That afternoon, I remembered to board a flight to Boston, landed late at Logan Airport, turned the ignition key of another compact and drove through a rainstorm to the Hotel Indigo, a place famous for its steaks. Due to another Delta-sponsored delay, I, of course, arrived too late for dinner. The next day's session went well and, after some confusion locating an actual interstate, I zoomed toward Logan as the time remaining until the departure disappeared too quickly for comfort.
With fifty minutes until takeoff, the kiosk spit out a boarding pass.
"Do you need some help?" The Delta agent asked.
"The kiosk says I need to see someone at the gate for my seat assignment. I don't get it: I had a first-class seat yesterday. Did you guys switch planes?"
"I don't know," he replied. "But that's probably it. Have a nice flight."
Weaving through security, I listened to a Delta rep call for Mr. Jones and Mr. Bad-Dew as I approached the departure gate.
"I'm Bad-Dew," I said, sidling up beside Jones at the counter. "Do you have my seat?"
"That's what I called you for," the Delta rep replied. "I'm sorry to inform both of you that you are no longer in first class."
"Huh?"
"Due to a computer error, we double booked the first-class seats," she said. "We've relocated you to the bulk head row in coach."
"What are you talking about?" Jones said. "I received my upgrade with an assigned seat five days ago and, now, a half hour before takeoff it disappears? Why give me an upgrade if you're just going to take it away?"
"I'm sorry Mr. Jones and apologize," the gate agent said. "To compensate you for the inconvenience, Delta is willing to issue you a travel voucher."
"Will we be able to actually use it?" I asked having journeyed into the labyrinth of voucher travel restrictions too many times.
"Yes, there are no restrictions on it." The agent said.
Right, I thought. But, already tired of arguing, I kept my mouth shut. The gate agent couldn't do anything about voucher restrictions anyway.
"I'd like to know why I got degraded when other people didn't," Jones asked. "Can you explain that to me? Why didn't you degrade them?"
"I don't know, sir."
"All right, fine. I'll take the voucher and the bulkhead aisle seat," Jones said.
"Tell you what," I interjected. "I'll flip you for the aisle seat."
"No, you take it," Jones said, "you've got me by at least six inches."
Due to excessive height, I sat in the bulkhead aisle seat and swapped "exciting" Delta travel tales with Jones. Amazingly, today had been the first time in both Jones and Bad-Dew's glorious travel experience that their platinum elite wings had been clipped back to coach via a Delta degradation. Sharing the story via text with Delta Diamond Man, Joe K., I received this message in reply.
"You are now a downgraded, preferred customer. You need to ask what the next step is when you get downgraded from coach. Maybe there's a hole in the plane like coach on Southwest."
"Is either one of you Martin?" Asked the flight attendant as the plane prepared for take off. "I've got a first class seat open and he's next on the list."
"I'm Martin," I said.
"Ok," she replied, "you can move into 3A, Mr. Martin."
"I'm joking," I confessed. "I'm not Martin."
"What's your name?"
"Bad-Dew."
"Hmm," she said. "I don't see that name on my upgrade list. Are you sure you're even supposed to on this flight?"
Touche, Delta, touche.
"The next name on my list is Jones," she continued, not missing a beat. "Don't even try to tell me you're Jones."
"I'm Jones," the real Jones replied.
Jones garnered the upgrade and kept the voucher while Bad-Dew remained degraded. Another person in the rear of the plane -- Martin? -- ambled past the bulkhead and plopped into the remaining first-class seat. A Delta employee took Jones's vacated seat beside me; I pulled out the sketchpad as we prepared to finally leave Boston. Until, of course, the captain's voice interrupted the late departure.
"Ah, folks, this is the captain speaking. I'm sorry to inform you we're going to be delayed for a few more minutes. It seems that when ground personnel refueled the jet, they put too much fuel on the plane, about 1,000 gallons too much, and we're overweight. So we need to wait until they can come back around and take some of it off."
Twenty-five minutes later, minor fuel variance taken care of, the Captain's voice reappeared.
"Folks, you may be wondering why we're still sitting here. Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but when the ground crew took off the extra fuel, they removed too much. So now we're under fueled and need to wait here until they can return again and put some fuel back into the plane."
Things like this might be funny if they didn't continue causing what passes for my life to degrade and disappear.
Disappearing time led to disappearing graphite; leaving more than two hours behind schedule enabled me to make significant sketch progress. Seeing my scrawling ways, the flight attendant who "refused" to upgrade Bad-Dew became a fan and brought the first-class attendant over to appraise the latest 30,000 foot hack job.
"I asked him to draw me. I think it's pretty close," she chuckled while striking a pose. "How about you?"
Landing in Detroit after 10:30 pm meant that Delta, once again, hit 100 percent for the week: four late departures and four late arrivals.
****
Tomorrow: degradtion, Arcadia style
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