At 6:00 this morning I arrived at the Indianapolis airport, cheerfully subjecting myself to the million man line, because I would be going home to sleep in my own bed. Little did I know as your fake cheerful gate attendant handed me my boarding pass that you had other plans for me. In my cocoon of overpriced snack boxes and beverage service I could almost see my head hitting my pillow. We landed early, and I dutifully noted my next gate to connect so as not to overwhelm the attendant at the gate. My eyes slid across your TV screens hoping that we were still on-time for departure, glazed by the changing locations and gates. But what's this, no flight to Austin? How could this be when just an hour earlier you had given me a boarding pass for that very flight, and wished me a great day? Am I being punk'd? Where's Ashton? I reported to the gate announced on my previous flight, but still no Austin. Hmmmm, Maybe a helpful customer service person can help me with this mystery flight. I approach a nearby gate and ask them to check on my flight. Watching the agent bite her lip and frown bigger with each key stroke did not bid well for poor flight 1199. The flight had been canceled while I was somewhere in the friendly skies between Indiana and Illinois. Not a problem, it's only 7:10 A.M. You provide numerous non-stop flights daily; I've seen your billboards stating that. What your billboards fail to mention is that you overbook everyone one of those non stop flights and by canceling just one flight send the travel world into a tailspin. The agent at the gate sends me to "
re booking", a long desk with red phones, and not one single living person.
American, when I've just been informed I won't be keeping my tidy little itinerary, I want to talk to a person. One that fake smiles and assures me that they are working on it. I don't want to feel like I will cause a nuclear attack by picking up a red phone. And informing someone that they will be stranded in Chicago overnight when it is still 7:20 in the morning isn't a good way to start a conversation either. As I sat on the floor clutching my red phone and going into shock at the thought of staying in Chicago overnight with no luggage and an 8 year old with a 5 minute attention span I was reassured that you were working on it. Surely in this huge airport there was at least one flight that would return me to my sanity (and my bed!). And there was, but alas, it was not with you American. With you, I was #7 on a standby list of 22, but with NWA, I was seat 10-B. And let's face it, I'm not a stand-by kind of gal. And with that our relationship ended. Or so you thought. Because, you see American, I hadn't planned to spend the whole day at the airport. And by planned I mean budgeted. I had planned to be back home, eating leftover chocolate cake and snuggled up in bed by noon. Now I had to entertain my son, and that was going to take several trips to the starbucks kiosk. But you didn't see it that way. You felt like a $10 voucher would be plenty to compensate me and my brood. For. the. next. 9. hours. American, I know that sometimes being cooped up in that corporate office can make one become a bit, ummm, detached, but I think need you to get back in touch with reality. There is not a place in the airport that can turn a $10 voucher into 4 meals. Not a one. I know, because during our 9 hour stay at O'Hare we looked at every menu board. in every terminal. You didn't even go dutch. Your cheapness made me re-examine the price of airfare. And my relationship with you. Trust me, 15 hours is a lot of time to re-examine, and 15 hours later is when I touched down at ABIA.
And so, my dear American, I will not be pulling you out of any economic recession. My frequent flier miles will be dispersed among United, Continental and NWA. Please don't try to contact me, including those offers for credit cards and mileage bonuses. You are dead to me.
The Lady that slept on the floor in Terminal H
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