Dear DFW and American Airlines:
It is 1:10 a.m. I am in Terminal D, the same terminal where we girls all met to fly to Egypt over a year ago. About twenty minutes ago I was privileged to meet some sisters in the faith from Guatemala. I don't know their names, but I know their smiles. They were visiting in Mississippi or Missouri, I'm not sure which, for a granddaughter's graduation. This is one of the things I love about you, the way you provide me with opportunities to meet people I never would have otherwise.
While I've been here I've chatted with people who've traveled from Bangkok and New Jersey. Both foreign places to some degree. I have rejoiced with the guys standing in line at the service desk who kept letting people go ahead of them while they waited an hour for their buddy to join them. I smiled when a grandmotherly lady brought them chocolate chip cookies as a thank you. I've reveled in the homey, familiar sound of accents from my old stomping grounds near Mobile. Not that you would let me fly there, of course.
I thought we were going to get along forever. I never envisioned this day would come so swiftly and brutally. It's not that I quit loving you, exactly, because Texas will always hold a bit of my heart, but we have grown apart. There's no point in pretending things will ever be quite the same again. Once you have broken a person's trust to this degree, it's only natural that there would be some caution in any type of relationship going forward.
It wasn't long ago I told someone that I had never had a flight canceled. At least, not one that I had booked for myself. "Don't jinx it," they said. And I only laughed, because I believed in you. I really did.
The first hints of trouble brewing made their appearance on Sunday. I was relaxing at my gate when the announcement was made. So sorry, but the flight was canceled. Canceled! There was no gentle let-down, no subtle delays to warn me. DFW did not want my presence. It was quick and brutal and unforgiving. And we were only ten minutes from departure.
And so I tried to make peace. I rebooked, as you, American Airlines, suggested. I understood that sometimes people have their own personal storms to work through before they can make amends. So I tried to do my part, go the extra mile. I really thought it would work.
Monday arrived. Security was a breeze. I waited across from a bookstore where there was a section of books displaying Theo of Golden prominently, which reminded me that the same is waiting for me to continue listening to on Audible. I enjoyed watching people make selections. My first flight of the day carried me in a state of bliss toward your welcoming land. Again, there was little warning until the announcement. We were in a holding pattern, we were told. We might be holding for an hour.
Storms were brewing, they said, on every side. But when I talked to the kindergarten teacher seated beside me, she said her friends in Dallas said the storms only lasted fifteen minutes. Nonetheless, since you had started the awkward miscommunications, things soon spiraled out of control. Our pilot came back on to say that we had been diverted.
Rejection! Any relationship guru can tell you how harmful rejection is. Instead of the Lone Star State, we were being shuttled off to Oklahoma City. I don't personally have anything against Oklahoma (except disagreeing with a certain co-teacher that it's the best state ever), but that wasn't where I wanted to be. We waited there for around two and a half hours, amidst reassurances that DFW was closed completely down, all flights delayed, and we'd probably still reach ours on time.
Unfortunately, by the time the fuel truck finally showed up (What's up with only one fuel truck, OKC?), my flight had departed from DFW. In vain I tried to communicate. I was met with a brick wall of silence. Well, mostly. The agent I communicated with told me that he couldn't see any updates and I'd have to wait until I landed in DFW to figure out my next move. Seems you need to be a bit more in touch with your own emotion, or motions, or whatever it is, American.
So I tried to relax, tried to tell myself everything would work out between us. Because I'm a hopeless optimist sometimes. But you had more pain in store.
When I finally felt the good solid linoleum of DFW under my feet, I didn't know where to start because everything had disappeared from my app. I took some time to gaze at the flight schedules and determined there were two flights heading out yet that could get me where I wanted to go: one to Mobile and one to Pensacola. Both were located in Terminal E. I decided I may as well go to that terminal for help.
Once there, I joined a line of people at the customer service counter. I also dialed you, American, on the phone and placed a callback order, not sure which would be faster. I was told the callback wait was ninety minutes. The line only took thirty to forty-five, so that was nice.
But here's what they say about relationships, American: The relationships that fail can be determined by watching whether or not the partners respond to bids for attention. I should have guess ours was doomed when the agent mumbled at me through her mask and barely made eye contact. I was being as gracious and agreeable as possible under the circumstances, and although she did not respond to my bids for friendliness, I made excuses for her when she printed off a nice new boarding pass and shoved it across the counter to me.
The sad thing is that the flight was delayed before I even made it to the gate which was all of a one minute walk away, thanks to my strategy of figuring out which terminal held the likely flights. After an hour's wait or so, the plane arrived. Everything looked to still be on schedule. Even then we might have been able to salvage our relationship, but it was not to be.
I noticed a sad absence of crew members around the gate. The flight was delayed again. And then? I almost expected it by now, because how many flights actually depart at 12:20 a.m.? Canceled. Again.
I stood by the wall, trying to see what options your app would give me. I was starting to wonder if that's all I had left of you.
Another passenger said loudly that if they let him on he could fly that plane. He might not land it perfectly, but he could get us there. A woman standing near me gave a metaphorical snort. "I'm a pilot," she said, "there's no way he could fly that plane."
I asked her if she flew commercial or private. She said private. I would have talked to her more, but I was really getting concerned about our relationship by that point, so I again took measures to fix things. All the disappointments and rejections I have ever experienced came flooding back as I stood waiting in line at Customer Service once again. That might be an exageration, but you get the point.
I was in line with a lot of people trying to reach Mobile. The man behind me showed me screenshots of why the flight had been canceled and seemed to want to chat. So did the woman ahead of me. That is one thing to be said for you, DFW. Perhaps you don't do too well with relationships, but you have apparently learned that humans bond quickly in adverse circumstances. Thankfully the line moved fairly quickly.
The agent I met with this time genuinely did her best to help me. I explained my predicament. All flights available in the morning would get in too late for me to catch my London flight out of Pensacola. She said she could route me straight to Pensacola if she sent me on a detour through Houston. That sounded OK, until I found out that I'd get into Pensacola at 4:00, have to deplane, collect my bag, check it back in, go through security, and get on my next flight. It would not give a lot of extra time, and no extra time at all if there were to be more delays.
Your motto is, apparently, "Let Good Take Flight." By several minutes after midnight I was starting to think all your good really had taken flight. I will hand it to your agents. They did their best, but you've got to come up with some way to help them out. They were clearly over-worked and exhausted. They worked on figuring out arrangements for me to fly straight to Atlanta for forty-five minutes or an hour. And part of that time the poor agent was battling against your own system. She would put in flight details, and someone or something working from the opposite end kept changing them back.
She did not seem disappointed to abandon me (Do you see a pattern here? betrayal, no communication, abandonment, etc., etc.) {That was for you, Sadie.} and go run something down to crew on the ground or something. Her manager took over and within an astonishingly short time had found me a flight to Atlanta, which departs at 9:35 a.m. and arrives around half past 12. I do think second chances are in place, but I'm not sure how many chances to give after that.
Currently, I am exhausted, but unable to sleep. I have removed my contacts and am remembering why I don't like glasses; they always slide down my nose. I feel like an absolute ball of grease and unsavory smells. I am slightly ravenous. And I am slowly becoming a bit unhinged. Your emotional manipulations have worn me down.
Maybe I will regret this, but I think it's over between us. I know everyone goes through difficult seasons in life, but your season of spring and summer storms is too much for me, DFW. I need something a little more calm and stable. And American, your traffic control was a mess. There were planes piled all over the place just waiting to have some direction. This won't do, you know.
The only hope of salvaging this relationship is if you can find me some cheesecake somewhere. Then, maybe, I'll consider letting the past be the past. But for now? You've done too little too late. I shall always remember you with fondness, but there comes a time to let things go.
Bittersweet memories and all that, I shall always love you, but it's best if I go, to loosely quote.
The end.
P.S. I wasn't kidding about the cheesecake, although I know nothing is as dramatic as it seems at this hour in the morning.
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