I was late getting out of work. Actually, leaving at 4:40pm was earlier than my normal 5pm departure, but it was later than anticipated. After all, I was on my way to JFK for a weekend family rendezvous in Sundance, Utah at one of the state's premier spots. It doesn't get better than this.
I left work feeling good and relaxed. My washed-out Abercrombie jeans fit to just the right length, the cuffs on the black Express button-down I was wearing were popped to perfection, and my brown leather shoes were unusually comfortable. I could have done a little better with the shoe/shirt combination, but how much can you really ask for from a color-blind guy? I didn't care. Yup, yup, I was in the zone.
Delta Airlines calls themselves the "New Delta." I was excited. I'm not a man of change, but humor me and maybe, just maybe, I'll fall victim.
Well, I did.
The Kiosk self-check-in machines are a great concept. At times I can be a computer nerd but always seem to struggle using these contraptions. It's probably because I spend way too much time playing with every flight function and option, including changing my seat a zillion times until my rump feels mentally comfortable with my selection. Window: If I have to pee then I would be required to climb over a slew of unhappy passengers. Isle: Nice access to freedom, but I'm tired of getting slammed in the head with the service cart. Middle: Yeah, OK. Never. I'm not a human kielbasa. So, I finagled my way into a window seat in the emergency exit row. At 5-foot-10 my lanky lower half would have plenty of room to breathe. Perfect.
As I stood on the ensuing Kiosk baggage drop-off line, I took notice of a woman speaking with a Delta manager. She was visibly upset. Drama, I thought. Nice. So, I eavesdropped, hoping to catch just a dribble of her complaint. "They flew me into JFK, then drove me all the way to JFK," she said. "Then, they made me stay here last night and drove me back to JFK." Huh? I was boggled. All of a sudden, I took particular interest in the coal black thigh-high socks, cherry red "there's-no-place-like-home" shoes and bright maroon glasses she was wearing. I laughed to myself and quickly became forgiving.
I was already entertained and I hadn't even left the check-in zone. Finally, I reached the top of the baggage line and was approached by a very courteous middle-aged woman, aka Ms. Pleasant. Her flight was scheduled to depart in 20 minutes, and she nicely asked a man (aka Mr. Smiles) and me if she could go next.
Note: Previously, Mr. Smiles was at the Kiosk self-check-in terminal next to me, when all of a sudden he screamed, "Yes! Yes! Yeeeeeessssss!," at the top of his lungs. But he seemed like a good guy, so I befriended him. I still don't know what he was so excited about. Maybe it was the feeling of accomplishment -- his first time printing his own boarding pass. Technology can do that to some people.
All of us have issues of need, and neither I or Mr. Smiles were in a rush, so we gave Ms. Pleasant a quick smile, coupled with our nods of approval, and let her hop in front of the line. I'm glad we were able to help make her day better. But not all those waiting in line behind us felt the same sympathy. They didn't have a choice, though -- Mr. Smiles and I were the co-captains of that line.
Not more than two minutes following our act of kindness, Ms. Pleasant erupted into a verbal assault with the counter ticket agent, after he told her she didn't have a reservation. But, but, but she told us her flight was about to leave. She lied to us? That's messed up. Mr. Smiles and I didn't deserve that. But there she was -- Ms. Pleasant -- storming through the terminal making a scene, only turning around to scream, "You know what, I'm calling your manager!" ... And I'm stomping my foot down on line cutters from this point forward.
It was finally time for me to sit in my thrown, seat 18F. Ah, it was comfortable and the body room was more than adequate. This was going to be a great flight.
Prior to takeoff the flight attendant approached the eight of us seated in the two exit rows and explained our duties in the event of an emergency evacuation. As part of protocol, she asked each of us for a verbal confirmation of understanding. There was just me and an 80-something year-old man assigned to our row of six seats. After proudly pronouncing my "yes" of support, the attendant turned to the elderly man. "Sir, do you understand," she said. "Sir, do you understand? Sir? Sir, do you understand? Sir?" No response. He was passed out, asleep, against the emergency exit door. Well, at least I know I'm in good hands.
Damn, this martini tastes good.