When air traffic is out of control
by Beth Teitell

Thursday, June 21, 2001

On Tuesday, I had the pleasure of flying Air France from London to Boston.

You think the French are rude in France? You should see them when they've got you airborne.

It was almost like being in Paris, albeit without the scenery. You've still got the charm of the locals.

You want snotty? They've got snotty. Or, as the stewardess beveraging the rear of the cabin said when my husband paused while pouring lightener into his Nescafe: ``Get your cup off my tray.'' (Excuse me, but what the heck is Nescafe doing on Air France?)

I know I shouldn't complain. I was flying for ``free'' after all. That's what a Delta employee said when I called Atlanta trying to switch our return flight from Air France (a Delta Skyteam partner!) to Delta.

I won't bore you with what went wrong on the overnight flight from Boston to London, via Paris.

I won't go into how a promised bassinet wasn't there, although someone else's crying baby was, or how our stroller was misplaced in Paris, forcing us to go through customs so we could hunt it down on the baggage carousel, carrying a 22-pound baby, his car seat and several steamer trunks of emergency infant supplies. I won't harp on the fact that once we did get to London, the suitcase with all the baby clothes and more emergency supplies was still in Paris.

I won't mention the fact that, after we had made our reservations, Delta initiated nonstop flights to London, which would have cut five hours out of our trip, which, when you're with a baby who does not appreciate the importance of international travel, can seem like a lifetime.

No, I won't bore you with that. Suffice it to say, we did not want to return the way we had come.

So, who cares if I spent more time on the phone from London trying to switch flights than I had spent - or would - in the air being miserable? After a while these things take on a life of their own, and the wronged traveler becomes incapable of letting go of her tale of woe. No matter how whiny she sounds.

``I'm sorry,'' said the supervisor's supervisor's mother - I had made it that far up the chain of command - ``I'd like to help you, but it's not possible. You are flying on an award ticket - for free.''

Free? Listen, sister, I've been earning those miles, charging embarrassingly small items every time I go to CVS, relentlessly switching from AT&T to MCI and back again - even, on occasion, buying a seat on a Delta flight.

Oh, how different it is when an airline is wooing you into a frequent flier relationship. Then it's all sweet talk and come fly with me and we'll show you the world.

Well, I guess that last part is true.

Sure, we'll fly you to London, but let's see, why don't we go to JFK first, and then make a short hop down to our Atlanta hub, and howzabout a little stopover in gay Paree, and then on to London a mere three days later? Cheers!