never, never, never, never, NEVER, N-E-V-EEEEEEE-RRRRRR fly sun country!

As I type this, I am listening to a 1983 version of Broadway while sitting on a slightly padded vinyl seat and drinking a $7 Mike’s Lemonade. The cheese of the music is an intimidating mass of cheese topped only and brilliantly by the airport bar. Why, you may ask, did I spend almost enough for a Martini at the posh Martini bar across from Caffe Minnie’s in Seattle on a Mikes. The clever bar tender was wise enough to name the steep price after handing me the drink and letting me take my first, expensive sip. Why, you may ask, at 4:00pm was I that desperate for a drink? Why, you might also ask, are you experiencing a premenition of yet another sarcastic rant? These are all good questions and to each of them I offer this answer: Sun Country Airlines.

I am in the drawn-out process of returning home from a children’s ministry training, so in the name of this event, I will describe my Sun Country experience via an acrostic.

Seattle eludes me remaining my beautiful home but ever

Unreachable across mountains and snow – and once I return.

Never again. Never will I leave my love on a craft painted with the words Sun Country

Couldn’t I have paid the extra $50 for a ticket
On
United Airlines?
No doubt a minimum wage job would have made up the price on time I have spent on hold, in a holding pattern, or waiting for a grossly
Tardy flight to finally deliver me to a destination
Really
Y would I ever fly Sun Country again?

Sunday night, unexpecting, I rushed to the airport – thinking I might be late. A breath of relief surged through my tense body as I read that my flight was delayed. How long? An hour and a half. I calmed myself and optimistically thanked God for the extra time to work on a paper that never had any hopes of being worthy. Finally the plane boarded and thanks to Christian morals, my ride to Still Water was waiting for me at 2am – 3am to her.

Three days later, I show my apparent learning disability as I rush to the airport – thinking I might be late. A breath of relief surges through my body as I realize my clock is wrong and I’m on time. A sigh of helpless anger brings an aftershock, returning every ounce of stress as I see the sign, “Sea 7:15.” At first, I wonder – ok I’m pretty dumb sometimes – “Who has a flight to the sea?” Then I realize Sea is short for something… “Sea…l? Sea….ting? Sea….first? Sea…fair? No. I shook my head and laughed – Seattle. Is that the time in Seattle? That’s not right. Seattle’s BEHIND Saint Paul. They’ve got it all wron….no. No. Shit. Shit. SHIT! That’s my flight. That’s my fucking flight. THREE HOURS DELAYED!! What am I supposed to do in this dinky air port for THREE hours!? Are you kidding me? Ok, fine, I’ll go to the bar.

So, here am I. Here I will be for three hours – a time barely surpassing the time I spent on hold working out mistakes the airline made on my ticket.

Like I said, never! NEVER NEVER EVER! fly Sun Country Airlines.


Post Script:
By the time I actually arrived, my flight was going on 5 hours late!