I’m a little perplexed today. I spent yesterday traveling to NYC for some more interviews, and I’m not quite sure what decisions are being made inside of the Delta boardroom.
ATL to LGA. I’ve made this round trip multiple times, but I don’t remember a worse experience. It was just a daytrip, so no bags beside my laptop. The morning started great, hassle-free drive to the airport, a pleasant below-70 degree morning, found a parking spot quickly, small line at security (which, if you know ATL, its a nightmare. resembles something like a mouse, labyrinth, and some twisted Pavlovian experiment. I really think they need to add signs that say “45 minutes from here” like they do at amusement parks. My favorite, the “I’m very happy to be here” support agents - easy to spot, they wear the sexy eggplant colored blazers”). I walked right onto the plane as they were announcing my zone can board right as I arrived at the gate. Somewhere between having my ticket scanned and stepping onto the plane it went all bad.
Those of you who have stepped on a subway car in NYC during the summer that doesn’t have AC working, know what this feels like. You think you have won, but you then realize (and it only takes once) why NO ONE is in the car. I took three steps into the plane, and felt like I got punched in the stomach. The air was heavy, similar to a sauna but with no moisture. After I regained consciousness, and continued my precession into the aircraft, I was met my the welcoming committee - a team of 3 attendants smile-f*cking everyone as they board the jet. I merely asked the flight attendant if she could hang my suit jacket (stuffing it in an overhead compartment does not guarantee that “wrinkle-free look” for my important meeting) and I had to use the words “pretty please”. Sorry to put you out Ms. Flight Attendant. I know saying “Hi” and “Welcome” is a three person job. At this point, my optimism for a smooth flight is slowly deteriorating.
I make my way to my seat, and the feeling of heat just starts to overcome me, almost like I am blindfolded and walking closer to a bonfire. Its 9:30 AM, flight leaves at 9:45. Most sauna’s say limit yourself to 15 minutes. Is the plane on? Is this an effort by Delta to save some money? Remember when you were a driving in high school, and your gas light came on. The first thing you did was turn off the AC. I mention to the attendant that it feels like the Sahara and ask her if I could step out onto the wing from some fresh air. I get this surprising look (did I win the lottery?) and without a word of acknowledgment and about a minute later, you hear this wisping noise, and oh, its air coming though. Except for it has the effectiveness and force of someone trying to blow out a campfire through a cocktail straw. Thanks. Much better now. The plane is getting fuller, more people chatting on their mobiles, and the temperature is rising inside this metal tube of death. I’m starting to feel myself sweat. I’m starting to feel the sweat on my skin, and its hot. This is starting to get disgusting. I feel like a piece of bacon in a microwave. I’m starting to think of Plan B. Is there a Plan B? Maybe there is a meat locker I can buy 5 minutes of time (if you ever worked in a restaurant, you know exactly what I am talking about).
We finally push back at 10 AM. I’m thinking, hey, the engines have to be on - CRANK THE AIR! No luck. I’m now trying to meditate. Think of a cool spot. Doesn’t work. Feels like what Bikram Yoga would feel like. 10:15. Are we “taxi-ing” to LGA? Still no air. I’m sitting toward the back of the plane and while trying to maintain consciousness, I constantly see people reaching up to test their “personal jet air nozzle”. Are we getting punk’d? Delta waiting to see if someone will snap, then use it on YouTube as viral marketing? That at least would entertain me (someone snapping) but I feel it would probably turn into a 200 passenger mob revolt and end up disassembling the plane (aren’t 757’s out of production?). I picturing Lord of the Flies. I smile. I’m a twisted man.
10:20 Am. We finally take off (That’s 35 minutes late for any of you chronologically challenged out there. Gives new support to the Delta Acronym - Doesn’t Ever Leave The Airport). Air finally kicks on. Glorious air. Thank god. I’d jump out of my seat and rip my shirt off in celebration (like scoring a soccer goal) but I need this shirt. I don’t think the GM of the agency would care for me strolling in “Au Naturale”. Now I am afraid that with everyone having their nozzle on high, we might be diverting power from the jets. I’m now, in my heightened state, also strangely thinking about physics (I really didn’t think about physics when I was taking physics, so this is really odd), where is the hot air going to go? Its not like we can open a window or vent a sun roof.
10:30. We hit 10k feet. Seriously, flight attendant, can I step out onto the wing? No matter how I move, I feel my clothes sticking to my body. This sucks. “Hi, I’m hear for my interview. Yes, I ran here. I wanted to get my heart rate going before the meeting? Why? Can you tell?”
11:15. Wahoo! Snack service comes to the 3rd world country on the equator that has now relocated to the back of the plane. I would call it a 3rd world country on the equator, but most of those this time of year have a smooth breeze blowing. I have modern technology in the form of concentrated jet propulsion, cooling me off 3 sq. inches at a time. Buy hey, its snack time - I’m PSYCHED! Your exquisite choices, Crackers. Pretzels. Or the always delicious biscotti cookies. But you know what I need, something to wash it down. I think my mouth can’t create any saliva since my body is extinguished of all liquid. Right now, I’d much rather have that delicious spreadable processed American cheese with the handy red plastic knife thing. I’d use the knife to cut a vent. Did you see Shawshank? I’ll wait for the eventual beverage service.
11:35. Yesss…I must be in first-class. Beverage service finally makes its way to my section. I’ve gotten to stare at my crackers (excellent choice) for the last 20 minutes. So, the cart comes to my row - (my exchange with the attendant) “Can I get you something to drink?” “Yes, I would love a water” “Would you like ice?” “Can I have the ice separate? Just in a cup? And I would be willing to buy another water from you. I’m slightly overheated.” “Sir, I have a lot of other people I need to attend to”. Hands me the water. No cup of ice. Gee, thanks. If you give me the bottle (a whole 12 oz) of water AND a cup of ice, how many extra calories of motion do you really have a chance of burning? In the amount of time you needed to response to me, you could have handed me the cup of ice. I think my core temperature finally dropped below 100 degrees.
11:50 AM. Marketing geniuses at work. I just got offered via the PA system a Delta American Express Skymiles Gold Card. That is exactly what I need. Just ring your call button and the attendant will bring an application by. Couple minutes go by and no one rings for the attendants… One attendant then comes down the aisle with applications in hand. So, instead of earphones ($2), its pushing loyalty programs via American Express. I used to sell newspaper subscriptions when I was a little elementary school boy, that’s what this reminded me of. Do they get a bonus for each application filled out? We used to get a $1 and a coke. I used to go spend the buck on baseball cards or video games at the 7-Eleven. Man, those were good times compared to this. What’s next? Going to auction off an unused 1st-class seat?
12:15. LGA. Finally. Worth every penny. I just noticed that HSBC (the bank) has advertised/sponsored every gate on the Delta terminal. Advertising dollars at work. This is totally crazy. I feel like I am watching a movie and noticing all the product placements. Its insane. The flight attendent hops on the PA for one last time: “Welcome to New York and LaGuardia. Blah blah blah… We realize you have choices. Blah blah blah… And thank you for choosing Delta for your travel needs.” Yuh-huh. Like I have choices. 97% of the flights out of ATL are Delta. I need Starbucks (Vente Iced Chai Latte). That will last 15-20 seconds from straw to stomach. But it will be bliss. And push the needle in the other direction. Thanks Delta. I don’t have much of a choice out of Atlanta, but it might be time to start exploring them.
Couple things to know about me - 1) Love hockey, 2) Love beer, and 3) love hanging out with good people who love items #1 and #2. We have our season tickets to the Atlanta Thrashers (I’m still trying to come up with a good nickname) and manage to make it to a game a couple times a month. Every now and then, you get a bone thrown your way. This past monday was the Thrashers v. Lightning at Phillips, and our wonderful friend Meg (thanks meg!) invited us to the luxury box to enjoy the festivities. Easy decision, scrap our tickets and rub elbows with Atlanta’s elite (if you know me at all you know how hard it is to type that while I am laughing hysterically). If you have ever been to Phillips, its got a giant railroad track (metaphorically speaking) running right down the middle. I’ll explain - one side is almost all luxury suites. Many levels of them. And a full club level (the Horizon Club) with food, beverages, etc… I’m sure you could get an oil change and massage if you so desired. On the other side is seats. yep, just seats. So, you basically get to look across the tracks and watch the “other side” either enjoy themselves or look at you in loathe & envy.
I want the life. I want the Malibu house. I want to impromptu vacation in Maldives. I want to be able to buy whatever I want whenever I want it. I want to be adored by millions. I want to hear my name screamed in a good way. I want a gift bag with 
I love NY. Something new to put a smile on my face everytime I visit.
Oh you’ve been there. That moment where it takes a little longer for your computer to execute, render, or save. You wait with baited breath as the beach ball keeps spinning. OK, maybe it just needs a minute, you walk away, grab a drink, maybe run to the bathroom. You come back and its still “chugging”. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Your brain starts to race - “oh god, when was the last time I backed up.” Followed by a profanity laced monologue that would exceed the NC-17 rating, its time to get Apple support on the phone and figure out my options. My PowerBook is a shade under 3 years, so thank god for Apple Care.