Flying

Delta, above all other airlines I have flown, must do special R&D to get the mood of their flights, start to finish, just right. It takes a slight and sparing hand to get that perfect mixture of frustration, panic, tedium, discomfort, and inconvenience. My flight from San Francisco to Santiago via Atlanta started innocently enough. I booked well in advance, had a nice (window) seat assignment, and was even allowed to check in online, which seems unusual for an international flight. Wanting to double check my departure gate, I called my new Sky Miles number (yes I even signed up for their club) and was told beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was to report to the international terminal to check in. Seeing as I was flying first to Atlanta and then changing planes, this seemed odd. Seeing as I have flown on Delta before, my mother agreed to accompany me to the check in, just in case I had to lug all my stuff to Domestic. Which of course I did.

After their tedious bag drop lines, a crowded gate with a broken PA, and over an hour of sitting on the tarmac before lining up to take off, only to pull to the side for a technical malfunction, we were on our way.

We arrived in Atlanta over an hour late, and as it is Delta’s hub everyone had a connecting flight they now had about 10 minutes to catch. This kind of situation really brings out the best in people, and shoving and some name calling ensued.

Rushing to the next terminal, I was a little relieved my flight to Santiago had been delayed. At least they are consistent.

The flight, once we took off, was pleasant and not crowded. We landed, met the one member of our group who had flown American (he had arrived early) and from there everything proceeded smoothly. Until the last of the luggage was delivered, neither of my pieces among them. Apparently the baggage from San Francisco never left Atlanta.

Oh Delta, how do you do it?