Are the Frequent Flyer Miles Really Worth it?

What do you think caused the most stress on my summer vacation?

I have two words for you: United Airlines.

However, I will admit that, since my recent jaunt to the Midwest, I've heard an overwhelming amount of horror stories involving, not just United, but most of the major airlines in our country. Boy, does that make me feel better to know that it happens to everyone, that it wasn't just the way I was dressed or the way I smelled or the way I talked that provoked the airline to treat my husband and me with such blatant disregard.

Actually, our airline experience was really such a side-splitting, humorous event that I don't even know how I'm going to contain myself as I write this post.

First of all, imagine Dan and I running through the Denver airport, trying to make a connection that was sixty gates away, after our flight out of Boise had been delayed thirty minutes due to a problem with the radio transmitter. And when we finally reached the gate, five minutes before the plane was supposed to take off, we were told, "The cabin door is already closed. We can't let you board." Hysterical!

Then we were directed with an ambiguous wave of the hand to "customer service." After wandering aimlessly around the gates for a few moments due to a lack of clear directions, we ended up at two rows of computers underneath a sign that read, "Customer Service Kiosk." Dan felt right at home. I, on the other hand, wanted to talk to an honest-to-goodness, sympathetic human being.

So, we were booked on a flight through Chicago, the very flight we had intentionally avoided when buying our plane tickets because we didn't want to deal with the delays out of O'Hare. Hilarious!

We headed to Gate B37, only to find out our flight had been moved to B45, a gate we had already passed on our way to B37. I mention this only because my engineer husband, who always strives to travel the shortest distance between points A and B, became extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of backtracking in order to make it to our flight. I managed to get him there, however, though it proved to be a very traumatic experience for him.

At the gate, I asked the airline worker if our bags had made it on our original connecting flight to Cincinnati. She looked at me as though I had antennae growing out of my head. "Well," she said indignantly, "of course, your bags will fly with you."

Our bags never made it on the flight. In fact, when Dan's suitcase was delivered to our hotel in Cincinnati at three o'clock that morning, the couriers left me Mr. Hacker's suitcase from Batesville, Indiana and took my suitcase to none other than Mr. Hacker. What a riot!

I did finally receive my luggage, after being left on hold with United for two hours, talking a couple of times to a woman in India who was tracking my suitcase in Indiana, and hyperventilating and crying uncontrollably over the phone to a dispatcher named Lynn at Priority Couriers. If all else fails, play the crazy woman card.