Dear Delta,

Have I not been good to you? Do I not use your airline to fly [mostly]every time I have a choice? Do I not use my Delta credit card with vigor, yes, actual vigor!, to get more and more miles in my skymiles account?

Where then, is the love? Each time I board one of your planes, something in my very near vicinity is broken. Not major things that will cause us to fall from the sky in a flaming ball of fire (which I do appreciate, by the way), but things that are important to me, all the same. How do you manage to put me in the broken seat every flight? It is really an amazing talent, one you should invest in the racetrack rather than in torturing me. I feel it would be much more profitable for you in the long run.

Here's the deal, Delta. I love movies. Love, love, love them. For some reason, I married a man who reads no fiction, because if it is good it will be made into a movie. He doesn't go to movies because they will eventually come on TV, and he doesn't like watching TV because it is a waste of time. All of this means one thing: I don't get to see nearly as many movies as I would like.

Henceforth, I am one of those sick people who actually look forward to being cooped up in your tiny seats for 9 hour flights, because I know I will get to see at least 4 movies over the course of my roundtrip journey in the belly of your plane! But you have other ideas, don't you?

The last time I flew to Paris, I was seated next to an insane old Czech woman. She kept asking for more and more food, and stuffing it (and those little bottles of wine, which were still complimentary back then) in her bag- even pats of butter! Butter! Unrefrigerated butter! All soft and mushy and in her carry-on! She chewed with her mouth wide open and crumbs a flyin' through those toothless holes while she tried to get me to understand whatever language they speak in her neck of the woods. I believe she may have been trying to convince me to leave L and come home with her, but this is pure speculation and conjecture. This was most uncomfortable, since I like boys, but what really upset me was that the screen on the seatback in front of me didn't work. There was no escape! I would have traded seats with my husband, who sleeps like the dead as soon as he fastens his seat belt, but no way was he sitting next to crazy McCzechy. Result- no movie for me! On the way home from that same trip- no sound. NO SOUND!!! What did I ever do to you?

On our recent trip to Hawaii, things were no better. On the way there, my sound was once again not working. I encourage you to fly from Atlanta to Hawaii with a toddler and not have the sweet escape of something more melodious than "Mommy, I pooed my diaper!" to listen to. On the return trip, the only screen I could comfortably see was not working. Others in the plane were complaining, and I had to fight the urge to stand up and announce that I was actually the problem. Delta audio/visual equipment refuses to work when in close proximity to my electro-chemical make-up. I should have been like the boisterous man who got free drinks out of our misfortune, but frankly, I don't hold my liquor well enough to have any business drinking on a plane.

I'm just wondering, when will your hate advance until my seat falls through the bottom of the plane? Why, oh why, all the hate? I simply don't understand. All I can say is, it's a good thing I read the wiki on how to survive a long fall today. At least now I have a falling, er... fighting chance.

Sincerely,
Sad Slush