I haven't flown on Delta much. It's nothing personal, but with the airline industry structured around hubs and loyalty programs, you end up sticking to one carrier.
I live near Newark, which had been Continental Airlines' main hub before it was swallowed up by United. So my primary airline loyalty (aka love/hate) relationship is with United.
But the recent Delta Vacations University in Atlanta created a perfect opportunity to have the Delta experience. So on Friday, I headed to Terminal B at Newark Airport to catch flight 2449 to Atlanta.
When I approached the check-in counters, there was a small line, but there were several self-check-in terminals open, so I walked up to one, stuck in my credit card and it brought up my reservation.
I was surprised by the ease of it.
Since I wasn't checking a bag, I just flipped through about three screens before the terminal started cranking to spit out a wispy paper boarding pass. To my delight, it had the TSA Pre-check logo on it, which meant I could keep wearing my shoes, jacket and belt through the security checkpoint.
I guess I got that because I've flown about a million miles and have never killed anyone or caused a great deal of trouble. It is surprising to me to get that bonus nonetheless.
As many snarky things as I have written about airlines I always expect to find myself on the No-Fly list.
There was a separate line for TSA Pre-Check, but it fed back into one line into the baggage scanners. Those with Pre-Check got a laminated cardboard sign that said "expedited clearance," which allowed you to go through an old-fashioned body scanner and avoid the routine of having to partially disrobe and raise your hands over your head while a scanning device swings around you.
I only had a moment before boarding so I grabbed a latte and a tuna sandwich and hoofed it to the gate. Boarding went smoothly. Once inside I saw an interior that was spiffy and fresh, designed in calming blues, with a dark blue carpet and cobalt blue seats. It looked new, or refurbished. I worked my way down the aisle to 46B, an aisle seat far back in the plane.
I could see up the aisle as a blonde flight attendant flashed three fingers to another attendant at the back of the plane. The sign of a secret society? An obscene gesture? Perhaps it meant there were three seats available. Or maybe it was three minutes to take off.
Then came the security briefing. A voice recited safety information over the intercom while flight attendants standing in the aisle illustrated with choreographed gestures.
"Fasten your seatbelt low and tight across your tiny little waist," said the voice. He gave the usual instructions. "Make sure your baggage is stowed under the seat in front of you and your tray tables are in upright and locked position…
He concluded with, "I'd like to thank all six of you who listened to our safety demo. To the rest of you, good luck."
We taxied a minute, then stopped and waited. When our turn came the engines revved up, we inched forward, picked up speed and soon were racing down the runway. The snout lifted and we were airborne. The oil tank-cluttered landscape of Elizabeth, New Jersey, stretched out below us.
The roaring engines and the fuselage ripping through the atmosphere created a barrage of sound as if a giant had taken a chainsaw to the aircraft. Small wisps of water vapor whisked by the windows. We climbed into the puffy cumulus clouds and on to where the clouds flattened into stratus formations. After a while the plane leveled out, the engines relaxed and what had been cloud cover became a bright, snowy floor beneath the plane.
The man across the aisle raised his voice to a shouting level, determined not to lose the attention of the pretty woman he had found himself seated next to. Every once in a while, a word penetrated the noise and drifted across the aisle to my ears: "Chardonnay" ... "Pinot Grigio."
I dozed and, in a couple of hours, we arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Since I didn't check a bag, I was free to just get off the plane and leave the airport. I was impressed by how easy it is to move through the world's busiest airport.
The return trip was less perfect. But we live in an imperfect world, especially when it comes to aviation.
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The departure was delayed an hour because of traffic at Newark. Before I boarded, there was an announcement that all onboard baggage space was taken and we would have to surrender our carry-on bags at the gate.
I was told I could pick up the bag at the baggage claim carousel in Newark. When I arrived at Newark I waited at the carousel, but my bag never turned up. I went into Delta's baggage claim office to try and track my bag. A very polite young man found my bag in the system and said it was on a later flight and could be brought to me the next day. He gave me a claim number and I went home.
The next morning, I received a text from a man from a driver of Delta's local delivery company asking if he could deliver the bag in the next hour or two. Before long I received another text saying, "I'm outside."
I went out and across the street saw a man getting out of a van holding a bag - my bag! It was a thrilling reunion. He had a tee shirt with a bold image of Muhammad Ali in action and a banner saying "Cassius Clay: The Greatest." He handed me my bag, and I told him I loved his shirt. He held up a tablet to sign with my finger and was on his way. He was a good guy. I liked him.
With my bag back in my possession the trip was complete. After an overnight in suspended animation, I was a satisfied customer.
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