The Delta Disaster
Note: This letter was sent to Song’s customer service email today. In my haste, I didn’t catch the name of the disgruntled employee.
To whom it may concern:
I flew Song for the first time this past weekend on a round-trip flight from New York City (LGA) to Fort Lauderdale.
Yesterday, I arrived at the Fort Lauderdale airport to return to New York. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, my traveling partner and I arrived exactly half an hour of our flight’s departure time, and as such, were not allowed to use the electronic check-in machines.
After five minutes being outright ignored, we finally managed to get the attention of a Delta Airlines employee behind the ticket counter. We explained our situation and asked her what could be done. Instead of drawing out our options, she proceeded to scold and lecture us.
“We know that we are late checking-in for our flight. What can we do now?” I asked.
“You can’t arrive 20 minutes before your flight departs.”
I looked at my watch. We had 25 minutes until our flight left, and we were standing here being reprimanded by an airline agent. My traveling buddy tried to tell her that we were waiting to speak with her for five minutes while she ignored us. Unsurprisingly, his comments fell on deaf ears. I told her my watch read that we had 25 minutes left.
“Well, my watch says 20 minutes left. You should be arriving at the airport at least 30 minutes prior to your departure time to check in. It’s been that way ever since 9/11. You can’t just expect to show up at the airport and walk onto the plane.” On and on she went. Not once did she address my question. And, for the record, I checked later and my watch was correct – either hers was fast or she was lying to further emphasize how late we were.
Now, both my traveling partner and I have worked as consultants since 9/11 and, as we flew every week, are fully aware of the travel requirements since then. We had already established the fact that we were late for check-in; instead of a lecture, what we needed was someone to help us in this situation and let us know what we could do to fix the problem – not for someone to treat us like children. I feel that the airline agent took my youthful looks to mean that I was a 16-year-old, which I assure you I am not.
All through her tirade, the airline agent was printing our boarding passes. Still berating us, she handed them over, claiming that we were “lucky” that the computer let her print the boarding passes. It was as if she didn’t want to tell us that we would be able to get on this flight until she handed us our passes, attempting to make us suffer for our tardiness as much as possible.
It was undoubtedly the worst service I have received from any airline that I have flown. In addition to making it clear that being late was a sin and making me feel like I was one-inch tall, the airline agent made it clear that Delta or Song is an airline without respect, class, or sensitivity.
Yes, there are many options to choose from when flying, and I will be sure not to choose Delta or Song in the future.
Ode to Christina
We all have the one friend no one wants to be. The one who does The Disappearing Act when he/she starts dating someone, and then magically reappears when things turn sour.
When I was in high school, my best friend, Christina*, and I did everything together. Things were great – we hung out at school together, were in the same classes, joined the same clubs, and did homework together after school. We actually spent so much time together, that I began losing touch with my other friends, which I didn’t notice until Christina started dating a mutual friend our senior year.
I have always felt responsible for their relationship. I remember spending time on the phone with each of them, getting them to admit their feelings for each other and they actually started dating. There had been confusing times when my friendship with Christina had been tested before, but a boyfriend was the ultimate test. Unfortunately, it was one we failed miserably.
My friendship with Christina slowly deteriorated. She was spending all of her time at school now with her new-found boyfriend, trying to include me as the third wheel. Wanting no part of that, and scared that I was going to be left behind, I realize now that I actually started to push Christina away. If anyone was going to be left behind in this relationship, I sure as hell didn’t want it to be me.
By graduation, the breakup between Christina and me was nearly irreparable. We ended up attending the same university and within a year, Christina ended things with her boyfriend, but our friendship never returned to the way it was. Even now, after so many years and a reconciliation, I know that Christina still feels slightly guilty about how our friendship died when we were in high school. But maybe my defense mechanism is the one to blame.
I’ll never forget having a conversation with one of my closest friends after my fallout with Christina during my senior year of high school. We were talking about what happened, and he said, “Man, it’s like you’re back from the dead.” Did I really seem dead to all my friends? In my grief over my friendship with Christina, I realized I had deserted all of my other friends to be with her. It wasn’t until I feel like a victim of The Disappearing Act, that I managed to recognize I had also been doing The Disappearing Act. I vowed never to do it again. And I promised myself that I would never be the friend who gives up her friends for her boyfriend.
I’ve been in a serious relationship for over three years now, and I have always strived to balance time spent with my boyfriend and time spent with my friends. Since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve had to struggle with this balance less, as all my friends were still in California. However, lately, there has been an influx of college friends, and I feel my social life is about to be resurrected.
My friends have a knack for making me feel guilty for wanting to spend time alone with my boyfriend. Or maybe my guilt from my high school days has yet to wash away from my conscience. Whatever, the reason, I always feel that I have to say “Yes” to my friends, and “No” to my boyfriend. If not for anything more than to prove to my friends that I would never desert them.
My boyfriend is finally coming back to New York tonight after four weeks in Los Angeles. I have been happily anticipating his return (as has he) and we planned to spend tonight having some much-needed time alone. But my friends want to head out tonight, and when I told them why tonight isn’t good for me, on came the guilt-tripping. I know it was all in good fun, but considering my past, it’s not so fun for me.
Was it really so bad that after four weeks with no privacy, I just wanted to have one night alone with my boyfriend? For weeks, we had an unstated plan to be alone tonight. If I headed out, not only would I feel guilty for ditching my boyfriend, but he would probably feel disappointed that I left him on his first night back in town. I felt completely justified in staying home tonight.
Could it be that in my effort to not disappear on my friends, I would start disappearing on my boyfriend? It was then that I had to ask, “When does ditching your friends to be with your boyfriend become ditching your boyfriend to be with your friends?”
Having to choose between your significant other and your friends is a constant tug-o-war, but at least it’s nice to know that you have both sides to choose from. And I know that my friends will understand the times I need to be alone with my boyfriend.
As for my broken friendship, I know things will never be the same with Christina, but we now have a deeper understanding of each other. We’ll always still be there for each other, and there’s a greater sense of independence and individuality on both sides. For that, I will forever be grateful.
*Name has been changed to protect true identity.
Fashion Train Wreck
When I was home for the holidays, I finally saw first-hand what a TLC freak my sister had become. I watched countless episodes of Clean Sweep and What Not to Wear. And I couldn’t help but become addicted to What Not to Wear and thinking, “What should I not wear?” I didn’t find myself so different from the women featured on the show – did I look like that when I went out in public?
For those of you who have never seen What Not to Wear, it helps people dress better. A person is nominated by his/her spouse, family or friends and is then secretly filmed for two weeks. He/She is then told about the show, is flown to New York for a few days, given general guidelines on how to dress and what types of clothes to purchase, and given a $5,000 credit card and two days to shop.
The problem of having a versatile and professional-looking wardrobe has become my nemesis in the new year. While I find comfort in my current clothes (as in, they are comfortable), I have started to think that I should start dressing my age. Does “dressing my age” = “uncomfortable”? I was perturbed when I heard a woman on What Not to Wear say the same exact thing – that nicer-looking clothes were uncomfortable. But by the end of the episode, she had been converted. She discovered that adult, professional looking clothes could actually be very comfortable.
So the next issue is that of price. Maintaining a fashionable, yet classic wardrobe for a Taiwanese girl who has to eat every-scrap-of-food-on-her-plate-in-order-not-to-waste-food is no easy task. I always go shopping for clothes, finger the clothes I really want, maybe even try them on, but always put them back on the rack after contemplating the price tag a little longer. And then I think, “If I had $5,000 to spend just on clothes, then I would have an awesome wardrobe too!” But would it really be awesome? Or would there just be an eclectic mix of clothes? Is this why I open my closet that is full of clothes and wonder why I have nothing to wear?
I’ve realized that the trick is to have a minimal wardrobe that contains at least one of everything I would need. One light jacket that would go with everything. One heavy jacket that would go with everything. Instead, hanging in my closet you would find several jackets of all different colors, none of which could be worn with everything I own.
I think I’ve been watching too much Sex and the City of late. I can’t stop analyzing how the girls dress, what types of shirts they wear, and how to match patterns and colors. Then I realize that I will never have any style.
Oh, where are you my long-lost (never-had-it) fashion sense? Maybe I do have style, but I think it’s called boring! I don’t know if I can ever be capable of having that stellar wardrobe. Will I forever look like an 18-year-old? Would that be considered a good thing?
I am the fashion train wreck. I can’t mix and match. And I can’t seem to buy anything but black, gray, white, and red. If you need anything in black, gray, white, and red, you know who to call.
P.S. If everything in my wardrobe is black, gray, white, and red, why is it that I can’t mix and match? I need help!
Crying Babies
As a general rule, I like babies. They’re cute, they’re cuddly, they’re miniature, and they don’t talk. But they do cry. So in its entirety, my rule really reads:
I like babies, except when they cry while I’m trying to sleep.
Last night I took a red-eye flight from LAX to JFK, arriving at 6:00 AM EST. While I don’t really enjoy red-eye flights because I like to stay awake and take advantage of my free movie and food, I was excited last night since my dad upgraded me to business class. Bigger seats and free booze, what more could I ask for? I should have asked for a seat as far away from any babies as possible.
As I was flying west to east, the flight was considerably short, weighing in at only 4 hours, 17 minutes. I didn’t find myself tired until the second half of the flight, and burrowed into my giant seat for two hours of sleep.
Of course, it wasn’t that easy. For what felt like the last hour of my nap, all I could hear was a baby wailing in my ear. I was so tired that I slept through it, but it invaded my dreams and made me slightly agitated. This kid was so freakin’ loud that I’m sure the entire plane was awake.
I think, out of courtesy for the other passengers on the plane, that babies should not be allowed on red-eye flights. Now, I am sympathetic to the parents of these crying babies. But I am more sympathetic to passengers like myself. Crying babies ruin things for everyone. They cry, they poop, and they put everyone on the flight in an irritated state of mind.
Not only should babies be prohibited on red-eye flights, but there should be designated “baby flights” so all these crying babies have company. That way, when we are shelling out hundreds of dollars for a plane ticket, there is the option of having a baby-free flight. I can’t even count the number of times I have been stuck next to, behind, or in front of a baby and would have loved to have had this option.
As I write this, I am tired. Very, very tired. Oh, how I long for the day I can fly baby-free!
