But this time, we left the gate only to sit in line on the tarmac for an hour, AN HOUR, since only one runway is open. And I really timed it. There were 25 planes in line on one runway, waiting to take off. The one thing they have over Northwest, which used to be my airline of choice, is that they serve peanuts, but you have to be in the peanut zone.

I'm waiting for the day they require you to hold someone on your lap or pay a penalty.

Vacation Fun

I was remembering the episode on Sesame Street, years ago, when Grover is the waiter, and he keeps telling his customer they are out of every beverage he names. In desperation the patron asks what they DO have. Grover says "We have milk". to which the customer orders milk. Then Grover says, "Sorry, we're out of glasses."

We are staying in Helen, GA, this week, and we have little Will with us. After nearly falling in the rushing river, landing on my back on slippery rocks, and seeing my life flash before me, and being reassured by the Rocket Scientist that I'm fine, I don't need to change before going out to eat, we arrive at the Huddle House. Huddle Houses are about 1/2 step up from Waffle Houses, FYI. Our waitress arrives to take our beverage order, and the first thing she says is, "We're out of a few things tonight. We don't have anymore waffles, ketchup, or rutabagas." Immediately you envision a troupe of Cloggers arriving to spend the weekend and eating tons of waffles with rutabagas on them, and instead of syrup they want ketchup. So we order 2 milks and a coffee. She bounces back a few minutes later to tell us they are also out of milk, but they do have ketchup packets. So we order. I order chopped steak with mushroom gravy and mashed potatoes and green beans. Wayne orders chicken fried steak with white gravy, a baked potato and green beans. Will wanted chicken fingers, and fries, although he seemed a bit obsessed with strawberry jam on something. Soon the food arrives. For Wayne, his chicken fried steak, with gravy and potato, no beans. For me, chopped steak, mashed potatoes, no beans, no gravy. For Will chicken Fingers, and fries. Little Miss Sunshine assures us she will return with both the beans and the gravy. Five minutes later she bounces back with one order of beans, and flashes this huge smile, as if she has just solved cold fusion. I ask her if we are to share one order of beans, or if another one is forthcoming, and where is the gravy? Another 5 minutes pass, and she returns to tell us the bad news, they are out of beans now, do I want another side? And here's the gravy, no mushrooms. By now, my potatoes are cold, and I really don't want another potato as a side, so skip the side, deduct it. So we manage to finish dinner. Will did eat one chicken finger, and Wayne's toast with strawberry jam. The bill arrives, it has the milk on it and no deduction for the missing beans. And when we returned to the condo I looked in the mirror and realized my whole rear end is wet, and I'm covered in dirt and moss, and I will have to kill Wayne. Life in the fast lane.