After flying to Accra, Ghana for a conference last weekend, I became thoroughly convinced that customer service at Delta no longer exists. I’m going to have to recommend against flying Delta Airlines anytime soon. There were allegations last week that Delta’s negligence allowed an 11-year-old traveling alone to be molested by a stranger. I could’ve seen it coming.

Delta’s in-flight magazine joyfully tells you that they have been awarded best carrier from the U.S. to Africa. What they don’t tell you is that they’re almost the only one, and it’s hard to lose in a race against yourself.

Boarding my plane at JFK Airport in New York, my happiness with having my own row quickly faded when the pilot announced there were 30 planes ahead of us in line to use the runway.

Airlines fly hundreds of planes to hundreds of places every day. How could someone possibly screw up that badly? Thirty planes? Donald Rumsfeld was better at war planning than whoever runs JFK was at runway scheduling. But don’t tell me that Delta has no role in the scheduling process. It took us two hours to get in the air.

Leaving Accra a few days later, we again sat on the runway for a painfully long time. “Sorry about that folks,” the head flight attendant announced after an hour. “We just had a few technical problems, and we’re all ready to take off now.” Great. Technical problems. Just what you want to hear when you’re embarking on a really long flight over a really big ocean.

Naturally, I missed my connection at JFK. With the dozens of other people who were equally screwed, I trudged through customs and eventually made it to the desk where they tell you how many hours you have to wait for the next flight.

For me, there was no next flight. At least, not at the same airport. I was told instead that I was to be rerouted through LaGuardia, which Wikipedia tells me is JFK’s less popular sibling. “You can get a taxi or shuttle to LaGuardia down at ground transportation,” the Delta agent informed me, scribbling a flight number and time on my now useless boarding pass. Wait a second, I asked, isn’t Delta at least going to give me a voucher to cover the cab over there?

“Well we would, but the delay was caused by air traffic control, so it wasn’t our fault and we don’t provide a voucher.”

“That’s odd. They said on the plane it was technical problems, and there aren’t that many flights leaving Accra.”

“Well let me check,” (furious typing), “No, the computer says it was ATC, so we’re not responsible.”

“Isn’t Delta the one talking to ATC? Isn’t that what I’m paying you for? I didn’t realize that wasn’t included.”

The desk agent pulled out her secret weapon. “But you see, we’re doing a lot for you. We put you on another flight tonight, and that’s not even counting the money we lose by not having you on the first flight. So really we are doing you a favor.”

“You made me miss the first flight! It’s not like I somehow screwed up and now you’re helping me out. I was on your plane!”

“I’m very sorry,” she said. But she didn’t sound very sorry. She sounded like she was going to high-five the person next to her, and say, “Ha, we got another one,” as she stamped a Looney Tunes tally mark in the shape of a customer on the wall behind her.

The taxi cost $35. And when I got to LaGuardia, I discovered there’s a secret Delta terminal for commuter flights. The JFK desk agent forgot to tell me that. Another hour gone.

When I finally got back to the Stanford House in Washington, full of anger, my friend Niko told me that on a Delta flight to Russia, he walked back to the galley to ask for tea for someone who wasn’t feeling well. “Oh, and would you like me to bring it to him, too?” the stewardess snapped back in a tone suggesting that he was asking the equivalent of where the bombs were kept.

There’s really no excuse for this kind of nonsense from a company that is essentially in the hospitality industry. Delta has slogans like: “You’ll love the way we fly,” and “Delta’s ready when you are!” But saying it doesn’t make it true.

Don’t tell me costs are the problem. Think of the man-hours freed up now that everyone prints boarding passes at home. The savings in ink and paper alone have got to be enough to placate passengers inconvenienced by your airline.

Instead, I’m out $35 and approximately eight hours I would really like to have back. I’m pretty sure I could write an angry email and get some sort of apology and make-up voucher. I may even get one from writing this column. But that’s not the point. We expect painful bureaucracy from the IRS, DMV, OSA and many other three letter acronyms. But you shouldn’t have to pay for it. So much for customer service. And don’t fly Delta.

Michael wishes that he, too, could write a column with a rhyming name. It could be called “Mike’s Likes.” Can you think of something that rhymes with Sagar? Tell them at sagarandmichael@gmail.com.

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