Welcome to DELTA, how can we not help you?

The day to leave my beloved Toronto behind came so quickly, that I feel like the past 5 days were the quickest of my life. There are quite a few little tales to be told from Canada and I'll write about those soon.  I know my cousin Jen is probably waiting for a bit of a plug!

But for now its time to leave and I’ll be back TO, I promise.  I love you!

So I am off and get started on the 401 – a direct Highway to Pearson airport. 120km all the way and just under an hour I was there.  Filled the hire car with gas, and into the terminal I go travelling light with all 5 bags.

Delta, Delta, Delta, looking, looking, looking, walking, walking, walking.. ah found it.. the only counter with a zillion school kids all decked out in uniform.  Awesome. But I am cool, I have 2 hours to check in.  I’ll be fine… until I look up…. DELTA, oh DELTA a DISASTER.

Toronto – NYC delayed until 4pm, and it was only 11am!  There goes the connecting flight to Atlanta at 3.

Alifiya was right.. “take the direct flight” she said.  No no, I’ll take the cheapest and connect in JFK I say – keep costs low.  I am such an idiot I think and almost ask the guy behind me to kick me hard in the pants.  I guess I now know what it feels like when people choose a cheap competitor over Servcorp.  Delays delays delays.  I feel like a 155MB file trying to download on a shared 1Mb link.  Ooh that was geeky talk, but lesson learnt, you get what you pay for.

So its 11.08am and I’m standing in the shortest line of 5 people.  11.30am still standing there.  11.50am I’m still standing there.  What are all these people training?  Have they never done this before?  I mumble something under my breath that I have never seen so many useless people in one confined area before.  Something has to be amiss…  are all these people fill in casuals or something?  I am absolutely certain I read that DELTA Airlines have people in Red Coats at every terminal just to help you out, “because they are committed to customer service” or something like that… more like the RED SHIRTS absolutely trying to block you completely entering any city, devoid of any service at all and as far as I know we are not even in Bangkok!

So it’s finally my turn and I get to the counter.  Oh she not happy Jan.  My lady is complaining to the next guy that she has to take her break now.  Oh no you don’t sweetie, I’ve been standing in line for 45 minutes, you WILL serve me.  But I smile my fake smile, and try to charm her with my accent.

“So the flight has been delayed” I say, “gee I should have taken the direct flight, how will I connect to Atlanta now?”.  Nothing back.  So I blink a couple of times and move a little closer.  Maybe she didn’t hear me.  I am thinking if she doesn’t look up soon, I might just launch into a tirade al la Steve Martin in Planes Trains and Automobiles at the car rental place lady.  But I wasn’t about to hear the end couple of words out of that scene and decide against it, because I HAVE to get to Atlanta.

“I’ve put you on the direct flight” are the best words and only words I hear back from the attendant.  “You are all set, you leave in an hour”.

Thanks love, row 13A, ooh!  Up the front I think, and I keep walking quickly before she changes her mind.

I fly through the gates to customs and welcome to the USA sign greets me.  There has to be 200 people waiting in line, and I haven’t even checked my bags in.  Flight leaves in 1 hour and if the customs part is anything like the check in part, I am in real trouble.

20 minutes in customs and a grilling from the border security, everything I have been up to in the past month just falling short of the colour of underwear I am wearing today. I finally check my bags in.

I still have to go through the x-ray yet.  Another 20 minutes, shoes & jacket off, laptop out,  and 200 people later I have under 10 minutes to get to the gate.  Now I understand why my family and friends choose to drive to Buffalo and fly out of there – now that we are 2 hours in this ordeal, Buffalo is absolutely quicker!

I sprint to the gate for my up the front seat and look out the window in bewilderment. I skidded to a halt.  Staring back at me is a fockker CJ700 jet.  Seats 70.  The ones that can only fly at 10,000 feet because any higher they are likely to crumple like an aluminum can.  The kind of jet when one has crashed into the ocean and you hear “all 70 people on board perished” and you wonder to yourself, who in their right mind is flying on a small plane like that.  Well right about now.  That would be me.

My 13A seat now feels like row 60 on a 747, and walking on board I am like gigantor and have to duck my head.  Lucky I didn’t wear the new 5 inch heeled ankle boots.  I would have had to crawl along the ground as if I was in a tunnel looking for something.  I find my seat 3^rd row from the back.  Lucky I have lost a bit of weight, because everything was in tiny proportions.  I look around.  There was no need to count the seats to the emergency exit like I usually do.  If I just lift my arm I can practically pull the emergency release on the door from here.  I am slightly terrified.  I wish I had a do-over as I didn’t fill in the emergency contact details for next-of-kin when booked the ticket. 

We taxi out to the runway to take off, and I look out the window for the guy with the remote control. Man this plane is small.  But with only an hour and 40 minutes before we land in Atlanta, I hope that DELTA can make good on the most important of all service requests and actually get me there.  I turn to the lady sitting beside me and ask…

“We are not going over an ocean are we?”