Oh Delta, Where Is Thy Sting?

                I have this odd love/hate relationship with Delta Airlines.  To be truthful, it’s mostly love.  At times however, not so much.  A previous post refers to Delta as the new Greyhound, likening them to a bus line toting the huddled masses around the country with really only one promise… They’ll do the driving.  Remember the old advertising line?  “Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us!”  Maybe Delta should try that.  How about “Fly Delta and leave the flying of the airplane to us… for everything else, you’re on your own!” 

                “LOOK HONEY, IT’S RED WINE…”   I was seated in economy on an overseas flight on my beloved Delta and, in a moment of cat-like curiosity, asked the flight attendant what kind of red wine they had on the cart during the initial beverage service.  The reply speaks for itself.  It didn’t help when I retorted “Would you mind if I sniffed the screw-off cap?”  I spent the next seven hours slunk down in my aisle seat trying to remain anonymous and averting my eyes during subsequent meal and beverage services.

                I must admit that I do miss Delta sometimes.  After a recent US Airways flight, I seriously considered writing a glowing thank you letter to the CEO of Delta.  The US Airways flight attendants (Let’s call them the Peanut NAZI’s) were a good bit less than jovial.  The aircraft was an older 737, and the boarding procedure was a little like Walmart at 5 a.m. on the Friday after Thanksgiving.   Lufthansa, with all its pretty planes and comfortable thin-profile seats, at times suffers from the same employee malaise.  They once nailed me for 300 Euro for checking a second bag (apparently, a crime akin to peeing on the Kaiser’s grave), and once they even flew me to Stavanger, Norway for no apparent reason.

      

                Here’s where I should probably admit that I am a Delta Medallion member, so I do receive some decent benefits from flying a crap-load of miles during the year; most all of that in overseas travel.  The access to the Sky Club is nice for international flights, especially the free wireless, but that is tempered by the fact that there is very little to eat and last time I was scolded for bringing in food from the outside.  I don’t get that.  Many times, I’ll just skip the club and hang out in the TGI Friday’s on the E Concourse in Atlanta where I can eat a hamburger and watch Sportscenter.  The people are more fun and the beer selection good, although it’s not cheap.

                It must be noted that not all airport sky lounges are created equal.  The Air France lounges are nice and have decent munchies… too bad some are in the Paris Airport.  Finding the Delta lounge in Munich is like the search for total consciousness.  I found both once, and both times had to leave to use the restroom.  The Korean Air lounge in Seoul?  One word: Awesome.  The Delta lounge in Terminal 3 at JFK? One word: Don’t.  The Turkish Airlines lounge in Istanbul?  I wouldn’t know… They wouldn’t let me in.

By far the biggest benefit to being a Medallion member is being able to board in Zone 1.  Nowadays, the most precious of all space in the aircraft is not the leg room, but the overhead bin space.  Load in Zone 1, and you might actually have room to store your carry-on near to where you sit.  Board in Zone 5 and your carry-on will arrive three days after you do. Unfortunately, now when the gate agent calls for Zone 1, half the passengers dart for the gate like ants to a dropped ice cream cone.

                I realize that this all sounds like whining and it probably is.  I’m just emotionally preparing myself for an upcoming trip to Munich in a couple weeks.  Delta, non-stop, piece of cake.   I’ll be traveling with two other guys who are good, savvy travelers.  That helps.  I’ll load up my carry-on with Cheez-its and Little Debbie Nutty Bars, stash a few free drink coupons in my passport, and charge up the Kindle. Upon boarding I’ll smile happily at the flight crew as I scan the overhead bins for space.  Inside I’ll just keep telling myself: Red wine is red wine, and Stavanger really wasn’t that bad.

  
Lancico's Note: The title was adapted from the Bible verse (Oh death, where is thy sting?) in 1^st Corinthians as an exclamation over the conquering of death.  Oh Delta, where is thy sting? is an exclamation of victory over the countless hassles in traveling… TSA checks, baggage fees, crowded planes, rude employees and fellow passengers, and all that makes air travel less than fun.  Nothing personal against Delta… simply insert the name of any airline/airport/hotel, etc.  Victory lives on in the heart of the traveler… Enjoy the journey!

VEGAS: Here's what I DON'T do...

            My oldest daughter teaches English in Seoul, South Korea.  Like all of my kids, she has a great sense of humor.  Each one unique, but very funny just the same.  When visiting her in October, we had some great conversations, usually fueled by Cass, a local Korean beer.  As my daughter pointed out, Cass rhymes with ass, which is consistent with its taste.  More on that in a different blog.  During one such conversation, she launched into a comic rant about “Here’s what I DON’T do” and “Here’s what I DO do”.  Like “Here’s what I DON’T do: Wear my Dolce and Gabbana’s to the market” or “Here’s what I DO do: Coffee Americana at the Paris Baguette”.  Great fun. 

             Over this past weekend, a friend and I flew to Las Vegas to spend a quiet, relaxing weekend.  I have been to Vegas numerous times, so there is no pressure of having to visit the big tourist sites or see the long-running production shows.   To keep things interesting, I try to stay at a different hotel each time I go.  Thanks to an email promotion and a momentary zero balance on my American Express Card, I decided to jump on a King Panoramic Suite at the Encore.  The weekend between the NFC/AFC Championship games and the Super Bowl is usually a pretty dead weekend.  Other than the Chinese New Year, not much else was going on.  The room rates and plane fares were a relative steal for this time of year.

Sunset view from the room

                Here’s what I DON’T do: Circus Circus.  I don’t do the Excalibur either.  Life is just too short.  Circus Circus is like staying at Disneyland except all the parents are drunk.  If I’m on vacation, I want to be on vacation.  After a long military career, I’ve had enough practice being miserable.  Take camping, for instance.  To paraphrase the comedian Jim Gaffigan, camping lost its luster for me when they invented the house.  Sure, when the kids were small, there was sort of an adventurous, pioneer feeling that you get by sleeping in a leaky tent in the rain or cooking your eggs in a frying pan that the youngest had just used for a sand shovel.  Thankfully, man has evolved and built great structures with clean, wondrous restaurants and warm, comfortable beds… Like The Encore in Las Vegas.

                Here’s what I DON’T do:  Hai Karate.  Like Brut, Hai Karate was THE scent of choice for the lounge lizards and disco dudes of the late 70’s.  It reminds me of a delicate alchemy of hibiscus and cat pee.  Although I was not even remotely curious about the fate of the musky mix, I was surprised to see (or smell) that apparently it has made quite a comeback in the Far East.  While in the elevator at the Encore, or strolling the Chinese New Year decorations at the Palazzo, or hanging out at the Fashion Mall food court, every time a group of Asian tourists walked by I got a good whiff.  Like the smell of burning flesh, one never forgets the smell of Hai Karate.  I envision a warehouse full of the aging concoction in the Philippines somewhere (left over from the presence of US GI’s) and a bright, young entrepreneur saying “Hey! Let’s sell this crap to the Chinese!”

                Here’s what I DON’T do:  When traveling, dress like I’m headed to the gym… Or bed.  Here’s the deal: If you dress like sh*t, look like sh*t, and talk like sh*t, guess what… You’re going to be treated like sh*t.  When checking in at a hotel in Las Vegas, unless you have a marker in the cage for 25 large, you are at the mercy of the check-in clerk and the rate you paid.  Any discretion that clerk has will go to the person who looks like the desired clientele.  Dress in your oversize Orlando Magic shorts and wife-beater T-shirt, and you may do OK at the Hooters Hotel and Casino.  When staying somewhere nice, dress like the people you would expect to see there. Try it.  You’ll be surprised.

The Palazzo

                 Here’s what I DO do:  The breakfast buffet at the Wynn, $2 beers and $1 foot-long hot dogs at Slots-O-Fun, Red Rock Canyon, $5 Blackjack at O’Shea’s, The In-N-Out Burger on Tropicana, Jameson & Ginger and a 3-card poker table at the Bellagio, Happy Hour at the House of Blues, Schweinshaxen and Dunkel at the Hofbrauhaus, afternoons at the Sports Book in Mandalay Bay, and a sports coat on the plane and at check-in.

$2 beer at Slots-O-Fun

               To me, a weekend in Las Vegas is the ultimate short vacation.  Lots to do, great food, lovely hotels, and you can carry a beer with you anywhere on the Strip. 

               After the long flight back to Atlanta, then a long drive home, we ease back into all that is normal life. Bags unpacked, dogs let out, clothes ready for work the next day, and the cat’s litter box cleaned out.  Still, the memories of the weekend linger like the sweet scent of hibiscus… and cat pee.