I can’t say that I’m that impressed with Delta. On the way to Savannah, my flight from LA to Atlanta was delayed. Luckily, my Savannah flight was also delayed, so I didn’t miss my last flight. And while the flight attendants weren’t bad, they weren’t exactly making the skies friendly, either. Not that I expect perky flight attendants, but a slight upturn of the lips would be nice. Oh, and don’t make me ask for the snack, either. If you say we get cookies, you damn well better give me the cookies.
Then there was the journey home. It all started in Atlanta, when they announced that there was a mechanical problem with the plane. Okay, that’s fine. But then they felt the need to explain that the mechanics were on board. And the mechanics had their books open. Then they updated us with the news there was a problem with some oil thingie (my word, not theirs, although at the rate they were going, had they tossed out thingie, it wouldn’t have surprised me) and they were going to start by replacing the indicator, because that was quicker. If that didn’t work, then they would replace some other thingamajig.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I prefer to live in airplane ignorance. All they needed to throw out as an explanation for the delay was the word maintenance. I’m not really comforted by the fact that the mechanics were trying to find the problem in their books.
And then, in the midst of this waiting, the airport emergency lights flashed, a warning siren went off, and they announced there was an emergency. That was it, though. Nothing happened, and there were no further announcements. I got more info than I ever wanted about my plane, but no clue what was going on in the airport.
Our flight left shortly thereafter. Unfortunately, it arrived in LA just as my flight to San Luis Obispo was leaving. I didn’t even get a seat on a later flight…but I did get a hotel voucher and a ticket for a 6:30 am flight the next morning. Right at the time that Hamburger called to say he was home from Indonesia. Waaahhhh!!!! At that point, I really, really, really wanted to just go home. Instead, I went to go wait (and wait, and wait) for my luggage, that they said I could pick up, only to discover that no, it was sent somewhere else to wait for tomorrow’s flight. So I headed to the Marriott with my little complimentary case with a toothbrush and a t-shirt. Only to get back up at an ungodly hour to go back to the airport to get in line for my real ticket and then in line to go back through security and then get singled out for the special security pat down and then eat breakfast at McDonald’s (which I never do, but hello, I was starving, and it’s the only thing open in the airport at 5 frickin’ am…and by the way, their coffee sucks). And I had finished my book and magazine the day before, so I had nothing to read. Which is the real horror of this entire saga.
So, long story short, I’m home. Although my luggage isn’t. Gee, what a surprise. And I have a vicious case of jet lag/travel hangover/Delta pissed-offedness.
Back to the regularly scheduled cheerfulness in a few days. Because I’ve got more Savannah stories and pictures to share. And books to review. Although if my suitcase doesn’t show up soon, there might be stories and pictures of rolling heads.