A morning cocktail. I don’t usually have a drink this early – unless I’m in New Orleans, or maybe London; Paris, of course, and New York certainly, but it isn’t a usual thing. This one, on the flight from ATL to MCO Monday morning, was earned.
Last Tuesday, I flew to Moline, Ill., to see family. I was scheduled to return home Friday evening on Delta flights – a small craft from MLI to ATL and then the usual large format plane home. But Friday morning I woke to news of a global tech glitch that affected airlines (also banks, hospitals and other entities using Microsoft software). A few hours after the news broke, so did my flight out of Moline. After some frustrating hours on hold with Delta customer service (I will forevermore use those three words with tongue in cheek) I gave up and drove out to the airport to see if I could speak to someone personally. I could, and she told me the soonest I could get out would be Sunday evening.
I had already checked out of my hotel – letting them know how disappointed I had been with my stay (housekeeping never showed up over the three days and an open machine closet next to my room made a constant racket) – so I sheepishly booked two more nights. (I paid extra for a Mississippi River-view room; see above photo.)
Sunday morning I woke up expecting to check out and spend the rest of the day at my dad’s house before my 5 p.m. flight. But the first thing that popped up on my text messages was that my Sunday flight was cancelled. I immediately got on with Delta, both on phone and by the chat function on the Delta website. After two hours of listening to the Delta hold music (no Grammys will be awarded), I got a live representative on chat. She said she could book me on a United flight out of Moline, connecting with a Delta flight in Chicago that would take me to Atlanta and then on to Orlando. The catch: The United flight was leaving at 11:05 a.m. It was 10:20.
I grabbed the things I hadn’t already packed and crammed them into my bag. Rode down in the elevator from the 6th floor with it stopping, for the first time ever during my stay, at every floor. I tossed my key on the desk and said I was checking out – “Loved the view!” – but I had to get to the airport.
Hopped in my rental car and sped, in the illegal sense, to the airport; 12 minutes to flight time. I tossed the key on the Alamo desk as I ran by. Not another passenger at security, so I was through in seconds. And I ran to the gate – it’s not a large airport – and got there five minutes early, just as the plane was being pushed back.
Picture Dustin Hoffman banging on the church window screaming “Elaine!” in “The Graduate.”
I sat down out of breath in the empty terminal and had a mini meltdown. And then I had an epiphany: My connecting flight in Chicago was in three and a half hours; Chicago O’Hare is a two hour and 20 minute drive.
I went back to the Alamo desk and told the agent I needed the car back, and I wanted to drop it off at ORD. I was off.
I had the same car – a sporty Audi A5 – that earlier in the week I had set up for Carplay with my iPhone. This was key, because I immediately called Delta Customer Service (hahahahahaha) and spent the next 97 minutes listening to hold music. I needed to talk directly to someone to make sure that since I’d missed the first leg of the flight I wouldn’t be bumped from the other two. Luckily, since the first leg was United, Delta didn’t know I missed it. I was still booked.
Got to ORD without a hitch, returned the car (kudos to the Alamo team at both airports) and headed to Delta Sky Club, where I learned my flight to ATL was delayed at least three more hours.
Now I needed to talk to an agent to find out if I would miss my connection from Atlanta to MCO. I approached the agent’s desk and was told I would need to sign in at the kiosk and wait to be called. (See photo with queue of passenger names and wait times that were laughably underestimated.)
Delta had two agents there, one of whom spent over 40 minutes with one person. The other agent took his lunch break during those 40 minutes.
The good news, I was told a couple of hours later (thankfully I did not have to listen to hold music this time), was that my connection flight was also delayed, so I should be there with a few minutes to spare.
Mid-flight, just as the beverage cart came to my row, I received a text from Delta that my flight from Atlanta was no longer delayed, it was canceled. (Like all the cancellation texts, this one came with a verbal shrug that said “We tried to rebook you but couldn’t come up with anything.” I had the flight attendant make it a double.
We landed and waited 45 minutes on the runway waiting for the ground crew to marshal us to the gate.
It was now after 11 p.m. and the Sky Club in Terminal A was closed. The one in Terminal F was open until midnight. Off I went.
There was a long line of people just waiting to get into the club. While I waited, I tried to find a hotel room for the night, because I knew I wasn’t getting on a flight anytime soon. Predictably, there were no rooms anywhere.
The line moved slowly and I started to fear that as midnight approached the staff would tell those of us outside we were out of luck. But here, the Delta crew came through, bringing bottles of water and cookies out to us, and staying open.
I was inside just a few minutes before 12, only to be issued a number that put me in line to speak to an agent. My number was 115. As I settled into a chair, someone called out number 61.
One-fifteen was called at 2:20 a.m. (And again, thanks to these folks who stayed open until all numbers had been served; people without numbers were kicked out a 2 o’clock.) The woman at the desk was on the phone with someone else who apparently was dictating rebookings. She said, “We can get you on a flight to Miami at 4:45 tomorrow [Monday] afternoon, connecting to Orlando, getting in around 10:45 p.m.”
I sighed. “Is that the best we can do?”
She paused a moment, listening to whoever was on the phone. “I can get you on a direct flight to Orlando at 9:30 a.m., in first class, getting in at 11.”
I told her I loved her, then I headed out to find a patch of floor to sleep on. I found a patch of floor. I did not sleep.
Neither did a lot of other people. The line above of people in Terminal F waiting to talk to a Delta agent was taken at 3:30 a.m.
The tech snafu affected a lot of people, though most airlines were back to something close to normal by Sunday morning. Delta not so much. Not only did it not recover, it had too few agents with too few solutions. I had the advantage of access to the Sky Club. So many other people were left without such comfort.
The 9:30 a.m. flight was delayed for a security sweep, but took off an hour later. “Would you like something to drink?” asked the flight attendant.
You bet I would.
