Dear DELTA: A Letter from Ashley Avis.

Dear Delta,

I was recently on flight 45 from Los Angeles to Tampa, Florida.  The flight was as delightful as flights-in-coach can theoretically be, the salted peanuts were more than satisfactory, and my complimentary pillow — to my surprise — did not smell of disgruntled infant feces.  All fantastic factors I think your airline should be overwhelmingly proud of.

However — one minor detail seemed to elude the Delta Team on August 31st, 2009.  It concerned a window in row 16.  A window that didn’t exist.

Before you crumple-toss this letter aside with the assumption that it’s some random flying patron who is exasperated by the lack-of-free-blanket-situation you have going on… continue reading.  I have a serious issue to discuss with you, Delta.

Upon sitting down and (consequently spilling my overpriced airport Macchiato) in seat 16A, I shortly thereafter became aware that the entirety of my row would remain unoccupied for the duration of the flight (or “Delta flying experience”, as I’ve come to call it).  I made a fateful slide over to seat 16B.  The Gods were watching out for me that morning.

After the customary buckling of the seatbelt, perusing the irrelevant pop-art safety precaution pamphlet, and draining the rest of my less-than-strong vanguard coffee, I prepared myself for takeoff.  The stewardesses did their safety thing (failing yet again to inform us of our ultimately screwed position if something went minority wrong with the plane), and the airliner began trucking down the runway.

It began to take up speed.

I continued sucking down my Macchiato.

This is where it gets interesting.

About forty-five seconds into takeoff, just when I was about to reach for the prohibited electronic item and turn it on — a sudden WHHHHHUUUSHHH sound erupted from my direct right, accompanied by a large window FLYING out of the window socket and ramming into the place where my head would have been, right in window-seat of 16A.

WHHHHHUUUSHHH.

We had just taken off from the ground of the runway.  And the window of row 16 had ERUPTED out of the airplane.

I was shockingly calm as I eye-bulgingly stared at the emply place where the window should have been.  Obese Pearl-Wearing Domestic Woman in row 17 began screaming, and hysterically proclaiming how we were all about to plunge rapidly to our deaths.

Everyone else was staring at the hole, listening to the WHHHUUSSSH sound, and essentially in various  progressive states of shock.

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIIIIIE!”

With one look at Obese Pearl Wearing Domestic Woman, I decided then and there that if I was fated to plunge into the cement runway of LAX on that absurdly early morning hour, I was certainly not going to do it with the shrill voice of an over-pampered retard resounding in my head.

And with one steady motion… I leaped upon the fallen window.

Yes.  Leaped, Delta.

I grappled it between two 22-year-old arms, and I forced it back into the gaping hole from whence it came.

WHHHUUUSSS…hhh…….. hhh…. h.

The sound stopped.

Obese Pearl Wearing Woman tempered her yelling into a soft hyperventilating wheeze.

The passengers all looked at one another.  Did the stiletto-wearing chick in seat 16(B) just save us all?
I was mentally forgiven for my second personal item by the entire aircraft that day.

We landed in Tampa with gusto (funny how the pilot instructed all stewardesses not to leave their seats for the entirety of the ride) and the WHUUUUSH sound only re-emitted three or four more times.  I was not able to hear high-pitched sounds for a good six days after the experience.  I’m pretty sure Obese Pearl Wearing Woman is now deceased.

And thus, Delta, for all of the effort and borderline customer servicing of your psychotic Midwestern patrons (and, you know, circumventing near death) I feel entitled to either the sum of 13.5 million dollars, or free flights for the rest of my life.

I’m certain I’m being more than fair — and if anything, giving you guys a massive deal.

Think of all the lawsuits you could have had.  Think of all of the eardrum replacement therapy you would have had to provide for.  The cost of re-caucking the window so that it fits back into it’s original frame.

I look forward to your response, Delta.  Thank you most sincerely for the opportunity to be in a position to legally screw you over.

Think you can routinely take my nail clippers?  What now.

Most sincerely, Ashley Avis